14 posts tagged “michael dolan”

I have had quite a good streak of luck with the millions of projects I've been working on the last few months. Most of them never make it farther than my bedroom, but in some instances, they actually materialize.

Here's a review of the M.I.A. show I attended as part of CMJ this year:

http://lifeinabungalo.com/2007/10/20/mia-at-terminal-5/

Gothamist, the amazing NYC web zine has also picked up two of my photos:

The first is a shot of an amazing, unique Bay Ridge Brooklyn home decoration

http://gothamist.com/2007/10/28/extra_extra_680.php

The second is one of my 2007 NYC Marathon pictures:

http://gothamist.com/2007/11/05/running_the_mar.php

Thanks
Michael/Evil PR Guy

My favorite museum in the world is The Met? I can't remember exactly when the first time I climbed up those impressive steps and had my mind blown open was exactly, but I was a really little kid. Since the I've paid hundreds of visits, and I think I  have spent more time at the place than anywhere else in New York City. I just love it. As a museum, as a hangout, as I place to learn things. As a place to be stoned. As a place to go on dates. As a place to nurse breakups. As a place to sneak away on lunch breaks. As a place to be horribly embarrassed as I fall down the daunting marble steps and do a Tommy Boy into the classical sculpture garden.

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This is why I am so amazed to say that in the last year, The Cooper-Hewitt Design Museum has placed itself just below the Met in my mental list of my favorite places in the world. This isn't a list of my favorite museums either, it just so happens that two of favorite places to be are repositories for old junk. A bit like my apartment. As far as junk heaps go, Cooper-Hewitt and the Met couldn't be any more different. Cooper-Hewitt is tiny. You could fit the entire place, grounds and all, in the Egyptian wing of the Met where they have the Temple of Dendur.  The collections at The Met are comprised of mostly old items. Some  of the employees at the Met are older than pieces on display at C-H. Sure, C-H has its' fair share of older items, but there are many things to be seen that are contemporary, and even some prototypes, so really they're things from the future! Architecturally speaking, The Met is somewhat of a schizphrenic shambles. It's a patchwork of old and new buildings, donated wings with elements of classic and modern buildings tossed in for good measure. It's workmanlike and utilitarian because they desperately need the space. C-H is housed entirely in the former Andrew Carnegie Mansion, which is at 91st Street and 5th Avenue. The mansion is the perfect place to house an elegant collection that is linked together solely by the principal of good design. The idea that if you are going to bother building something, you should bother to build it right. Carnegie's mansion was also an engineering marvel when it was completed in 1902. It was the first residential construction to be erected using structural steel to build the

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frame, and one of the first to have an Otis elevator.
Normally, this is the part of my blog where I start to critque the Carnegie Mansion nail by nail and cornice by cornice. Today I'm going to head down a slightly different path (don't worry, you'll get my overly opinionated analysis of C-H buildings sometime soon in a different post).
Every three years a bunch of smart pants designers get together and choose amongst themselves what they think are the most interesting things going on in the world of design. There are two key concepts here. One, they use design in its' broadest sense; the exhibit has clothing, household goods, toys, models, electronic whiz-bang gizmo's and structural materials. My Italian grandmother was say, 'A brische and a brosche': a little bit of this, a little bit of that. The panel that chooses what's on display don't necesarily pick what is the 'best' in a conventional sense. They choose items that are interesting for one reason or another. I can attest tho this because quite a few of the exhibits were broken from being over examined, so they aren't the greatest designs. I give them a lot of credit for not necessarily choosing what is 'hot' right now, but going with there gut feeling for objects they clearly enjoy. This year's show, titled Design Life Now, is a gathering of items and concepts  that are currently out in the world. From the second you turn the corner onto 91st Street, you know something very cool is going on.

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The front of the mansion is covered in brightly colored flowers from sidewalk to roof in random, occasionally overlapping patterns. The light poles, fences and walls are inundated with cool signs that feature various items featured in the exhibition, like one of my favorite, that ubiquitous creepy cartoon rabbit, Dunny. Granted, I'm extremely prejudiced towards Coney Island (it's where I met my wife), and I can never pass up a chance to mention it,  but there are cool signs with the iconic parachute jump all up and down 5th Avenue proclaiming the exhibition.

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Here is the part where I would normally begin to describe the fantastic outfits, gadgets, posters, robots, creatures, tentacles, interactive screens and the other indescribable and bewildering devices that make up the Design Life Now exhibition. I'm dying to give my opinion on the see-though folding kayak (it rocks), Thom Browne's highwater suit pants (sexy if you have the legs to pull it off) and the Wall of I-Pod History (Wow! I can't believe we carried around those huge 1st Gen I-Pod's with glee, they're bricks, how 1999). Instead of describing and filtering the wondrous toys on display at Cooper-Hewitt, I'm going to instead rob them of there intellectual property. Instead of talking about someone else's Design Awards, I'm going to have my own. This way, I'm encouraging all of you folks to take a trip over to Cooper-Hewitt and see for yourself what's going on, while at the same time I can brag about my own good taste and introduce you to some brilliant designs you may never have heard of. What's even better is there's some crossover, because a few of my favorite objects are also lurking around the Carnegie Mansion.
I believe it's more or less impossible to describe what exactly good design is. People much smarter and more eloquent than I have written entire books on the subject and they still haven't come up with a passable answer. My criteria for something to win my good design award is pretty simple. It has to be something that I own,use and enjoy. Yeah, I'm sure Maserati's are wonderfully designed and engineered cars, but I don't have one. Hell,I don't even really know how to drive. So there's nothing on this list you won't find me rolling with on the R Train on a regular basis. It keeps things honest. The next rule is it has to do what it was born to do. Sure, Tall Bikes look a treat, but they're hard to pedal, hard to ride, don't get you where you're going any faster than walking and are dangerous as hell. Pretty but useless disqualifies items from my list. It has to be elegant. Elegance is hard to define as well, but it's a case of, 'I know it when I see it'. Elegant in form, elegant in function and elegant in looks.                                                         

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The last time that I owned or wore a watch it was a Swatch, with one of those rubber 'face protecting' guards that looked like a colored washer. Swatches were considered new and 'wild' at the time, to be paired with Skidz pants and a fanny pack. I have never liked the idea of being reminded of times passage constantly a few  inches from my eyes. I have also never found a watch that is cool enough for me to enjoy looking at constantly, but with a clean enough design that I would wear it every day. During a recent trip to Alessi, where I spend a large portion of my lunch breaks, I discovered the perfect watch. Alessi's Kaj watch designed by Karim Rashid (who also designed the flagship Alessi store where I found this watch). The Kaj is simple enough that it goes with just about anything I'm wearing. You can get it wet. If,(and if you're

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me)when I break it, Alessi will replace it. It is really inexpensive for a watch by a fantastically talented designer. More than anything, it looks really brilliant. I constantly get compliments whenever people look down at what's on my wrist. I have a black one, but it comes in quite a few other cool colors as well, the pink being especially super-fly. This is the watch that got me to start wearing the time on my wrist after 19 years going without.

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Since time immemorial, I've been carrying a basic JanSport backpack. I've probably completely worn out 7 or 8 of them over the years because I'm never without my  bag. Carrying a bag at all times is basic New York City survival gear, plus I'm a packrat. I started to notice that the amount of crap I was carrying around had reached absurd levels, and I could never find what I needed. Not littering is one  of my few civic duties I take seriously,so instead of trying to locate garbage can (which have become scarce on the streets) I would throw gum wrappers and scraps of paper in my bag along with any other detritus that might turn out to useful one day, like old Village Voice's. I decided to get myself a smaller, cooler, more 'grown up' bag to carry around the city. After a lot of searching around, I found this Jack Spade Messenger Bag and it's perfect. It's quite compact: just 14" X 4" X 9.5", so it's big

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enough for a notebook, some magazines, water, pens and a book. That's it, the basics. It's small size keeps me from loading it up with garbage I don't need to carry around. It's a foolproof organizational tool that actually works. It's made of some type of very sturdy impregnated canvas-nylon, with a waterproof inner liner and steel buckles. The canvas has a rough texture you can feel, and reminds me of the old Army backpacks. The Velcro patches that hold the bag closed are enormous, so there's no chance of my things flying out on the subway, and if someone tries to rummage through your bag as you navigate the Bosch-like nightmare that is Canal Street you will hear and feel the Velcro being opened. The seams on this bag are actually finished very neatly, you can tell this things isn't coming apart. There are some pen pockets, an inside zipper pocket for anything really important, and an I-Pod headphone jack

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and pocket, which is a very cool feature. I especially  like the open front pocket that is right at the top when you open it up, it's perfect for my cellphone and Blackberry so I can grab them right away if they're ringing. In the looks department it's very sleek, almost to the point of being unremarkable. It just has a tiny little Jack Spade patch, which says 'Greene St.', which I like because that's where I work. When it gets dirty, which all bags you drag around NYC eventually do, you just wipe it down with a damp rag,and it's good as new. This works very well; I was surprised how clean the bag got with a little water and a sponge. Jack Spade bags aren't cheap, but they aren't much more than any other decent messenger bag, and much cheaper than any of the other designer bags that aren't half as sturdy. When bag shopping I checked out a similarly sized Prada messenger bag that was made of cheap-o nylon with cool features and it was double the price. Don't get me wrong, i don't mind shelling out for quality, and I worship my Prada Driving shoes which were far from cheap. This bag was double what my clearly superior Jack Spade bag costs. I hate when companies that normally make quality stuff slap there label on junk and coast on the goodwill of their customers. my Jack Spade bag is a cool looking, extremely functional, stripped down bag that helps me stay clutter free.

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To many people, a pen is a pen. It's something you buy a dozen at a time, for as cheap as possible from Staples. When you have a pen in your hand for as many hours as I do, you start to notice the huge differences between a good pen and a crappy one. At this point in my life I've experimented with thousands of pens. I've written with everything from ultra fancy Mont Blanc pens (sorry...'writing instruments') to 20 for a buck dollar store specials that contain .000007 milliters of ink and have springs that become eye poking projectiles the second time you try to click it open. No other pen I've written with can touch the one's made by the Japanese design collective Muji.Their Gel Ink Ball Point Pens are very comfortable to hold. The writing tip retracts inside the body of the pen, so

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you don't get broken points and leaking ink all over the inside of your bag. They actually use a quality spring, so the pen doesn't break long before the ink runs out, which tends to drive me crazy. They have a sturdy little clip for attaching them to the inside of your bag, or to the strap on your Moleskine Notebooks. They are available in six different colors, including some fun ones like purple and green. The ink goes on smooth without smudging, and dries very quickly. The clear body of the  pens lets you see how much ink is left, and looks very techy for a pen. Additionally, they have little stickers that are filled with cool looking Japanese writing that I can't read. The best thing to hold your Muji pens, is the clear plastic Muji Pen case. It holds four pens, snaps shut, is clear so you can 

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see what pens you have with you,and is practically indestructible. What separates Muji in a big way from other contemporary design groups is the fact that there products are dirt cheap. There is really no other well designed products out in the world available for as little money as the items Muji produces. My English friends tell me there is a Muji on every corner in the UK, and Muji is hugely popular across the pond. Muji even designs and builds homes in Japan! Sadly,Muji hasn't quite made it to every corner here in the USA. I get all my Muji goodness at The MOMA Design Store, and rarely have to spend more than $2 or $3 dollars on any item.

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I mention my love of all things Victorian quite often. One great Victorian custom that I wish would make a comeback is the concept of The Calling Card. 'Miss Dickinson, while you were out taking a turn around the Pump-Room, Red Whiskers paid a call. He left his calling card for you Miss'. Now that's sexy. Sure,most of us have business cards, but what about cards for purely social reasons? This is a wonderful concept. There's something sweet and endearing about meeting a new person and have them hand you a card with all their contact information that doesn't center on what they do for a living. Flickr, the amazing, free, photo sharing site and Moo, have helped bring back calling cards with a 21st Century twist. Moo allows you to choose any of your photos from Flickr, and have them printed up as terrific, high quality mini calling cards. You can choose as many images as you like  for the front side, and Moo will give you an equally distributed amount of each image in your pack of cards. Even though they are tiny, Moo provides enough room on the backside for all your contact infomation: name, mobile number, Blackberry, email and blog adress. They also give you the option of putting a big Creative Commons license symbol on the rear as well, to show people you meet that you support the open and fair exchange of information. The bright pictures and odd size of the cards really make them stand out from the drab business cards that most people use. Also, if you put a photo of yourself on the

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front, like I did, people you meet will actually remember who you are later on. Of course you can't have calling cards without a calling card case, and Muji strikes again with the perfect little box for your Moo cards. The Muji Thin Aluminum Card Case is simple and very tough. I have an Aluminum fetish, probably from years of riding and building bikes, so this box feels great to the touch. It catches shut with a simple,non-mechanical clasp and holds about 50 of my Moo calling cards. Since it's aluminum, you know  it's basically indestructible and your cards will be safe if you are mobbed by members of the opposite sex impressed with your Victorian charm. I love pulling this out to grab a card, as everyone seems to think it's fancy and expensive, and I love to explain that the opposite is true. As with everything Muji designs, this case is dirt, dirt cheap. Comparable business card cases, whose design isn't half as nice, cost 5 times as much. Cheers again to Muji for making good design available to the masses!  The Moo calling cards are also very inexpensive, and simple to setup through your Flickr account. I can also attest to the fact that they have top notch customer service. I had a problem getting my cards delivered, and Moo was on it from the

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second I figured out that there was a problem. That's a rare commodity in the world today. As rare as a gentleman with his own calling cards.

