6 posts tagged “mike dolan”

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 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. 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.

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.                                                         
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 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.

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 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 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.

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 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 
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.

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

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 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.

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. 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.

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 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.

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.]
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
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.

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.
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 

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.
'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.

Ladies and Gentlemen, there you have it. The first installment of Emily Dickinson's Design-One-ennial. I hope you enjoyed my extremely biased opinions of the physical objects that I can't live without. I really enjoyed writing this one up,and it gave me a lot of time to think about my relationships with physical objects in the world around me. Many people will either dismiss the ideas here as shallow and materialistic, just as another group of people will think I have bad taste, or that and there are better,more costly objects available out in the bworld. They'd both be  correct. For me personally, I enjoy having things around me that are well designed, and the only definition that I can come up with for good design is that it is something who's physical presence brings you some measure of joy while you use it.

I'd love to hear your thoughts on this, and any other subject so feel free to email and blow up my Blackberry or comment here until your fingers fall off. Until next time...

Cheers
Michael (aka Sexy Jesus aka Emily Dickinson)

emilydickinson at gmail dott com

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.

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.

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.

'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.
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.

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.
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 

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

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


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.
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  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?
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.
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.

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.
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.

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.

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.
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
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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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?

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

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.



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.


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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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
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.
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.


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.
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.
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.

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.

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.

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.

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'.

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
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.

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.

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.

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).   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
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?

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.

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.
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 

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.

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.
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.

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.

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. 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.

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.

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.

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!

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. 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.

I'm somewhat a creature of habit. There are certain wandering paths through the city that I walk again and again, even though they may not nearly be the most direct line from point A to point B. Some of these planned wanders I've been strolling since I was 15 years old, and hanging around Manhattan seeing shows at clubs that are no longer there (Sweatlands anybody?). One of my all time favorite walks is from the Financial District, from about Whitehall Street up to Union Square. I worked in the Financial District for a long, long time and it is still my favorite part of Manhattan. There are fantastic architectural gems hidden down there. It's the oldest settled part of Manhattan. It might be filled with my arch-enemies during the day, but after 5 o'clock it's an honest-to-g-d ghost town. It's so empty it's creepy. Since I worked down at Wall Street, but I liked to drink and visit my friends around Union Square, I've made this trek hundreds of times. On the way their are quite a few very small, but no less aesthetically grand architectural details that I've noticed over the years. These are things you would probably never notice unless you've beat the streets quite a bit, but some are so outstanding I would be greedy not to share them.
This might totally be conjecture, but in the past,advertisements had to serve some useful purpose to get people to look at them. Thus, clocks, bearing the name of a company, such as this one for the now defunct then resurrected New York Sun newspaper. According to my ever present buddies Willensky and White, the Sun used to be published here a long time ago. The paper has returned to life, just not here. You can fake the amazing verdigris patina on the copper clock jutting out from the second story of  a building on Broadway, just North of City Hall Park. There are quite a few  'ad-clocks' scattered around the city, but this one is my favorite.
I draw a very thick black line (a Magnum in fact), between good graffiti and bad graffiti. Bad graffiti makes any neighborhood look like a slum. Good graffiti is art, no questions. The rarest graffiti of all, is clever graffiti. Clever graffiti is rare, because most folks compelled to write on walls are just not the sharpest knife in the drawer. There are exceptions, like whoever wrote these beauties across from the Sun Clock. Reading these put a huge smile on my face. These graffitos (that's actually the plural of graffiti the noun, believe it or not) are little bits of urban poetry. Cheers to writer who put these up.

Entropy is one of my pet interests. I enjoy watching things disintegrate, and my more scientific minded friends assure me that everyone and everything is falling to pieces at a molecular level as we speak.
Rust is one of the more obvious and beautiful signs that entropy and decay are always at work - they don't get a day off. This building is one of the many Cast Iron Front buildings scattered around Manhattan. Most are in the SoHo Historic District, but you can find a few others around the city,like this rusting beauty. This construction method was a cheap, fireproof way of making the facades of buildings beautiful. The architects cast columns and beautiful details into the iron, and it gives them a very Palladian look. I enjoy them more when they're like this chap, rusty, than its' constantly over painted sisters up North in SoHo.

