What it is: 1/28/08

What I’m reading: John Lanchester’s Mr. Phillips, Cormac McCarthy’s No Country for Old Men, and Osamu Tezuka’s Buddha, Vol. 3

What I’m listening to: Sing You Sinners, by Erin McKeown

What I’m watching: almost finished with the first season of The Wire!

What I’m drinking: Balgownie Estate 2004 shiraz

Where I’m going: No trips planned this week, although we’re thinking of visiting our friends in Providence next weekend

What I’m happy about: that the heavy push to get my Jan/Feb combo issue done in time for Informex has left me a little more leeway in putting together the March issue and planning out April and May

What I’m sad about: that one of my best pals just deployed for “parts unknown” with his carrier group, and the dad of another of my pals just had surgery to remove some not-so-good cells from his pancreas

What I’m pondering: how awesome it is that, when I felt a twinge of nostalgia for my old college stomping grounds on Saturday, I was able to zoom in the satellite view on Google Maps, retrace my old travels, and remember that the Amherst Cinema is where I first watched Miller’s Crossing

The law is a ass

Reading over the morning papers online, I came across a WSJ story about the FCC’s five-year-long crusade to fine ABC and some of its affiliates over an episode of NYPD Blue for showing a woman’s butt onscreen before 10 p.m. Takeaway line:

“Although ABC argues, without citing any authority, that the buttocks are not a sexual organ, we reject this argument, which runs counter to both case law and common sense,” the FCC said in its complaint.

A Map of Miss Reading

Picking up my mail this afternoon, I noticed a Pottery Barn catalog with the tagline, “NEW REDUCED DELIVERY CHARGES ON MORE THAN 65 ITEMS!”

My reaction? “Why, if I order more than 65 items from these jokers, I sure hope I would get reduced delivery charges!”

Then I thought about it a minute and, um, realized that they reduced the delivery charges on more than 65 individual items, not on orders of 65 items or more.

I Smush New York

At the Licensing Expo in 1997, I met with some Sony executives about properties they were licensing for merchandise. (I also met Gary Panter at that event, but that’s another story). I asked why they were so excited about their new Godzilla flick. Grinning from ear to ear, one of the Japanese execs told me, “Because this time Godzilla destroys New York!”

That movie may’ve been the first to violate my rule that Jean Reno makes any movie good, but it seems to have helped kicked off a trend of movies about New York getting smacked down. This post from a NYTimes Cityroom blog offers a timeline of great New York ass-whompings, pre- and post-9/11, and links to a New York mag Top 10 list of ’em, too.

I’m just glad New Jersey tends to get off easy. Lex Luthor’s the only one who tried blowing us up.

Well, it’s no Gherkin

I first noticed the Hearst Tower during ferry rides over to NYC about a year ago. Last April, I meandered by the building and snapped some pictures. I thought it was a neat-looking building, especially as it poked out of an existing structure like a giant f***-you:

Hearst Tower

Last November, when I was nearby for the black-tie event where I concluded that I really need to buy myself a tuxedo, I was happy that I’d get the opportunity to see the tower by night.

Boy, was I disappointed. The building was utterly lifeless against the cityscape. Without daylight reflecting off the panes, the structure seemed to flatten, resembling nothing but a standard glass office building, illuminated by fluorescents. I didn’t post — or even bother keeping — the pix I took of it. I was charitable enough to figure I was just missing something. Or maybe I caught it on a bad night.

Not according to Robert Campbell, a fellow at The American Institute of Architects and a critic for the Boston Globe. In Why I Hate the Hearst Tower, starts off by comparing the building to a missile silo, goes on to write,

[N]othing about the Hearst, as seen from outdoors, suggests the possibility of human habitation. It appears to be a cage for a single massive object. [. . .] One of the problems with Modernism, as a stylistic method, is that it tends to ignore the fact that buildings look like other things. And that’s how most people understand them. People say the abstract boxlike shapes of Modernist office towers look like the cartons the real towers came in. The world we live in is a world of resemblances.

and ultimately bashes the heck out of the idea of architecture without context:

[T]he message the Hearst broadcasts to me [is]: that it’s a prototype invented for no particular site or program which was, then, pulled out of its sketchbook and plopped down on this site. Its form not only communicates but insists that it ignores its solar orientation, its site, its Deco footrest, and its internal program of uses. “Put me anywhere, fill me with anything, I’m fine with that,” the tower seems to be telling us. It’s a throwback to Mies [van der Rohe]’s concept of universal space. And let’s remember that Mies’s concept, which worked well at Crown Hall in Chicago, created, in Berlin, an art museum that is as hopelessly impractical as it is handsome.

Give it a read.

Success! I mean, Failure!

Longtime readers know that I like me some failure. But I’m a failure when I measure up to Nathan Rabin. This guy has managed to review more than 100 movie-failures in a year. I’ve been following his My Year of Flops feature for a while, after he caught my attention with he skewered Hudson Hawk, my favorite terrible movie.

You should probably check out his afterword to the whole affair, and then wind your way through some of these amazing writeups. And make sure to spend some time with North. . .

Off-Ledger

My condolences to the family of Heath Ledger, who OD’d earlier today. When Amy first IM’d me about Ledger’s death just before I left the office, I wrote back, “Drugs? Car Accident?” When she said it was the former, I replied, “Retard.”

Once I got home, I checked out the story and it now looks like he committed suicide (subject to change). That got me wondering what’s worse:

  1. the father of a two-year-old child deliberately OD’s, killing himself,
  2. the father of a two-year-old child is so into getting high that he accidentally OD’s, killing himself.

I mean, the result is the same, right? Wealthy, good-looking actor leaves his daughter without a dad.

Tell me whatcha think.

What it is

What I’m reading: John Crowley’s The Solitudes (first in his 4-book Aegypt cycle) and Osamu Tezuka’s Buddha series

What I’m listening to: Angela McCluskey’s The Things We Do

What I’m watching: the first season of The Wire

What I’m drinking: Miller’s gin

What I’m happy about: the Giants reached the Super Bowl

What I’m sad about: the Giants will likely get destroyed in the Super Bowl, similar to their 2000 experience against Baltimore, which Jay Mohr characterized as “like when a white high school team from the suburbs faces a black inner-city school”

What I’m pondering: how to finish writing a post about Charles Schulz that really doesn’t support my initial thesis (that is, how Schulz and Andy Warhol exemplify certain trends in postwar American views of celebrity and art)