Remember the days of Floppy Disks? No? I guess I am getting old. Once upon a time, like when I was in college, and men wore powdered wigs and monocles, everyone carried around their documents, pictures and character files for the video game Wasteland on floppy disks. These behemoths could a wopping 1.44 megabytes of information. They also loved to stop working whenever you needed to access something important, like a great poem you'd just written or a downloaded list of cheats for Castlevania. Really, the only good thing about floppy disks is that they were portable. My  Verbatim U3 USB Drive is a geeky little piece of wizardry that I never leave home without. Contained on this microscopic hunk of silicon are several collections of my poetry, a copy of my resume, a couple dozen photos of my various engineering projects, a few photos of myself (you never know when you may need to whip up a profile for something on the fly), a couple of E-Books, a video of me giving a poetry performance, a copy of my phone book and address book, as well as a fully functional open source word processor and a copy of Firefox that loads right from this drive. More or less, I have a stripped down version of my Macbook with all my favorite and important documents that takes up almost no space and works with nearly any computer on the planet. I like to think of this little drive as my electronic Swiss Army Knife, because it can get me out of almost any computing jam, any time or anywhere. If someone would like a copy of one of my poems (probably a mentally ill pervert...) I can just give them one on the spot. If I meet someone interested in one of my bicycle frame designs, I can pull up the photos and plans immediately. If I need a phone number, it's there. Conversely, if there's a document, photo, song or webpage I'd like to hang onto for later, I can just pop it in my drive and make a copy. I like my Verbatim drive because it's large (1 GB), it has a cap for the plug side, a handy lanyard for attaching it to the inside of my bag so it doesn't get lost, and it was absurdly cheap. Actually it was free, I bartered building a set of wheels for someone and they gave me the drive. It is cheap at a store though. I don't know why everyone isn't carrying these around at all times.

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Being prolific is what sets apart the true geniuses in all branches of the arts. There's no question that Modigliani was a brilliant painter, and a genius, no doubt. However, he will never be spoken about in the same way that people talk about Rembrandt or Jane Austen. Why? Because he treated himself like shit, got sick and died before he could finish too many paintings (then his pregnant wife flung herself off the roof of their Paris apartment, but that's a whole 'nother tragedy for another day). No other architect in the modern age was as prolific as Richard Neutra. People talk quite a bit of smack about modern architects,proclaiming the genius of various people like Zaha Hadid. The problem with Hadid, and a slew of other modern architects is THEY HAVEN'T BUILT ANYTHING! Well, not nothing, but they have very, very little standing. He lived from 1892-1970, and he did one thing his entire life. He built. And built. And Built.  And built. The 'complete works' of most architects would amount to a few drawings scribbled on dinner napkin, or maybe a brochure similar to one you would recieve when looking for a cheesy place to go sightseeing. Neutra: Complete Works is an enormous book; it measures 18.7 x 13.2 x 2.4 inches,weighs 14 pounds and may be Taschen's finest publishing moment (Disclaimer: for the sake of full disclosure I feel like I have to say that I do work for Taschen). It's a monster physically, for someone who was a monster intellectually. You may not know Neutra by name, but I guarantee you know his work. He is the look of 'Golden Age' California.

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Very rarely does a book do  its' subject justice, if that subject is

an artist, but this book not only gives Neutra the respect he deserves, but actually enhances his reputation. This book is a masterwork of art in its' own right. From the introduction written by his architect son and partner, Dion Neutra, to the copious and beautiful photos by Julius Shulman,it is superbly executed. The sheer size of the book and the quality of the reproductions make the photos worth staring at for ages, while the detailed plans and architectural drawings help give a deeper understanding of what Neutra was all about. I love books. In fact I love books so much I have somewhere around 4,000 of them in my tiny Brooklyn apartment. Out of all the books that I own, and have owned in the past, this is definitely in my top three, and is definitely number one when talking about the pure aesthetic qualities of the physical book itself. Neutra: The Complete Works is a book that is just perfect in ever way, and as a book junkie and connoisseur, I do not make that claim glibly. Sadly, this book has been out of print for a few years, and if you can track down a copy for sale it's going to cost you a ton.

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I enjoy my I-Pod quite a bit, but truthfully there is no substitute for listening to the radio. I'm not being nostalgic either. There's something special about radio occuring in real time that separates the experience from that of listening to pre-recorded music.  Here in NYC, we're lucky enough to get a decent signal from WFMU (91.1), which has some of the most brilliant entertainment available in any format today, as well as our local NPR station WNYC (93.9). Those two station alone make it worth my while to have a radio. I realized that the junkie tuner built into my all in one stereo just wasn't cutting it, when I discovered this gorgeous beauty pictured on your left. The Dolmen Mini Radio designed by Rene Adda is so absolutely stunning that I would keep it on my desk if it did absolutely nothing. However, it is a radio as well as a funky looking box. A damn good radio at that. The controls are simple, with shiny chrome buttons for on and off,AM or FM, as well as volume up and down.It's is a very simple device without a million useless features that have parts that can break. The speaker is surrounded by more chrome, and a gigantic tuning knob sits on top of the shiny chrome plate at its' top. The antenna goes up and down to make it easy to take the Dolmen along with you. Which is further simplified by the fact that it runs on batteries. Having lived

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through both 9/11 in close proximity and The Great New York City Blackout (during which I passed a kidney stone) I can really appreciate the usefulness of a battery powered radio. Really though? It's the color. Have you ever seen a blue so fantastic as the blue on this radio? I'll admit, sometimes I just want to lick it, because I know anything edible this color blue would just taste so good. Like the wonderfully blue Boo-Berry Cereal. I saw the color of this radio from across the store, before I even knew it was a radio, but my mind was made up. I would have that blue thing, whatever it was! It makes me happy every morning just to see it hanging out on my desk, playing NPR while I drink my coffee.

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Riding a bicycle has been my primary means of transportation my entire life. I've never had a car. Getting around New York City by bicycle is hyper efficient, and once you've honed your survival skills it's actually a swinging good time. Getting around by bike presents a whole series of challenges. Where do I lock my bike up? What kind of lock do I use (simple,the Kryptonite NYC Fugghedabout Chain and a Guard Gate  Keyed padlock)? What kind of tires? What's the one burning questions that's always on every riders mind? What do I wear? I really have pondered this question for years, and until recently I could never find the perfect pair of riding pants. Chrome's Shins Riding Knickers are the ultimate pair of urban riding pants. To start with they are shants - short pants. They come to about mid calf,so they don't get caught in the drivetrain, but long enough to protect your legs from scratches and gunk. They are also the correct length so you don't look like an asshole when you're off the bike. The have a very, very thin chamois. [Emily Dickinson's Educational Tip of the Day: A chamois, pronounces sham-mee, is basically an ass pad that is usually built into 'real', ie spandex, ie embarrassing cycling shorts to prevent excess wear and tear on your booty during long rides. Yes, I wear those shorts when I'm on my road bike.]

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Because the chamois is much thinner than the type usually found in cycling shorts, it works while the pants are able to remain baggy, you can wear underwear if you so choose (although the last time I wore a pair at any time they had Yoda on them), and when you are off the bike getting a beer or shopping for books, you will be spared the ridicule of people thinking you are wearing an adult diaper. These shants are slightly stretchy thanks to the crazy nylon/spandex blend they are made out of, wind proof yet breathable and water resistant. Amazingly, if you get these suckers drenched in a rainstorm, they dry out cartoonishly fast. Almost like magic. However, it's the little details only a rider can appreciate that make these pants truly perfect. They are cut higher in the back, than in the front so your ass doesn't hang out of the back when you stand up on the pedals or get down in the drops. That is pure genius. The belt loops are enormous, and ridiculously reinforced so you can ride around all day with your Kryptonite chain pulling on your belt and not rip the belt loops off. Genius. The pockets zip closed

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so that your keys, change and i.d. don't go flying onto Madison Avenue when you have to jam on the breaks to avoid being crushed between Mister Softee and some douche in a Bentley talking on a cell phone and fingering his trophy wife. Most riders in NYC know it's a good idea to blackout the logoes on your bike with tape or reflective strips,so everyone thinks your Sachs is a $20 Huffy, and Chrome has gone through the trouble of doing that for you with your shants. There is just one very tiny, tasteful, embroidered logo on the front of one pant leg. In this day and age of 'branding' every single inch of everything, it's great to find a company that lets the quality of its' products, not a bunch of tacky logos do its' advertising. The best thing about my Chrome Shants is that I can lock up my bike, walk into a bar and hang out all night, and not only will no one suspect that I'm wearing cycling clothes, but I'll get compliments on the 'cool shorts' I'm wearing. That NEVER happens with cycling clothes.

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Cell phones and PDA's are a lot like guns. They can be incredibly useful, but in the wrong hands can cause absolute horror. Also like firearms, some people just shouldn't be allowed to posses or use them. In the past, I have had a terrible habit of not returning phone calls, messages and emails. Don't take it personally gang, sometimes I just couldn't get near my computer or figure out how my voice mail works. Since getting my paws on a Blackberry 8700c I've been hitting people back almost immediately. The email setup works perfectly, and I didn't have to bother with some corny absurdly long email address that has 'BlackBerry'  in it. It just works with my Gmail account. Having instant access to my email whenever I feel like it is terrific. I could never get into instant messaging or email on my mobile before, due to the fact that you had to type by pressing the number keys again and again until you found the correct letter (or until you click past it, and have to go through all the letters again, which is what happens to me). The full keyboard on the 8700 is what makes my Blackberry a workable part of my life, not just an expensive toy. The contact list on my Blackberry is able to sync up with my Macbook through Bluetooth, which has removed the paranoia I've been wrestling with for years: losing my phone which contains the only copy of the phone numbers of every person I know. I sleep better at night knowing my phone book exists in more than one place in case of disaster (like dropping my phone at a Lightning Bolt show and never seeing it again). There is a web browser that actually works, and you can view standard web pages with pictures and they look really, really good. I don't do too much web surfing 'On The Go', but it does come in handy when I'm trying to find a certain bar in a neighborhood I don't know (Canarsie, anyone?). The notepad is wild. If I get inspiration of some kind, I can just type it in, the send it Bluetooth to my Macbook for editing and revisions in Word. Time wasting is well taken care of with an MP3 Player, Zork and a NES Emulator. Oh, yeah, it's a mobile phone too.
I really searched high and low for a case for my Blackberry. I'm serious. I dragged my wife in and out of least 20 different stores in Manhattan and Brooklyn searching for a case. It seems the only case available for this Blackberry is that corny 'Mr. Businessman' fake leather holster with the belt clip. I'd rather just use a brown paper bag, thanks. I'm sure there is some turn of phrase or hackneyed saying for this, but I found a brilliant case five doors down where I work, which was of course the last place I looked. Mt good friends over at BAPE hooked me up with this out of control blue ape camo Blackberry case. Like every other thing A bathing Ape makes, it looks too sick for words, and there are probably only 4 of them in the entire universe. I'll vainly admit I like being the only kid on the block with a camo BAPE Blackberry case. It gets oohs, ahhhs and 'Where'd you get thats?' every time I take it out of my bag.