The rust is especially apparent at the base of the columns, because that area is difficult to paint, and gravity also effects the way rust grows. In the historic district, strict zoning laws and generally shi-shi-ness keep the cast iron clean and rust free, so it's a rare treat to find one that looks like this. As you can see, the detail work is astounding. The leaves, stems, flowers and bases are artfully wrought. To be an architectural curmudgeon, these are technically colonettes, not columns because they are strictly decorative, not lad bearing.
These beautiful caryatids are resting on the seconds story of an old warehouse building on Broadway. Did you know caryatids are always female? That's something I just learned too. Caryatids are somewhat in short supply in NYC, but these are an amazing example left over from the time when people thought buildings in New York should be beautiful, not just expensive. I'll be on the lookout for more caryatids,so let me know if you see any in your  neighborhood. For now, I have a huge schoolboy crush on these ladies.

Hank Williams has a fantastic, somewhat depressing, song called Kalija the Wooden Indian, which this fellow reminds me of. I'm no expert in cigar store Indians (Native Americans?), but this  one looks really old and original. Granted, this is probably on the same  plane of sensitivity as Lawn Jockeys (more on them later), but regardless  of its' inherent racism, it is a beautiful piece of Americana sculpture. From what I understand, these are pretty rare and collectible. This one is outside of a gift shop on Broadway which has an amazing collection of Snoopy dolls and trinkets that my wife and I have admired on quite a few occasions. He's also for sale, so if you have money to burn and want something to scare away burglars, you might want to peep him out. You wouldn't

want to meet him in a dark alley.

I've been rock climbing since 1999, and to be honest Manhattan isn't best place in the world to be a climber. Sure, we have Rat Rock and Cat Rock in Central Park, which are great for bouldering, and The Gunks are only a 90 minute bus ride away, but we are short on natural rock. My main climbing partner, who I'll just identify as Mr. IT was a somewhat insane guy. He was incredibly smart, and ran the IT Security division of a huge brokerage house  downtown. Once I visited him at his apartment, and he showed me a bank of hard drives that contained over a 1,000,000 MP3's he had cleaned out and collected  from the hard drives of everyone at the enormous company he worked for. He of course kept them,and has an outstanding computer jukebox with every song you could ever imagine. Mr. IT and I climbed a lot, at least 2 or 3 times a week, so at times we definetly got bored  with what Central Park had to offer. He called me one afternoon, and said he has a new outstanding climbing spot we had to check out, and asked me to meet him at Union Square at 9 that night, with my climbing gear. I assumed he had found a new  gym or some other indoor spot to check out, which was odd, because we both hate climbing indoors and only do so when we the weather was horrific and we were dying for a fix. We met up and Union Square, headed a few blocks South,and around the block.
We ended up at Grace Church. Mr. IT proceeded to outline a route up the side of the

Church building, around an arch and up to the top. Why we did this clearly suicidal, ropeless climb, in more or less full view of anyone who felt like looking up, I'm not sure. I was younger, and at that point in my life, single and absolutely out of control. The two of us were also incredibly strong from climbing nearly everyday, so the physical part of the climb wasn't too hard. The fact that one slip up would  probably mean certain death didn't seem to phase us. We were definetly inspired by The Night Climber's of Cambridge, a book written in the 1890's by students who climbed church steeples and other buildings for kicks. We made it up and down fairly quickly, and besides kudos from our other climbing buddies, I also became enamored with how beautiful Grace Church really is. When Grace was put up in 1843 by James Renwick Jr. (who also designed the  Smithsonian in D.C. and St. Patrick's in Manhattan), it was intended to be the 'Rich Man's Church' downtown, and g-d does it show. The detailing around the window bays, and in the stonework is outstanding. Even though the current steeple is a later 1900 addition, it meshes perfectly and stabs the sky in such a way it really does make you feel g-d, or  goddess, or whoever you like is hanging about.

The Church, and its' attendant rectory are my favorite religious building in the City, which says a lot, considering the vast amount of choices. This  Gothic Revival masterpiece is amazingly well kept, the grass is always inhumanly green and it's very easy to gain access for tours. I don't reccomend climbing up the side, but if you do, we left a little 'present' for any  other souls adventurous enough to mimic our adventure. If you let me know what it is, I'll take you out for a beer.