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Let's face it folks, America is a bunch of fatties. I don't begrudge anyone else their right to be as huge as they like (although I do think it's fairly sad that heart disease related to obesity is the number killer of Americans). Go ahead and grab that fourth half-gallon of heavy cream for your cereal. What I do hate is the fact that nearly every piece of clothing, in every store in the US is sized for fat people. I'm tall (6'1") and pretty thin (160 pounds)and it is like  Khe San trying to find a pair of pants that fit me correctly. Every pair I try on are either way too baggy and big around the waist, or if I can find a pair that fits my waist they are too short. All pants seem sized to fit pear shaped men with huge guts (and these men would seem to love pleats as well). Cue the Busby Berkly whirling stage sets, and in steps my hero J. Lindberg. My J. Lindberg pants fit me so perfectly, it is as if Gepetto, g-d of tailors, descended from on high and and sewed them directly on to my legs. Neither too baggy, nor too tight, they have that custom tailored look and feel. Every seam and stitch is perfect and there is not a stray thread anywhere. These pants have two metal buckles on the inside of the waist band for good holding power, but they can't be seen on the 

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outside of the pants. The same goes for the beautiful mint green lining. The lining is perfectly sewn in, in a rich creamy color, but no one can see it. These pants are so perfect, it's enough for only the wearer to know it is there. When you have these pants on, the empty pockets lay absolutely flush against your body and there is no bulge whatsoever. That is the mark of a truly fine pair of pants. I love these pants so much that I purchased several pairs because I was paranoid about ruining or losing a pair, and I just can't possibly get along without them. This is a very scary way to feel about a pair of pants, but I have never been lucky enough to own pants like this.

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'Lost Girls' is a brilliant masterwork by Alan Moore and Melinda Gebbie which depicts the erotic adventures of three young women. These aren't just any three young women. The three volumes of this graphic novel focus on Dorothy Gale from The Wizard of Oz, Wendy Darling from Peter Pan and Alice from Alice's Adventures in Wonderland as they journey into their sexual awakenings. Physically, the three hardcover, slip cased volumes are quite dramatic looking with gold leaf all over the place, lush full color illustrated pages and heavyweight paper, and uniformly lovely dust jackets. It's the type of book that would get pride of place on any shelf, and begs to be stared at. What's between the covers will just stop you dead in your tracks. Genius is a rare commodity, and a genius doing his best work is a rare force of nature that absolutely alters everything it contacts. 'Lost Girls' is an example of such a phenomenon at work. From the minute I laid eyes on this set I knew I was on to something special, and it is indeed special. This will most likely be remembered as the best work from one of the greatest writers of comics to ever live.

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Maybe you know me and my predeliction for all things Victorian. John Ruskin. I have had the hots for Charlotte Bronte since I was a teenager. I aspire to one day be William Morris, and be able to successfully write novels and poems, design buildings and print beautiful books. It's easy to take inspiration from people who have been stone cold in their graves for more than a hundred years, but Brooklyn has one place where the Victorians still speak each and every day. The Green-Wood Cemetery, founded in 1838 in the Gowanus Heights is the largest concentration of Victoriana in NYC, yet so few New Yorker's I know even know it exists. Allow me to blow up thy spot for a bit.

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If you take the N/R Train to get to the cemetery, you'll pass a strange little building on the corner opposite the gates. This is the McGovern-Weir Florist, and this building is unique in the Five Boroughs. Legend has it that this glass topped, slightly soaring and beautifully ramshackle structure was brought to Brooklyn after the 1904 St. Louis World's Fair.

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The sign, as well as the verdigris copper roof is brilliant. McGovern-Weir is still a one hundred percent functioning business, so it's easy to slake your thirst for a view of the inside of this building. I'm a sucker for decaying copper.

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It's a tidy little building on a somewhat untidy block. Strangely, breaking out a serious looking camera seems to make the natives chatty, and here was no exception. A young father and his kids were throwing around a football, and seemed curious why I was shooting so many frames on their block. Unbidden, he told me the house next door had, 'A long strange history. Oscar Wilde stayed there once.'  That is an odd Victorian coincidence. I haven't been able to verify this. It may be possible, Wilde definetly visited NYC for a while, but the particulars are somewhat vague. Hit me if you know.

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'A dreaded sunny day, so meet meet at the cemetery gates. Keats and Yeats are on your side, Wilde is on mine...'  I couldn't resist throwing in that Smiths quote, because it fits perfectly. Green-Wood has an entrance  worthy of the serious business of dying that goes on inside. The gates at the 25th Street entrance, are slightly newer than the rest of the site, having been put into place in 1860's. The pillars are Indiana Limestone, and the iron gates have just received a fantastic restoration by Jurgen Scoda. You will feel quiet and humble as you pass inside. This is architecture with a purpose, to effect the humans that interact with it. This is often missing in our modern environment, we moderns don't like to be humbled so often by our own creations.

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The Gatehouse is one of the  best examples of Victorian architecture anywhere in NYC, and possibly anywhere in the United States.Designed by English born architect Richard Upjohn, and built between 1861-1863 every inch of this buildings is beautifully detailed.  Don't forget to look up. Above the entrance ways are well preserved Bas Relief carvings grouped around the theme of Christian resurrection.  This buildings is also home to famous  Brooklyn Parrots, which you can see nesting and wheeling about most of the year.

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After passing through the gatehouse, you are no longer in the land of the living. Pop a coin in Charon's hand; you have crossed into the land of the dead.

The Green-Wood Cemetery gets my vote for the most peaceful place anywhere in New York City. Even on clear, beautiful days, it's so quiet you can hear the wind whistling over the tombstones. There isn't a Yoga class that can hold a candle to this place.

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If you act like a yahoo, this gent on the left is sure to make an appearance in your dreams.

Situated in a slight dip in the geography is the Green-Wood Chapel. The chapel has recently been restored, and is less creepy than most churches. The doors are usually open for observation and poking around. The outside is somewhat dour, but after all we are in a Victorian Necropolis, but the inside is quite 

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inviting. Again, remember to look up. There is an outstanding chandelier hanging from the ceiling that is worth checking out.
I also noticed that an overly chubby pussy cat has

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taken up residence in the chapel. This photogenic fellow is one of the living residents of Green-Wood. He appears to have a fan club that takes care of him, and looks to be far from the starving alleycats that are everywhere in Brooklyn.

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I'm much more of a dog person,but I figure every graveyard worth its' bodies needs a tabby cat.

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As you move away from the gates, you begin to soak in the real character of Green-Wood. It's spare at best, in the best meaning of the word. Sure there are gravestones, but there are  mausoleums as well, which aren't quite so common in the U.S. Each of these free standing tombs is an architectural masterwork in miniature. I'm personally partial to the pyramids. The Victorians were just discovering  Ancient Egypt, and it's surface influence pops up all over Victorian culture, especially with anything having to do with The Dead. The Egyptians had there entire culture pointing towards the afterlife, and the Victorians have taken this same tact in  many ways. Through a strange twist of fate, of once spent quite a bit of time in New Haven Connecticut, where there is an enormous Victorian necropolis, with a giant moniker carved in stone above its' gates that reads, 'And The Dead Shall Rise Again', with some faux Egyptian stonework.

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Up on her high horse, we a fantastic statue of Minerva, the Roman goddess of Wisdom and Artifice. Strangely, this isn't the only statue of Minerva in Green-Wood. When they weren't appropriating the Egyptians, they were looking back towards Ancient Rome. Those Victorians.

Overall, the condition of everything at Green-Wood is absolutely stellar. The grave stones, the tombs and the grounds are perfectly kept, and there isn't a shred of litter of vandalism anyplace that I've ever seen there, and I've been wandering around this place for a long, long time. I have always wondered, what happened to my ladies' head here? She doesn't seem to be part of any specific grave site that I 

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noticed, which may be why her head is missing. Vaguely reminiscent of Winged Victory of Samothrace because of her decapitation, be sure and pay this statue of visit. She isn't much for conversation, things being what they are, but it is an exquisite little piece of art. In the past I have entertained the idea that she may have been constructed without a head, as a nod to the Greeks or Romans.
Up on a little hill, opposite the small pond with the mobs of geese, is an elaborate little temple tomb. Ringing the tomb are some scary, snarling, teeth bearing wolf heads that are worth a close up look. Possibly they were placed on this tomb to scare off evil spirits so the interred could rest in peace?

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Even through years of weathering, I wouldn't want to meet this fellow in a dark alley. His teeth are still sharp as hell all these years later.

Graveyards play funny tricks on your mind, and play tricks with light and shadows on your visions. Every now and than you capture a specter with your Nikon.

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Here is the shadowy alter -ego of your narrator stalking the paths of the The Green-Wood cemetery to let you know what's going on in NYC.

One feature of Green-Wood that I have always loved are the amazing little signs that delineate the various pathways and roads that criss-cross and ring the whole place. These are much more than ornamental touches. It's terribly easy to get hopelessly lost in here.  I once became so lost in Green-Wood, during the most insane summer deluge, that the rain actually destroyed my notebooks in my backpack and broke my cell phone. If you visit, try to make a mental note of the little signposts that pop up frequently. They are wonderfully made, have quaint yet beautiful names, and are actually useful for navigation.

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Here you can see the sun starting to set over the sign for 'Sunset Path'. I really enjoy the sharp edges and spear like protrusions on these signs. They could have been boring little informative rectangles, like we use now all over New York, but they aren't. The Victorians were just better than us.

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On the right is a modern grave with a small covered votive. This makes me think of the relics that seem to cover every inch of Italian churches. Looking at pictures of The Dead, while among the dead lends a certain immediacy to living, I think. I agree it is also creepy.

When approaching the crest of the largest hill in Green-Wood, you'll start to make out a terrific panorama of tombs, the lake, and views of Manhattan, Brooklyn and Jersey City on a clear day. At the bottom of the hill is a miniature
Monticello esque round Roman temple.

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The siting looking down on this tomb is brilliant. I love looking at it, and I think the notorious cranky
Olmsted and Vaux are looking down with approval. Hey guys, this is laid out much better than your Fort Greene Park, right? Of course you disagree. Well, at some point in the future we'll have quite a bit of time to work this out amongst ourselves fellas.

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Just like in the land of the living, in the land of the dead, only the wealthy get to live and build on the shoreline. This chapel, sitting on the shore of the lake, is a fitting monument to the excesses of wealth. The copper doors have an outstanding patina of green verdigris, and the mini cupola on top is a tacky way to display your cash into the afterlife.

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It's hard to beat the view though. There are much less beautiful things you could be watching for eternity than this.

The Egyptians definitely thought you could take it with you. The Victorians did as well, but being a bit more civic minded, instead of snuffing out their pets for burial, they settled for nice statues of the same. I really love this hound. Him and his partner are guarding there masters bones for all eternity, remaining perfectly loyal down through the ages. I much prefer this type of eternal guardian to the bloodier Egyptian version. I make certain

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to pay these two a visit every time I visit Green-Wood. Be sure to give them a scratch on the ears. They're quite friendly as long as  you don't mess with their master inside.
I'm not sure who's buried in here. It's no one that I know, but between the dogs and the gorgeous Neo-Classical gate, I'm certain he had good taste.

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This casting reminds  me of Edwards Byrne-Jones. I imagine its' creator was familiar with his work, at least through prints or engravings.
In Full Metal Jacket, Joker gives a bit narration where he says, "The Dead know only one thing. It is better to be alive". This swan, swimming along and minding his own business, seems to know that better than anyone.

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One recurring theme, seen on all manner of tombs and headstones everywhere in Green-Wood, is Freemasonry. Ringing the lake, there is a huge cluster of Masonic graves. Many have the compass and rulers of the Masons. Quite a few others have carvings of the All Seeing Eye. The Masons were a hugely influential force in The Colonies, and all through the Victorian era, and the abundance of symbolic graves pays tribute to this.
I love a good conspiracy as much as the next guy, but not really convinced that they're controlling the world at the moment. Either way, the  Masons are heavily represented here in Brooklyn. This tomb also reminds me of time in New Haven, 

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where similar symbols point to the home of Skull and Bones.

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More than anything else, I appreciate Green-Wood as a place of extraordinary beauty, smack dab in the middle of New York City. Beauty can be thin on the ground in the Five Boroughs. Don't take that the wrong way, New York City has no bigger booster than myself, but truly gorgeous things are not exactly what NYC is known for. They're there, but this isn't Paris, where the truly beautiful is spilling into the gutters. We have to work a bit harder to finds views like the one above left.

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I like the austerity of this simple stone slab above ground tomb. It reminds of something the Etruscans may have left behind in Tuscany. This is a sturdy structure that I'm certain will  outlast all of us by a huge margin. There's something to be said for solid engineering, even to house the dead.

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On the opposite end of the lake, as you climb up the hill, you can catch more sweeping views of Jersey City. That tall, fairly hideous building in the distance is Liberty One, the tallest skyscraper in New Jersey.

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He may be remembered for telling young Americans to "Go West", but Horace Greeley, is firmly entrenched in East Coast soil for all time.  That's my wife taking in the bust of the former New York Tribune founder. His grave site is quite elaborate, with a copper bust, a few tableau's below, and a ring of relatives buried around him on lower ground. Strangely, Mr. Greeley is facing East. I wonder if that's an oversight, or is symbolic of him turning his back on the West because he's a New Yorker?

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That's Mr. Greeley getting busy on his old-school printing press, preparing another issue of the New York Tribune.

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Truthfully, my knowledge of the U.S. Civil War, is much spottier than it should be. I think I spent most of that year of high school smoking pot in the student parking lot. I do know that U.S. Grant was stationed for quite some time in my Brooklyn neighborhood, Fort Hamilton. It would make sense that his personal doctor, and his wife, are buried at Green-Wood. Remember folks,, the spirit of Grant and Douglas is with us when we Defend the Fort at all Costs!

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I really love graffiti. Especially old graffiti. This is only 40 years old,much younger than just about everything else in this place, but I find it very interesting how the words carved into this tree have grown and spread over time. You can see 40 years of tree growth in a second, that's something you won't find in a science textbook, but seems to illustrate the passage of time in a place that has changed very little in the last hundred years.

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This monster tomb sits on top of a hill, and  belongs to one of the wealthiest, most famous old line New York City families. I'm not going to tell you who. I want you to make the trek and figure it out. It's worth the trip here, which is the whole point of why I do this. I'm only interested in people exploring the city and learning something new.

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So stop. Take a look around. Notice the details, like the cast iron base holding up said stop sign. Green-Wood is really a unique place in New York. Sure there are other burial places, like Cypress Hills, and the two Marble Cemeteries, or the wonderful churchyard at St. Paul's. Green-Wood is different. I've been here dozens of times, and there is still so much I haven't seen. For instance, Basquiat is buried here, but I've never stumbled upon his resting place. I'd like to offer you this piece of advice. They lock the gates at 4 pm. For real, they will lock you in. I'm not kidding. As beautiful as it is here, I don't think any of us are quite ready to take up permanent residence yet. 
Until next time, keep it Victorian kids. - Sexy Jesus

One Day a year I wish I wasn't a New Yorker. The trains are over packed and running on a 'Holiday' schedule, which means they're barely running at all. The gutters run with vomit.  Every yahoo and dumb tourist in America jam the sidewalks, wandering five abreast in slow moving gaggles that prevent everyone from getting anywhere. People who are normally teetotalers drink too many sweet shots with names like 'Hot Sex' and walk in front of taxis. Non-homeless people take shits on the street. All this can only mean it's that time of year once more - New Year's Eve in The Big Apple.

When I was younger I used to look forward to New Year's Eve. When I was young I used to also wear pants that wear 8 sizes too big for me and pull my hair back in a ponytail, so I think there's something to said for gaining wisdom along with age. For the past five or six years, I've done my best to flee the boroughs on New Years's, and not return until the once a year party crew was safely hung over and out of commission and the  city safe for New Yorker's once more.  I decided to  take advantage of  a few work free days to make the trip down to Philadelphia for some Colonial architecture, boozing with friends and a chance to watch grown men wear dresses and play banjos while 9 year olds drink Yuengling on the streets during the world famous Mummer's Parade.

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Philadelphia was a booming city when the U.S. was founded, and many of the buildings put up there reflect  the economic and social rank of Illadelphia. For a city of just under a million inhabitants, Philadelphia has a disproportionate amount of outstanding Victorian buildings, like this outstanding beauty on the left. I have a soft spot for towers and turrets (maybe it's all that time I spent playing D and D as a kid...). When placed correctly,and in proportion, a tower can add a mysterious and stately air to an otherwise run of the mill home.

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I am especially intrigued by the three triangles that make up the facade of this home.  There are a handful of homes along these lines in New York, mainly in Victorian Flatbush, but in West Philadelphia they are everywhere. One of New York;s fatal flaws, which can also be seen as one of it's best features, is the obsessive view towards the future. We're so obsessed with looking towards tomorrow that we often level the past, destroying older buildings, for newer, bigger ones. Unfortunately, very little of Victorian New York remains, so we have to travel 90 miles South to get our fix of Victoriana.

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Through happenstance, I was staying with friends who live across the street from The Tower House, which offered me the rare opportunity to photography a building during different lighting conditions. This is something I rarely get to do during my architectural picture taking odysseys, so I felt duty bound to take advantage of it. Light can change so much about a building. There are even quite a few architects who've made their name wholly through the play of light on their works.

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Some part of Philly have been through hard times. There are entire neighborhoods that have been bombed out since the sixties and show no signs of a speedy recovery. While this is sad in many ways, it also offers the architectural explorer some rewards in the form of abandoned buildings.  While most of my architectural ramblings limit me to the outside of a building, I'm a big fan of the maxim 'Hey, if nobody else is using it, what's stopping me?'. It would be a waste to let a building go undocumented, right? The friends I was staying with brought me by this abandoned find on the way to the train station, and I couldn't resist a quick run inside. A building as big and gorgeous as this would have had its' potential recognized and been turned into condo's long ago in New York, so Irarely have these types of opportunities.

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The first thing I noticed about this  home  was the cement wall surrounding the  property, with trim painted green to match the home beyond the enclosure. We could go one for months about the ramifications of having a wall around a private home in a city. Endless amounts of theory has been written by architects and sociologists about this topic, along the lines of public versus  private space, a persons ability to control the streetscape or even the more mundane issues of privacy and security. It's a good discussion that I'd enjoy having, but here, in order not to derail this discussion of Philly architecture, I'll ignore all that theory, and just say that in this case, the wall around this home is a nice architectural feature that sets this home apart from its' neighbors both physically and aesthetically. It looks good here. After passing through the wide open doorway in the retaining wall, I stumbled onto an overgrown garden that runs right up to an early 20th Century all cement construction with superb detailing. Supporting the roof of the rear porch, are iron lattice columns, constructed in a pattern reminiscent of the vegetation that has taken over he yard. Each of the columns has a similar, but slightly different pattern belying their hand crafted nature. This house has several gables set at odd angles, and their is nicely milled wood trim giving each a strong outline. real lead glass has a certain shimmer to it than the factory made glass

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we use today just can't match. The tiny imperfections in each pane give them a certain sparkle, even on an overcast day like the one when I snapped these photos. The thin arch shape of the windows is mirrored in the doors, and both have very thin trim dividing the panes adding quite a bit of unique character. Nothing about this home is cookie cutter, which immediately endeared it to me. It made me sad, as I was riding the train home through Central New Jersey, watching row upon row of identical McMansion's roll bye. In the recent past, there was a thinking human behind each and every building you walked past, and that person was apparent in the little details, like the things that have attracted me to this abandoned West Philly abode. When homes are being cranked out as 'efficiently' as possible, its' the little details that are the first to go. You see very few irregular pieces because they add time and cost to a construction project.

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On the far right of the rear of the house, is a room that is made of mostly very large windows, and appears that it was some type of extra large party room. The double height ceilings and open glass wall look perfect for hosting enormous wild parties, which I imagine had to be the original architect's sole intention in constructing a room like this. There was a dumpster out front on the street here, so i can only assume someone else sees the potential in this walled in corner lot. Next time I'm in Philly I'll be sure to swing through that block and take a look.

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Another nice architectural feature of West Philly is the rows and rows of good looking brick apartment buildings. Nearly every apartment building boasts at least one or two features that separate it from the standard brick box that most apartment buildings are. A cupola here, some dormers with nice verdigris encrusted copper molding or noble equestrian headed hitching posts out front. Philly does the little things extremely well.  For instance, a few years ago I was strolling around Queen Village with my little brother, a long time resident of Philly, and he pointed out a fountain set into the wall in front of a house. The fountain had a plaque attached that said it was put there so that carriage drivers would be reminded to take a break on hot days and give their horses a drink.

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Queen Village is a Philly neighborhood that has recently gone through a serious period of gentrification. It's a quiet nabe, filled with oak trees, narrow streets, fantastic Colonial and Faux-Colonial buildings, and my personal favorite feature in cities: alleys. My brother lived in Queen Village a few years back, before it went and got all fancy, and since I began visiting him in that neighborhood, I have always enjoyed walking around there because the buildings have so much character. On New Year's Eve, I had the opportunity to hang out on the roof deck of a friends apartment in QV to watch the

fireworks in the rain. Being four stories up in a city where most of the buildings aren't much higher than that, I was treated to a 270 degree view stretching all the way across the river into New Jersey.  The most dominant object in view is the 142 foot tower you see in photo #1162. This tower, officially 'The Old Sparks Tower' is quite an interesting piece of Americana, and is the oldest surviving Shot Tower in the United States. A shot tower? Before the days when everything was made in a factory in China, early Americans needed to produce oodles of shot to keep their weapons at the ready; I'll leave it up to you to decide if this is a good or a bad thing. Shot was made by puring melted lead through a tube at the top of the tower, and by letting it drop through the distance of the tower, gravity would form it into a sphere, then it would land in a vat of water and cool down, becoming shot. That's a very ingenious use of gravity to get the job done.

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Looking out over the city, towards the Ben Franklin bridge, was the perfect backdrop for ringing in the New Year with some fireworks, despite the rain and fog. This was my first attempt at shooting something as difficult as fireworks with my Nikon. It was dark. Fireworks move fast. They are both bright and dim. 
In the end I decided to offer a beer up the camera gods and just fire away, swapping settings willy-nilly on the fly, and to my delight some of the shots came out much better than I had hoped for.

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The City of Philadelphia really went all out with their fireworks display. There was a solid fifteen minutes of the really good stuff coming in every shape and color conceivable. I have to make special note of the grand finale, which actually was terribly grand. Most times, the grand finale of a fireworks display is a let down, but Philadelphia saved the best for last and the entire sky began to edge over to day light as the New Year began. There is something both hokey and heartwarming celebrating a New Year four stories off the ground with a sexy kiss asthe night sky explodes behind you.

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I began 2007 with a proper miracle the next morning. I woke up without a hangover.My plan was to wake up early, which I managed against all odds, and travel from West Philly, to South Philly to meet up with my brother and catch the Mummer's Parade. My brother has been regaling me with stories about the Mummer's Parade for a long, long time, and I've never actually , made the effort to have myself awake and in Philadelphia at 9:00 AM on New Year's Day. That's a big set of tasks to complete. This, I made the commitment, and my first order of business was to be in Philly, and awake at 8:00 AM. Done! When I stepped outside to call my brother to find out where to meet him, I was heart broken to learn that the parade was canceled due to rain. $#@!%$ I'll admit, the chances of me performing this New Year's Day magic trick in Philadelphia a second time, are slim. I may go to my grave without ever having the pleasure of seeing Froggy Carr or the Two Street Strutters live and in person. It seems if I want to see grown men wearing dresses I'll have to go to Christopher Street, and if I want to see 9 year olds drinking Bud pounders I'll have to make my way over to Coney Island this summer.

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I waited for my train at SEPTA's 30th Street Station, a cavernous rail hub designed by Graham, Anderson, Probst and White and completed in 1933. The decorative ceiling is way off the ground, and gave me light vertigo as I lined up my lens to snap a photo. At the rear of the main hall is a memorial to railroad workers killed in WWII, with an enormous statue of the archangel Michael. My favorite feature of teh station of the extra large, classically Art-Deco lamps hanging from the ceiling, which give a delicate impression despite their enormous size. sadly, I was rushing to catch my train, so I didn't get to enjoy the architecture of the station as much as I would have liked to.
Next time. Philly is a great city, and I find myself there often enough, so I'll be sure to fill you in on my next visit to gape at buildings. Be sure to check back in the next few days for my tour of Brooklyn Victoriana in Green Wood cemetery. Until then...Bikes, Books and Buildings is what it's all about yo.

Ripping on tourists is one of the most popular ways New Yorker's kill time when riding on the subway. It's nearly as popular as complaining about your apartment, complaining about hipsters moving into your neighborhood and ruining it,complaining that the people who live above you are loud, complaining that your favorite bar

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Some of Broadway's theater's have survived, bud sadly, very few of the gorgeous details on these buildings have made it down through time to us. Most of the theaters are covered top to bottom with billboards and horrid, glowing neon and 60 foot television screens blasting advertisements into the ether and into our brains. Put up in 1926 by Rapp and Rapp, the Paramount is no longer a theater (It's the WWF Restaurant), but retains the neo-gothic detail work over the entrance arch, as well as the inviting original sign. This is a theater on Broadway that looks like it was designed to be on a street called 'The Great White Way'.

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Even though I hate his guts for various reasons, Frank Sinatra was a big fan of the Paramount in his younger swinging days. By standing on the corner of 43rd and Broadway, and slowly arcing your head 180 degrees from  left to right, you can take a speed course in advertising technology from the 1920's to the present. On one side we have the demure Paramount, with it's detailed, carved, burnished yet completely functional marquee. Across Broadway, at the opposite and of your field of vision, are several dozen electrically blazing neon monsters that ride 10 stories from street level. I have no love of advertisements at all, yet I;m not an imaginative hippie who expects them all to disappear tomorrow, so as much as I'd like that it isn't going to happen. Ads are a necessary evil (very evil in my mind), so given the choice of the two, I would much rather be forced to look at the somewhat stately and tasteful Paramount marquee than giant blinking tv screens. I have also

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seen numerous accidents occur because people are attempting to drive and watch the tv screen ads simultaneously. Now you know why I feel so safe on my bike, as jerkoffs from Connecticut fly down Broadway in their Hummers' chatting on their cell phones, smoking cigarettes, fiddling with the radio, blowing coke, getting blowjobs and watching the tv screens - simultaneously. Oh yeah, and driving too.

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This picture (DSC0435) struck me as the stock

image for winter time in Manhattan. Steam rising from the manholes and blanketing the streets as two guys attempt to beat the light and grab a taxi.

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Andrea Palladio would be very proud with the facade of the former Lyric Thater. Now part of the Ford Center, architect Victor Koehler put up this mini Neo-Classical suprise in 1903, and it has been delighting theater patrons ever since. Koehler's proportions on the triple arches are exquisite, and detail (look out for deer and snakes) in the carvings is so fine it is hard to appreciate from street level using the naked eye. I'm also not able to ascertain the three gents residing in the alcoves.

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If it isn't bad enough that entire Theatre District has fallen victim to plastering advertising on every available surface, it has also fallen victim to doing the same with its' historic intellectual property. The grandly named New Victory Theatre was recently renames the Hilton Center For Performing Arts. This trend is tragic in a way, especially considering all the wonderful Neo-Classic names given to New York Theaters over the last millennium, such as the Apollo Theater (their spelling not mine), The Lyric and The Empire. Now all we get are crummy corporations monikers withe equally as worthless remodeling jobs.  The New Victory was completed in 1899 by Albert Westover, who is well known for being one of the first architects to design movie theaters when movies were brand new, and still called 'moving pictures'. This is one of the highlights of Westover's career, and the New Victory defines the word grand to a 'T' (it even received on of the coveted  and stingily granted larger sized pictures in the final guide written by my boys, Willesnky and White).

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  Pay special  attemtion to the  glass canopies above the entranceway, which are tastefully light by rows  of bulbs in arches  that seamlessly blend into the detailed stonework beginning at the second floor. Peeking out from above the canopies, observing the lines of tourists

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waiting to get inside, are sculpted heads of Hermes and Athena, which fit in well with the original victory motif. The balustrade is separated from below by four smaller goat heads, a symbol of victory as week. Your charming author also happens to love goats, was once butted by a goat the Prospect Park Zoo, and would keep a goat with a very long beard as a pet if it were allowed to do so in Brooklyn. Oscar Hammerstein said of the New Victory, "The perfect parlor theater...a drawing room of the drama dedicated to all that is best in dramatic and lyric art." It's hard to get a better endorsement of your good taste than Oscar Hammerstein, eh?

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Legions of designers burn through millions of man hours attempting to capture the look of signs like this, to varying degrees of success. Quite a few are really impressive actually, but the truth being, there is just no substitute for time. Entropy at work is something that I have a specific interest in, and something I have written about in the past quite a bit. This sign is perfection. It's dead simple - 'Garage' - it tells you what the place is, and since it is sticking out above the entrance, it serves a second function by telling you where the place is, even from a block or two away. This sign has feeling. It makes a person feel that Joseph Mitchell might just walk out from under it with a bottle of Old Smuggler. What advertising signs do that now? When looking at some  of the modern sign in Times Square, instead of seeing Joseph Mitchell, I expect to see a 12 year old Japanese girl having a seizure in a tub of Palmolive dish soap and spoiled eggs. Not good.

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Signs are no longer designed to be beautiful, functional or useful. They are only designed to trick you into buying something you don
't really need through gimmicks like flashing lights and corny video game characters with 'rebellious attitudes'. Our generation is so deprived of good signs, we don't even get to have simple historic brass markers that let us know that we're in Times Square, which is called Times Square because because it is where the New York Times' Offices were located. This is the same reason that Herald Square is known as Herald Square, because in the past, the offices of the New York Herald were located there. I learned those two facts while riding an uptown 'R' train several years ago. The motorman was quite talkative, and gave a little speech at each stop, where he explained to all the passengers how Herald and Times Squares received there names. He was the only motorman I've ever heard do that in all my years riding the subway, and what's more, he actually spoke in such a way I could clearly understand what he was saying. That's the real miracle here.

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This nicely carved urn, on an otherwise non-descript office building, reminded me of the troubled Euphronius Krater at the Met. Inspired by the urn, John Keats poem, 'Ode on a Grecian Urn' is a fine example of how art of one stripe, a drinking cup, inspires art of another stripe, a poem. This decorative brick is a further example, whereas a poem or an urn, inspires an architect to bring a little bit of Keat's into his building, and into everyone's day that walks past.

When I was a teenager Times Square was SCARY. People often reminisce wistfully for the 'Deuce of the past. Now I'm no fan of the gross, sterile,commerce and advertising driven 42nd Street that is Mayor Giuliani's legacy the city. On the other hand, I can now make my trips to the Playpen without dodging bullets, aggressive syringe wielding beggars and cops who shake down scared 

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white teenagers trying to go to their first peepshow. Times Square used to be place after place like the Playpen, until Giuliani passed ordinances making it very difficult for any peep show, strip club or sex toy shop to stay in business. The Playpen is one the remaining few, and even they've toned down their facade quite a bit. Formerly emblazoned with a neon woman in a lewd position, now we have a neon World Trade Center. Which is more bizarre? In order to get a feel for what the old Times Square looked like, just imagine the facade of the  Playpen (the lighting, the color scheme, the marquis) into the hundreds, lining every block. Add in an army of female hookers, several dozen strung out rent boys, screeching trannies, some real live pimps in full regalia, a few German tourists being mugged and you've got the basic idea. That's all gone now, but by some act of g-d, the Playpen defies all logic and remains.

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The Playpen is  housed in a unique building for it's location. Although, if buildings in Manhattan reflected their surrounding areas and general purpose, the Playpen would actually be a cardboard Maytag box, resting in a pool of vomit on a curb down the Bowery. Instead we have an ornate pink stucco building that reminds me of the Alamo, both physically, and spiritually. The Playpen is where porn is taking its' last stand on the 'Deuce.

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The Music Box Theater is somewhat low key for a Broadway theatre.  Unrestrained  gaude and  lights a plenty are the usual order of the day, so this Federal Revival facade is a nice change of pace from its' neighbors. I especially like the row of dormers jutting out from the roof. The Music Box was designed by Crane and Kiehler and completed in Broadway's first heyday in 1920.

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Yes, I do continually rag on advertisements here on Buildings, Bikes and Books. I will make an exception for Mr. Peanut, mainly for the reason that he is wearing a monocle. It's sad that monocle's have gone out of style. It is also odd that monocle's immediately conjure up images of creepy Nazi overlords and stodgy art critics, otherwise I am certain that monocles would have made a comeback by now. The only thing better than Mr. Peanut wearing a monocle, would be Mr. Peanut wearing TWO monocles. That would be hip.

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Maybe the North Pole is technically the center of the Christmas world, but the Tree at Rockefeller Center is much more accessible and sees many more visitors. For generations of New Yorker's, the Tree symbolizes Christmas in New York. Visiting the tree on a Sunday afternoon is an enormous mistake. It makes a European soccer match seem like a picnic, and is the  fastest way to lose every drop of Christmas good cheer that may be residing in your body. The crowd are staggering. People push and shove you out of the way, so their bratty little kids can get a better look at the tree. People hit you in the face with telephoto lenses. Overflowing Macy's bags are used as bludgeons and clubs. Parents scream at the poor suckers working the ice skating rink when they hear there is no chance that their family, who did make reservations months in advance, will not be skating that afternoon. Melees break out over Santa's lap.

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In short, there is nothing less in the true spirit of of Christmas than heading out to see the Rockefeller center tree.  A few years ago, a friend who has just moved to the city begged me to take her to see the tree. Begged. I agreed on one condition, that we would go after 10pm on a week night, when all the horrid children were in bed, and their parents  were  far , far away in the suburbs of New Jersey.  We arrived at the tree shortly after ten and amazingly, there wasn't a person in sight. It was perfect, and for the first time in my life, I was actually able to see the tree in full view, and still be in a good mood. It actually did look beautiful in quiet, and was somewhat majestic when able to be seen without jostling. I started to actually feel the overwhelming spirit of Christmas overtake me. Then, they shut the lights off.

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I was hoping that this wooden soldier would come to life, and begin attacking the mobs of revelers with his drumsticks, beating them away from the tree. This Sunday also happened to be the day a Tuba Convention was scheduled. I'm not kidding. Just to add to the chaos, there were several hundred people blaring on tubas, and a man singing who had the worst voice I have ever heard perform in public. This combination hurt not just the ears, but the soul as well. Rockefeller Center at Christmas  is scarier than any horror movie made in the last 10 years.

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My advice to all of you, is to just avoid Rockefeller Center anytime near Christmas. The Plaza is a decent enough public space the rest of the year, but once a year it is transformed into a horror show of monstrous proportions. Tree or no tree, tubas or no tubas, screaming kids or no screaming kids - it just isn't worth the years it will take off your life to go for a visit. My suggestions, and quite possibly the absolute antithesis of Rockefeller Center is the tree at the Met. The Met's Christmas Tree, decorated with antique ornaments, and placed in the stately quiet of the Medieval exhibits, is the most wonderful physical representation of Christmas you will see anywhere. It's quiet, and a little bit dark. The tree has no garish modern colors, as all the ornaments are at least 100 years old. It is surrounded by a nativity at the base which is powerful, and religious,not quaint and campy like most others seen everywhere else. The Met is balm to heal yourself after being wounded in Midtown.

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One thing you can always count on in New York City is diversity. Here's a woman wearing a garbage and nothing else. The light from this photo comes from the windows of a store where they sell shoes that run $2,000 (USD) a pair. She is about to be arrested by the police, and is surrounded by people dropping $6 (USD) a cup for hot chocolates. Maybe someone should show her the true meaning of the holiday and help her out?

On the bike front...Pedicabs, or pedal taxis have been in the news quite a bit lately. We've heard cabbies complain about them, saying they are stealing there business. Drivers in the city are complaining that they are unsafe and take up too much room (less room than your SUV, but hey, who measuring right?). Cycling and environmental advocates say they are a great solution to traffic and exhaust problems. Who knows. If you've been reading BBB for a while, you'll have seen me mention these way before the 'real' news guys caught on. I used to work as a bike mechanic at one of the only shops in the city that would touch one of these, so I've met and spoken with the drivers for quite a while and I definitely side with them. I'm also someone who rides a bike in New York City a few thousand  miles a year, so I'll always side with the cyclist. Now this picture is something a bit different on the pedicab front. The Eight Person Bike!

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My obsession with the 8 Person Bike began about 5 years ago, when I moved to Midwood Brooklyn and started hanging around Coney Island a lot, both winter and summer. I spent a lot of time on the  boardwalk just watching the ocean, sketching and writing.  I began to notice that every now again, a guy in his early 30's, with a few senior citizens would come whipping down the boardwalk on an 8 person bicycle, similar to the one pictured above. Being a total bike junkie, I became very curious about this apparatus. As it passed by one day, there was a cardboard sign taped to the front of the contraption which read, 'Free Bicycle Rides: Inquire Within'. I jumped out from my usual table at Ruby's on the boardwalk and flagged the bike down. I asked about a free ride, and the guy told me to jump on. It was the younger guy I always saw piloting the bike, what turned out be his 79 year old mother, and another senior citizen couple and myself, riding down the boardwalk. I soon learned that The Driver had this bike specially made in Sweden, because  his mother loved to cycle up and down the boardwalk,but had become a little weak in her old age, and was nervous about losing her balance and riding alone.

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Her son purchased this crazy bike so his mother could still enjoy riding,and they could spend time together, while some other folks from her old age home could also get some fresh ocean air. This honestly blew my mind. The bike was an amazing piece of engineering. The 'Pilot' would steer, and everyone had the option to pedal. Considering the weight of this machine, it was surprisingly easy to get going at a pretty good clip. The best feature, in my eyes, was that everyone on the bike sits in a circle, so it lends itself to conversation. I had a really good time kibitzing away with everyone on board, hearing stories about Old Coney Island before I was born, and getting snippets of daily gossip about people I didn't know. This also gave me tremendous respect for the son who got this bike imported from Sweden, just him and his Mom could spend time together. That's real respect for your Mother, and it greatly impressed me. Over that winter and spring, I took a few other enjoyable rolls down the Coney Island Boardwalk. As the summer came, I told more and more of my friends about this Rube Goldberg bike, but sadly it never appeared. I wondered why the old folks rolled all winter long, but as soon as the weather turned nice, they disappeared. With older folks being involved, I sadly thought the worst. I got my answer a few weeks into summer, with a small article in one of the local South Brooklyn papers. There was an article that explained that the 8 person bike had been stolen from the parking lot of a supermarket where the owner let them chain it up. Crazy, who could possibly steal something so large, unique and obvious as an 8 person bicycle? It turns out, crackheads. The article explained that the bike was reported stolen to the Coney Island Precinct a few weeks ago. One night, in the pouring rain, two officers on patrol noticed an 8 person bicycle cruising the back streets of Coney Island with 5 passengers singing, yelling and whooping it up. What drew the officers attention more than even an 8 person bike taking a cruise at 2am, was that one of the passengers appeared to smoking crack as he pedaled down the road! The cops gave chase, and after a block of pedaling, the occupants got off, scattered and ran. The police managed to catch one of them, who told the cops they had found the bike just sitting in the middle of Surf Avenue and decided to go for a ride. The man was arrested and the bike was recovered and returned. Pretty amazing story from every angle.
From Wild Neon signs, to monocles, Neo-Classical facades and crackheads riding 8 person bicycles, such ends another installment of Bikes, Books and Buildings. Thanks for reading about my adventures as I wander around New York City with my trusty Nikon documenting architecture, bike culture and interesting goings on. Thanks for wasting some time with me.

This afternoon I was on my way back from the Fort Hamilton Post Office, walking along Fifth Avenue in Bay Ridge when I noticed some very thick, black smoke pouring out of an MTA access way in the street. People working in the stores and shopping along

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is one of my favorite pastimes, although I carry a Nikon as opposed to a Leica. As I joyfully snapped away, the smoke got thicker and thicker, and the smell was definetly that of chemicals and metal burning. It wasn't the almost cheerful smell of a fireplace, or the common, at least here in Brooklyn, smell of a building turning to ashes. It was more like the smell of my ancestral homeland, North Jersey.

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Even with the fireman about, and Con Ed standing around, the smoke was getting thicker and the smell was getting worse. My curiosity told me I should hang around, at least I would have something interesting to tell my wife when I got home. I've noticed, since I started carrying a camera everywhere the last few months, that when you're watching the world through a viewfinder it seems surreal, and brings about a degree of disconnect no matter how close you are to the action. This can be a both a positive and negative things, as I have heard Jim Nachtwey discuss with elegance. I was too busy lining up shots and checking the light to notice just how many people had stopped their lives to watch smoke pouring out of the street. I'd like to say it's something you don't see everyday, but in Brooklyn, it something you see about every other day.These photos were taken in very bright afternoon sunlight,

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although it appears it's dark out. That's how much smoke was building up in the streets. Since it was
mainly chemicals and metal that was burning, the smoke
was much heavier than air, and it sunk and covered the

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street, bringing dusk an hour or so early. It reminded me a lot of the way lower Manhattan smalled on 9/11, just less dense. It's a an odd smell, and one that's hard to ever forget.

One very drunk white guy in his 40's kept trying to cross the caution tape trying to get to a bar. He told me he stepped outside to have a smoke, no bad pun intended, and now he was stuck on the wrong side of the line and his beer was getting warm. We've all got our priorities, and nobody wants their $4 dollar beer getting warm.

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On the left, you can see my new Chasidic buddy. We started chatting,and after spending a few years living in Kensington, Brooklyn, I picked up a lot of Yiddish and Hebrew slang, so we quickly became disaster buddies. I told him I was in architecture school, and he asked if I ever worked down in the subways. Nope - those are the engineers, so I was basically as clueless as he was, though I imagined that it was a transformer burning up, because there aren't too many thing underground that can cause a fire like this.

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Then my buddy pointed to the hole and said, 'Look! Look! There are flames shooting out! Quick! Take a picture! Take a Picture!'. He was correct. Large flames were indeed shooting out of the hole in the street.
It's fairly difficult to take a good picture of an oscillating flame from 30 feet away, but I did my best.
I knelt down,shot the zoom all the way out and hit the shutter as fast as my camera would let me. I'm pretty

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certain that the fellows from Con Ed had abandoned ship by now and gotten out of the hole, because even the NYFD were backing up at this point. Me and my Chasidic pal probably should have done the same.
The smoke wasn't quite as dense as it was a minute before, but the flames were large and jumping a good 3 or 4 feet above the street at times.

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There was a festive mood on Fifth Avenue. The jolly Chasid, the Man Who Wanted His Beer Before It Got Warm, a beautiful Eastern Euro woman in fishnets, some kids from the Catholic school up the street, the woman from Dunkin Donuts eating munchkins outside the store, Con Ed and the Fire Department. With the Christmas decorations hanging above the street from the light posts, the fire fit right in.Nothing brings strangers together like a blaze.

A second later, an ear shattering explosion ripped through the air. All the manhole covers I could see in front of blew open and flew up into the sky. The oxygen got sucked out of the atmosphere where we were standing. Every car alarm for blocks went off all at once. Some type of powdery, but slightly substantial debris flew into my face, My Chasidic buddy grabbed my parka and screeched like a little girl. The crowd turned from jolly to panicking in a heartbeat. The lights went out in some of the stores and buildings. People began running down the side streets. The firemen hit the deck. Things went to shit quickly. More smoke poured out of the mystery hole.

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I was kept snapping shots, although I noticed that I was deaf in one ear.

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More fire belched out of the streets. I half expected to see Gandalf the Gray pop out of that hole, shortly followed by a whip wielding Balrog.
I figured out that the crud that hit me, and was resting in my hair and on my face, was actually broken pieces of asphalt from where the manhole covers had ripped from their moorings before flying into the atmosphere. Luckily, they landed on parts of the street that were not occupied by any of out merry band of gawkers. Flames continued flaming for another few minutes, and they the firefighters started spraying foam down the hole. I have quite a bit of respect for the NYFD - I wouldn't want to stand that close to a hole that contains elements of physics powerful enough to dislodge a blocks worth of manhole covers.

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The fire foam did it's work in a few minutes, and soon the flames were no more, and we were suddenly a crowd without  a purpose. Everyone went back into their shells, and the camaraderie that I have found only appears in the face of disaster when people quickly run up on mortality, faded.


Fifth Avenue slowly started to inch back to normalcy.
As you can tell from the photo on the right here, it was a bright sunny afternoon,

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but the smoke from the fire really changed the physical

appearance, and made it appear quite dark. I haven't gotten the 'Official' scoop from the 'real' news as to what actually blew up down there, but I'm certain the local Bay Ridge papers will have quite a bit to say about this. I didn't notice any of there reporters on the scene, but then again, I think they just make up their stories anyway.
Once again, I have cheated death. My own curiosity got me sprayed with burning asphalt, inhaling toxic fumes and dodging flying 75 pound manhole covers. I wouldn't trade it for anything.

I've never attempted to hide my geekiness. I played enough D and D growing up that I could have mastered several instruments in the equivalent time. I have participated in Magic: The Gathering Tournaments. With the help of my brother, I have sadly intimidated people younger than me while playing Magic The Gathering. I'm way, way, way into Road Bikes. I ride somewhere around 250 miles a week. I wear spandex shorts,  cycling jerseys, funny little cycling hats with matching socks.

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I was walking down to water this afternoon to continue my sketching and photo project about the Verrazano Bridge, when I came to the corner of 86th Street, which

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is the main shopping drag in Bay Ridge, when I noticed a fairly large line of people camped out in front of Circuit City. I'm not using camped out as a clever euphemism either. Some people in the queue, which wrapped around the block, had tents, blankets, air mattresses and fairly elaborate entertainment setups.

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I was curious to see what this was all about. Was Bono giving out free handjobs? Was Beyonce going to sit on the faces of the first 200 people in line? Was Mayor Mike holding a housing lottery where the first fifty people would get the chance to purchase an apartment for less then $1,000,000 (USD)?  After a few questions, I learned it was none of those things.

These fanboys were waiting for a shot to buy a  Playstation 3. I asked the fellows at the head of the line how long they had been there. Since Tuesday! This was Thursday afternoon. I asked when the Playstation 3's would go on sale. Saturday! I am amazed by their 

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commitment on one hand, but I am somewhat disgusted by the whole scene on the other. What bothers me most is these poor folks have been duped into sacrificing days of their lives just for a chance to get a product from some horrible corporation that could give two shits about them. Sony sues grandmas who use Limewire. They package spyware in their legitimate software. Sony are a bunch of creeps.  The people waiting in line gain nothing  but a chance to blow their money. That's scary. It's not like waiting in line for a concert ticket, where your wait will hopefully get you a unique and worthwhile experience.Something you'll hopefully remember with a smile until your brain turns to mush and you don't even remember how to control your bowels. When you wait in line for Playstation 3, you get a chance to have $600 bucks disappear from your pocket, for a product you'll be able to get by just walking into a store in two weeks.

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The horrible truth is Sony Corp., through commercials, bought magazine articles, paid for blogs and rampant hype has suckered these people into believing that they will be special if they are among the first to buy this product.These two young ladies have been sleeping in a

tent, eating egg and cheese sandwiches, basically simulating the life of a homeless person for five days. This is the basic equation: Live like a homeless person on the sidewalk on the side of an extremely busy Brooklyn thoroughfare = gain the possible chance to spend $600 rocks to be the first to have a video game system that according to first reports doesn't even work correctly.
 
I know that Colnago only makes 50 units a year of certain models of their bikes, and I have Colnago lust bad. You won't find me playing homeless to get one. The point being, this is degrading. No company should treat their customers this way, or encoyrage to act this way and live an inhuman existence. This isn't like the guys dresses up as Chewbacca and Obi-Wan; they all have huge smiles on their faces. The Playstation line dweller all seem miserable, and there isn't a smile to be found. Except this guy with arms raised and fingers out thrist. Him and his mother were certain they would be victorious.

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They just seemed really stoned to me. His mother kept trailing behind me the whole time I was snapping photos asking me how much she could sell her PS3 on Ebay for. In a few of the pictures, you'll notice a woman with a blanket over her head. She told me she had to cover her face, because she told her boss she was extremely ill, and couldn't come to work for a week. So she could wait in this line in front of Circuit City. She was worried her boss might see her in a picture and she would get busted.

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These folks jumped onto a nearby wireless network and were sending regular updates to a PS3 forum, as well as checking out the current PS3 auctions on Ebay. If you didn't know that these people were waiting for a PS3, you would probably think that a shanty town had sprung up in Bay Ridge. It certainly smelled like one had. Everyone was in pretty bad humor, and they still had another two days to go.

I think the part that bothered me the most, was a conversation I heard two Circuit City employees having, around the far side of the building, away from where the queue was. They were joking with each other that there were originally 20 PS3's for sale, but the manager and employees had grabbed 10 for themselves and there friends. The manager told them that if people waiting asked how many PS3's they had, to say enough

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for everybody. The huge line outside was great publicity for the store and for the PS3 launch. These are just my random thoughts I want I think is a really bizarre, but very sad situation. I originally thought I would have a grand old time posting these pics and tearing these people apart. Now, I find that while I'm glad I took these photos to document an interesting phenomenon, that phenomenon is ultimately a sad one, that shows off very well the horrid levels to which modern society can drag its' people down.

There are certain books that I find myself going back to again and again, year after year. In a few cases, I have actually read these books to the point of disintegration.

Rembrandt's Eyes

AIA Guide to New York City

these boroughs contain an enormous amount of amazing structures that rival or best their prettier sister across the river. The AIA guide is to other NYC guidebooks what the OED is to dictionaries. These other guidebooks are amateur hour. The AIA guide is physically enormous : 1,055 pages and weighing in around 5 pounds. It most resembles the bricks it deals with. This is the guidebook that has info even the most seasoned New Yorker's would strain to know. It details, many times with a picture, always with an address and witty commentary, every building of even slight architectural worth in all Five Boroughs. I have been a huge fan since I stumbled upon the Third Edition in 2000 while slogging in the dust filled trenches of The Strand Bookstore , and  I've suffered carrying  this beast around in my trusty Jansport since then.

I decided to take advantage of the creepily warm weather the past few days, and see what White and Willensky  had to say about my new adaopted Brooklyn neighborhood, home of disco, guidos, goombahs and the ever looming bridge, Bay Ridge.

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My tour began with a stroll down 72nd Street, and while searching for a certain old church, I stumbled onto a gorgeous remake of a Federal style house. Bay Ridge

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is a jumble of architecural styles, but unlike many other Brooklyn neighborhoods, people here seem to take  quite a bit of pride in their homes, regardless of style and importance. I'm not certain if it's because more people own their homes here, but each time I leave my apartment I feel as if I'm in Mary Poppins, because of how many denizens of the neighborhood are outside sweeping up their sidewalks. I'm still waiting for Julie Andrews to pop out of the hedges at the end of my block.

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There's some nice stonework over the portico of this church on 72nd street. Maybe I'm a sucker who grew up in an Italian neighborhood in New Jersey, but I have a

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soft spot for tacky lawn ornamentation, especially  wishing wells. You won't see one of these in Manhattan.

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(DSC0036) The Bay Ridge United Methodist Church, built in 1885 snagged my eye because of the nice opposition of green ashlar with real brownstone trim. One thing I've learned hawking out building over the years, is real brownstone is pretty real in NYC. Real brownstone was absurdly expensive, even a hundred years ago, and it's a soft stone. It doesn't last. The weather chisels it down mighty fast, so quite a bit of what appears to brownstone isn't. This is the real deal.

There was a time when people cared about learning, and knowledge was a valuable  commodity. I'm not talking MP3 copyright's either. Gears for the engineers? Harps for the musicians? Lamps of knowledge? Stylised swirling atoms? On the front of the Bay Ridge Branch of The New York Public Libraryis this beautiful cast iron homage to learning. The rest of the building is a somewhat hideous mid 60's take on modernism that doesn't deserve a picture, but here is something unique and beautiful. I'm no hater of the modern world by any means, but these symbols here bring me back to a time when people cared deeply about learning, beyond the monetary rewards it can bring a person. C'mon, there's a harp, for g-d's sake.  I hear the newest brand of the NYPL will have dollar signs and a stylized M-16 carved into the window arches.

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As a child, these Fallout Signs were allover my grammar school, and gave me Cold War nightmares. I'm glad they're still around to scare todays children. Although, by  now we know that  a few inches of concrete won't do squat to protect anyone from a nuclear explosion, nevermind the fallout. Radiation proof desks anyone?

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As I was snapping these photos, I noticed a large apartment complex was on fire down the bloc. Then I noticed the Eyewitness News van, and I thought to myself, 'Wow, they must be psychic or have set the fire themselves, because they beat the NYFD here!'. On the other side of the news van, I saw Miss Sexy News Reporter, who looked at me, a bit puzzled and said 'What the hell is going on here? Is that building on fire?'.  They do an amazing job teaching the powers of observation at those journalism schools, eh?
It's probably something I picked up during my years living in SoHoin Manhattan, but I

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am enamored with NYC's cobblestone streets. It's a great suprise to walk down some block and find these leftovers from New York's gaslight days. Most of the cobblestone streets have been paved over by now,  but here  and there  you'll get a chance to play Victorian New Yorker. This is a quiet little block just off 3rd Avenue. Those are my limited edition Nike Pele kicks

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for the fellow sneaker whores out there.

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Here's a gaudy but intricate tile mural, across the street from the Bay Ridge Masonic Temple. Completed in 1890, this building was originally the  home of the Exempt Fireman's Association. Exempt from what, we can only wonder.No longer a Masonic Temple, or home to the

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mysteriously exempt fireman, if you look closely at DSC0070, you can see the buildings Masonic heritage below the sign for the current owners, the New Hope
Fellowship.  This building wears its' past proudly. In
addition to the faded Masonic signage, the seals of the
old volunteer fire company are clearly visible above
the entranceway on the cornice, over the windows and
on the keystones. There are some Masonic symbols in the

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stained glass windows as well. If you have sharp eyes
you'll pick out the name 'Blythebourne', which was an
earlier incarnation of the Bay Ridge neighborhood.

White and Willensky call this building an 'archeology

lesson' above ground. That's an astute observation. Studying this building gives you an idea of how many different uses a building in Brooklyn serves over its' lifetime. Here's a closeup

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of the entranceway to help you pick up on all
this history.

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Here's a bit more fuel for the fire of my lawn ornament kitsch fetish - a nicely patinaed sundial  in a small private park dedicated to a local fireman who perished in the 9/11 attacks. A cheery homage to a sad event. Too bad it's locked and closed off to the public.I'm definetly of the opinion that all public should spaces should be just that - public and open. Fuck Gramercy Park and its' ilk.

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I'd like to nominate this schizophrenic duplex for my 'Worst Conceived Renovation in Brooklyn' award. Ouch! I understand every building wanting to have a distinct character from that of  its' neighbors, but c'mon? If you look at the apex of the roof, this horror is most apparent. I almost knocked on the door to let the owners know about their prestigious nomination, but thought better of it.I might get shot around here.

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The Flagg Court Apartments, buildt between 1933 and 1936 (Ernest Flagg, architect)are a stunning piece of efficient apartment design in the midst of the mostly single family homes in these parts. Ernest Flagg, who also designed the Singer Building and Scribner Building (one of my personal favorites) in Manhattan, really had his brain working overtime when he put this complex up. At the time it was built, it featured reversible exhaust fans, and outside shutters to regulate the temparature inside. Not a big deal now, but at the time this quite innovative. Additionally, Flagg Court was one of the first buildings to use finished concrete floors that double as the ceiling for the floor below. That's efficient architecture. Although locked, the courtyard with it's pseudo-Palladian temple and fantastic landscaping is quiet and beautiful. Compared to the average concrete monstrosities that pass as building courtyards in the rest of the cities, this is a hidden gem.

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Flagg court is the type of building that people deserve to live in, and Ernest Flagg definetly had living well in mind when he drew up the plans. Kudos Ernest. The fact that the buildings are still well kept and filled with people 70 something years later says a lot, especially here in New York, when buildings are redone or disappear every five years. I aspire to design buildings that accomplish these goals.

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The 'ridge' in Bay Ridge, refers to a huge piece of stone that moved here at some point during the last ice age, and which a good portion of the neighborhood is built on top of. One cool side effect of building a neighborhood on a huge glacial ridge is the  necessity of  step streets. In some places, the terrain is so steep that the Civil Engineers had to cut out slabs and  build steps to get up and down, because the grade is too step for any road or sidewalk to make its' way up.  This is a very cool and unique feature of Bay Ridge, and although I'm not certain this is the only place they exist in NYC, these are the only ones I've ever seen.

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Nothing like a trike. I'm  surprised I don't see more trikes around the city. They are great human powered workhorses, and you can carry plenty of groceries or what have you without having to worry about keeping your balance.

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The next few photos are from 76th street, and if you're a New Yorker, they may blow a hole out of the back of your mind they did mine. I am absolutely stunned that these homes, and this street is in Brooklyn. 76th Street is also a step street, and it is filled with brilliantly executed mansions. Real, honest to goodness mansions that would be more at home in Great Britain than Great Brooklyn.

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DSC123 is a Gothic Revival mansion, completed in 1900 and set up on a pretty impressive hill, at the top of  larger hill, which I'm certain must have great views of the narrows and the bridge from its' many tower windows. This house was built by  Dr. Elliot, the founder of insurance giants Blue Cross. With its' hexagonal tower, rough stone bridge over the driveway and place of honor at the top of a step street makes this my favorite private home in New York.

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I'd like to file this under 'Not In New York City'. Wow is really the only other thing I can say.







Also on the same block, although somewhat obscured by trees and foliage, but no less grogeous, is a Neo-Georgian stunner on a massive plot of land (massive for Brooklyn at least). The columned porch is something you don't see here everyday, and the side

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of the house, which faces the street is just as impressive. My wife said it looks as if the Whitehouse dropped out of the sky and landed in Bay Ridge, and I think she's right. This house was built somewhat 

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earlier than its' neighbors, being completed in 1865. I imagine at the time it was finished this part of Brooklyn was still bucolic farmland. Little did the owners know that an entire neighborhood would grow up round this neo-Georgian masterpiece.



This cannon is at the end of the mansion block, and it a somewhat fittingly stately

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piece of lawn kitsch. You can't put a pink flamingo on the lawn of a mansion, can you? You might in Brooklyn actually.

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A somewhat newer home, but still quite beautiful, with great proportions, rounds out my views of this quirky little Brooklyn nabe. Who would have known that any of this was here, except for the guidance of Willensky and White?

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One of my favorite designers is Carroll Shelby, and while I prefer his older Mustangs, this newer Cobra is still a tough rolling work of art. I was pretty amazed that I was fast enough on the draw with my Nikon to catch this guy tearing down the block.

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The detailed trim and bright, but non-garish colors make this home stand out. as you walk away from the mansions, towards the water, the homes shrink, but not by much. As they get smaller, the take a significant decline in architectural taste. The truth is, they start to get gaudy and ugky fast. This little charmer is a noted exception.

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DSC0171, finished in 1892 is set apart from its'neighbors by its' massive tower. Although it doesn't face the street, the entrance is through the octagonal tower on the southern edge of the home. This is officially a landmark home, but its' not really to my taste.It may be because it has been refinished with ugly cheap looking brick and bad landscaping.

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You can get a better look at the tower in the second photo below (DSC0175) and see what I mean about the poor choice of finishing materials. Money can't buy taste. This would be a wonderful looking home if it were finished with more appropriate materials that fit the style of the home.

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Just as I finished picking my jaw up off the street after viewing the 76th Street Mansions, I turn the corner and find myself at Hogwart's. While I was taking pictures earlier in the day, I ended up chatting with a cool guy and his dog who were from the neighborhood. I told him I was an architecture student, taking shots of good looking houses, and he said, 'You have to see the Witch's House, a few blocks over.It's great!' Buddy, you couldn't be more right! This is truly a unique home, and a terrific example of Arts and Crafts architecture. Locally known as 'The Witch's House', or 'The Gingerbread House', it's officially known as the Howard E. and Jessie Jones House. Designed by J. Sarsfield Kennedy, architect, and completed in 1917, this is one of the most unique buildings in New York City. From the curving shingled roof, to the rough cut stone,matching stone wall and lush landscaping, this is a winner.

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Everything about this home says 'Dreamer'. Almost nothing about it is standardized. The windows are all  irregular sizes and shapes. The stones are all cut to fit their specific place in the building. The iron gates lead me to imagine that children in neighborhood 

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must be petrified to knock on the door for trick or treating. The wall and gates are cut from the same irregular stones that the home is made from, a hallmark of a real Arts and Crafts style construction. The elegant curves of the roof

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and narrowing chimney all
add to the Hansel and Gretel effect. I was certain that as I shot photos I would be offered candy by an old crone. Although, I'm all skin and bones, so I'd probably have to spend a while eating in a cage before I made any kind of decent meal. This house is worth a trip to Bay Ridge in its' own right. Again, 'I can't believe I'm in New York City'. This is approximately 2  miles from downtown Manhattan.

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Fort Hamilton high school is a nice looking building for a newer NYC Public School. It has impressive sports fields in the back, and a pretty sweet bell tower. As I was lining up these shots, I noticed an older woman and her husband, also lining up the same photos as myself. She approached me and said, 'I was in the first four year graduating class from this high school'. She was still alive and kicking hard. Right on sister.

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Bay Ridge has a wonderful shoreline park along its'  entire length.I often go on about Owl's Head skate park, one of my favorite BMX spots in the city, but there is a lot to be said for a quiet, beautiful green spot to just hang out and read. There is also some nice rusty wrought iron. They don't make these dangerous fences anymore, too bad. There's always some dumb Darwin Award kid getting impaled on them.

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One more piece of gaudy lawn kitsch for your viewing pleasure. I was thinking that Bay Ridge must be the capital of lawn kitsch in New York City. Then I realized that Bay Ridge is one of the only places with front lawns in all five boroughs. Ozone Park may give it a run for its' lawn ornanment money if I remember right. I haven't been over there in a while.

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Facing the water, with have this overgrown Mission style home, shadowed by a hideous hospital building. This home is traeding the thin line between pertfectly overgrown and eyesore. For now it's definetly on the right side of the line.It would also make a great Brooklyn outpost of El Sombrero, although I heard that they don't have the deadly frozen margarita's to go because of trouble with out of town frat boys. Damn. Another amazing NYC tradition ruined by drunken outsiders.

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Bay Ridge is chock o' block full of bike lanes. I'm a proud member of Transportation Alternatives, who do a great job of getting bike lanes all over the place. Even in way out there family Brooklyn.

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This is the chapel of Visitation Academy, completed in 1913. You can't see it in the picture, but there is an enormous block spanning cement wall to protect the Catholic Virgins from bad Catholic boys like me. This Neo-Renaissance pile is a welcome surprise, as it just pops out of nowhere on a residential block.

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Bay Ridge is proud, with good reason of its' bridge. Its' also proud of its' diners, of which there many. Here we have a nice confluence of both. This is a fantastic sign, both the stationary and spinning one. The interior lives up to the signage, being a classic 80's diner remodeling job.

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After my walking tour with White and Willensky, I walked off into the sunset. Not really. I wandered home to my apartment and cooked veggie chick patties and drank Bud pounders.

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Darryl Strawberry? How in g-d's name did you end you end up meeting Darryl Strawberry, emily? Even more curiously, 'How did Darryl Strawberry end up talking to you about group sex and cocaine?'. Yes, 'Tis a Strange Tale indeed. I will do my best to explain.

I'll start at the very, very beginning, and while this tale is somewhat convoluted the punchline as well as the journey are both worth it in my eyes. Two of my oldest, dearest friends Chris Gethard and Gregg Gethard are the funniest set of brothers I know. Much funnier than my brother, Fran and I. We're funny, but not like these two. Over the years Chris and Gregg have developed quite a few brilliant comedy routines and extended inside jokes, and one of them centers around the troubled New York Mets slugger Darryl Strawberry - popularly known as 'The Straw' (I thought straw only had to do with an abbreviated version of his last name, but alas it may have more to do with drug paraphernalia than phonetics). Chris and Gregg have been bandying around jokes about The Straw for so long, that this routine  eventually took on a life of it's own. Gregg, as is my brother Franny, is an alumnus of LaSalle University in the worst neighborhood of  North Philadelphia. A few years ago, at one of LaSalle's open mic nights, Gregg performed a one man play called 'Darryl', starring himself as Darryl Strawberry, and giving a hysterical take on The Straw's life, times, and of course troubles. It isn't much of a life without drugs, drinking and car crashed, correct?  Gregg's one-man play was a smash hit on the LaSalle campus, and became legendary to everyone who had the pleasure of witnessing it in person, or on a poor quality video recording that I believe was limited to VHS, or possibly just BetaMax.

Now we can fast forward in time a bit (this is BetaMax, mind you, the skip function hasn't made it here yet). Chris Gethard is not only a funny guy, he makes his daily bread as a comedian, and is a member of New York City's notorious improv troop - Upright Citizens Brigade. Like all good younger brothers, Chris took Gregg's idea for a one man play about Darryl Strawberry and ran with it. Screw that actually. He took off, hauled ass and sprinted with it. He polymorphed into Carl Lewis, raised and clapped his hands and was 'Out!'. Chris created his own version of Gregg's idea, and 'Darryl', the one man play was reborn into a comedic milestone. On the surface, a 

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This brings us to the present. If you mounted a one man play about a man known for blowing lines of coke large enough to outline a regulation Major League Baseball diamond, smacking up his ladies and trashing auto's like matchboxes, what would your next logical step be? Why, gather up as much cash as possible and Win an auction to have Darryl Strawberry come speak to your 'School'!  That's what logic would dictate I'm certain. I broke out my engineering calculator, ran a few Game Theory scenarios, and that was what I came up with. Makes perfect sense. Defying every sane, right thinking chain of thought, this is what happened. Chris was able to win the auction and  have The Straw come and speak to a group of his closest friends.

The Brothers Gethard, many members of the UCB comedy troupe, many hangers-onners and your truly, Sexy Jesus, gathered at in Midtown for this monumental event.

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Anticipation was high. Chris was worried that somehow a room of professional comedians, and professional trouble makers like  myself, who were all in on a joke that Mr. Strawberry was not in on, may cause a problem. How could he think that? There was talk of the speech degenerating into a double aluminum bat wielding  fracas. There was talk of the speech degenerating into back room crack smoking (which was what I was hoping for). There was even talk of Darryl forcing the Brothers Gethard (Gregg who is pictured below and to the right in DSC 0059) to fight each other to the death as the creators of a play mocking him. Worry was definetly in the air at the UCB offices.  The UCB crew  provided a really nice  spread, that of course included  all the usual chips and whatnot, and a  huge plate of ....
Strawberries!

 

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Chris left the whole gang of comedians, and went downstairs where word was passed along that Darryl was in he deli downstairs enjoying a sandwich. Chris returned with The Straw to wild applause, and what eventually went down as one of the all time greatest pranks began and went off like a rocket.
Darryl is a huge man - broad in the shoulders, taller than me (and I'm 6'1"), and he was looking solid and healthy. It had clearly been at least two weeks since he did cocaine. Wearing a stylish blue and black checkered button up, and a pair of jeans, he was dressed comfortable, but the audience clearly made him uncomfortable.

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Framed by the all-seeing-eyes of the UCB logo painted on the wall, Darryl, who needs no introduction, especially to us New Yorker's who remember that magic Summer of 1986, introduced himself and explained that we weren't his usual audience. His usual audience were pimps and people blazing rock.  OK, not really. He explained that he usually spoke to school kids, but he was glad we were older, so he could 'Let loose a bit'. When Chris one the auction he told Darryl that he  would be speaking to a group of aspiring acting students, so The Straw was under that impression. You could tell he didn't think much of actors, or acting students,and that he was mocking us in his head. The deception and double entendre's were a flyin'.

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The Straw had a big, nervous smile on his face, and immediately began explaining how it wasn't really his fault that he became so fucked up, so quickly. He made the point that Major League Baseball is a trap for young, virile men to fall into, and every vice is made readily available to players. The Straw even explained that the older players introduced him to coke and women  after being in the big leagues just a few short days.

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After about five minutes of rambling speech about how he was glad he had now found g-d, Darryl sensed that we were a decent group of people, that we applauded at the correct time, that many of us were in fact stoned at that very moment, so he started loosening up. This is when the  event took a turn for the bizarre and better.

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The more we smiled, laughed and clapped, the better Darryl's stories got. He told us that even though he had tons of money while he was playing ball, that he never spent his money on drugs. He got all his drugs for free! The Straw told us that if you're famous, drug dealers want to give you drugs just to hang out with them. You could have all the drugs you wanted for free. Truthfully, how can anyone not get royally fucked when drug dealers call YOU up to give you free drugs. You'd  have to have the willpower of St. Catherine of Siena to stay straight. He explained that doing a lot of coke often leads to 'Tag-Teaming'. Did we know what 'Tag-Teaming' was?  He bet the guys knew, but not the ladies. Yeah, he pointed at your faithful author because 'Yeah, I saw you smile'. I'll admit, everyone knows I love a good orgy.
He offered up a few 'High-Fives' for the smiling gents on that one. It's good to see that Darryl hasn't lost his sense of humor nor his taste for group sex. He made several allusions to Tim Teuffel being his 'Go-To-Guy' in the threesome department. I'm just glad he say it was Gary Carter ('Yeah, Gary Crter would com to bed with the ladies but wouldn't ever take his catcher's chest protector off...').

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Everyone in the audience was fully aware of the irony of Darryl Strawberry coming to UCB to speak on the invitation of Chris Gethard, but it seemed that appreciated his talk on both the ironic and un-ironic levels. The Straw seemed like a genuinely coo, funny guy. It's easy to see why drug dealers would give him free drugs. Partying with him would be a blast. It's a shame that we live in a country that villainises people for having an excessively good time. Darryl pointed out that he never murdered anyone, that he never stole, that he never raped, and that he never hurt anyone but himself really. All he did was play some great baseball, and bring joy to a lot of us New York baseball fans in the 1980's, before the Yankees spent billions of dollars to bring home all those World Series rings.

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Darryl Strawberry opened up the floor for questions, and I could see Chris start to sweat profusely. He began eying the fire exits and calling upon the spirit of Royce Gracie.  The first question was from my brother, who produced an amazing artifact 'Get Mets-mirized' - a 12" LP rap album of the several key members of the 1986 Miracle Mets rapping. My brother asked The Straw if he could talk a little but about this record, and he also asked why Dwight Gooden was wearing sunglasses on the cover. My brother asked if Doc Gooden was high when they made the record.

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This made Darryl a little bit angry, and this was by far the most uncomfortable moment of the whole day. He said that it was pretty obvious why Doc Gooden was wearing sunglasses, and that the rap album was amazing, not horrible. 'Hey if the Chicago Bears could do it, why not us?' Touche, Darryl. My brother began to point out that The Straw's ex-wife sang backup vocals on the record,  but he was luckily cut off by someone else asking a more sane question.  Next, Darryl asked if any of the Ladies had any questions. One did, and that question ended in physical contact - just a hug - but I Darryl was just dying for some young comedian booty at this point. It was a bit creepy. It became creepier when Darryl asked if any Other Ladies had any questions.  I was waiting for him to ask if anyone wanted to get fingered or 'Tag-Teamed' after the show.

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Then, it was over. I literally bent over to change lenses on my camera, and Darryl was gone. I was secretly hoping I would get a chance to shoot some one-on-one photos of various people and The Straw, especially Chris, Gregg and my brother, but it didn't happen. Darryl ran like he was dipping from the Florida Highway Patrol. It was a shame, because we never got to show him another amazing piece of Darryl memorabilia, a shiny, silk screened jacket with  his visage in neon and satin. We even got a pretty lady to model it, which should have roped  Darryl right on in

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This story begins with two brothers who have a dream, and ends with the realization of that dream.  How many times does that happen? Almost never. We've gotten to see an idea go from infancy, to maturity to mockery, all in the span of a few short years.  I'm not sure what the most amazing part of this story is. Is it the fact that there was a one man play about Darryl Strawberry? Is it the fact that the play was actually performed, in public, numerous times? Is is the fact that it was given amazing reviews because it is so hysterically funny? Is is the fact that the story of a drug abusing baseball player is considered comedy by out generation? Is is the fact that 'Darryl' gained so much attention that a cease and desist order was issued and the play brought to a halt by unfeeling, un-laughing, humorless legal powers? Is it the fact that the very same man who engineered this play, and was forced to abandoned it, then got the subject of the play who forced his hand to come and speak to the plays' audience? This story is a comedians wet dream. More than that, this story is any true American's wet dream. Chris and Gregg Gethard challenged the juggernaut of Major League Baseball, and got the last laugh. In many ways, this story is about more than just a hysterically funny play about a drug addicted ballplayer. It is a metaphor for the Gethard's feelings on life. When we were younger, the Gethard Brother's suffered at the hands of many jocks, and caught tons of abuse from the 'Darryl Strawberry's' of the world. Any smart, talented, funny person can make a play about their torturers. It takes a master comedian to make it funny. However, no one can make a play about their torturers, make it funny, and then have their torturers sit through their play, while they are being made fun of the whole time without realizing it. That is the true genius of the story of 'Darryl'. Goliath has taken a stone to the dome, and he hasn't even figured it out yet.

Chris and Gregg, I salute you. You have managed to pull of the world's greatest prank, bar none. Huzzah!

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postscript: At Darry Strawberry's little speech at UCB, I was the jerk snapping hundred of pictures. Someone needs to document these things! If anyone is interested in any more pictures of this event, please check out Sexy Jesus' Flickr Stream of Darryl Strawberry at UCB. There are a ton more pictures there. All my photos are licensed under Creative Commons, so feel free to use/post/repost/make-custom-toilet-paper-out-of freely as long as my contact info (emilydickinson@gmail.com and http://emilyrides.vox.com/) is attached.