It's a pretty huge intellectual jump from the Gothic Revival Grace Church to this Bauhaus inspired modern building. I haven't been able to track down any specific information on this place, but I think it's quite outstanding for a modern building. The clock at the top floor is a unique touch, and much better than that monstrous, hideous, 'clock' around the corner at the Virgin Megastore. The stainless steel facade at the ground floor makes it nice to pass by at street level, and I'm very impressed by the staggered pattern of the windows. This is quite a unique building. I'm attempting to track down the architect, and I'll let you know when I do. Hyper modern architecture can end up in the gutter so fast, but here we such a fine example of how it can be beautiful, and stand out on the block without sullying its' connected neighbors. Cheers to the mystery architect on this one.

After my walk I started thinking about how cool public clocks are. Honestly, I never, ever wear a watch, I don't even own one. So having copious amounts of public clocks, especially beautiful ones like this one, and the Sun clock I mentioned earlier in this post are a nice way to add beauty in a utilitarian way to any city scape. Of course, the converse to this is the previously mentioned three story  'Metronome' clock/sculpture. This 'clock' is hideous and basically impossible to use. I have heard conflicting things, that it actually isn't a clock, that the digital display just flicks up random numbers. Who knows? Either way,it shoots out smoke, is abhorrently ugly, and useless for telling time.I say, 'More Pretty Public Clocks!'. Let's bring them back into the cities consciousness.
Pete's Tavern appears in some O. Henry stories, and was supposedly his hangout when he was in Manhattan. While I love the way the building looks, and the interior is even better, it is an overpriced tourist trap, with only so-so Italian food. It's a great looking building, aside from the tacky moniker 'The Tavern O. Henry Made Famous' on the awning. However, since it was built in the 1840's, and it's still here, it is a real 'Old Bar', which are in short supply. Accoridng to Willensky and Whitem, the story that O. Henry wrote Gift of the Magi here is pure fantasy. They just don't build gorgeous bars like this anymore. I have to add though,

The Old Town Bar is an even more gorgeous old bar than Pete's. In fact the urinals at the Old Town must weight  half a ton each, and are bigger than my old SoHo apartment. I highly recommend a drink and relieving yourself there. I do quite often.
One of my favorite fantasies involves the idea that I'll someday own my home in New York. Fat Chance. With the NYC real estate market starting at about half a million bucks, it just won't happen. If I were to win the lottery though, this  is what I would  buy. I've been in love with this funny little building since I was 19.

There is nothing else like it anywhere else in any of the boroughs. Manhattan is jammed, and space is at an insane premium, so since the Dutch got here, we build UP. That's why I am so amazed that single story building still exists in Manhattan. This is my favorite building in NYC, bar none. I often fantasize about living here, and I've stared at this place for hours.
I'm not certain, but I feel that this must have been a carriage house for a larger building that is no longer in existence. The details are outstanding. The funny, ziggurat like roof reminds me very much of the canal
houses in Amsterdams' Red Light district. The wrought
iron double hearts, and the circular hole between them show that someone
put quite a bit of love and care into the design of this little palace. The wooden detailing below the emphasizes the small physical size, but grand stature that dwarfs its' neighbors. The offset triple window, and planter box that is always filled with something pretty make this totally unique, and pleasure at street level. The twin lamps guarding the red door, and ironwork above the door make my heart melt.
You can even see the capstone above the door beneath the iron work. I'm not sure what to call this building, but the Dutch influence is heavy throughout. It really does bring me back to all the good times I've had wandering Centruum stones out of my mind. I've never seen anyone coming in or out of this place, but I am hugely curious at to who is lucky enough to live here. Part of me hopes it may be The Witch of the Ladies Mile, or possibly a mad professor. If a miracle 

occurs someday, and my checking account ever has more than a thousand dollars, I plan to walk up to the front door, knock and cajole the owners into selling to me. There is no other place I would rather live than this. There is no other building in New York like this. Maybe I can buy a plot of land somewhere in Brooklyn on the cheap, and erect myself a copy. Sure, it wouldn't be the same, because I think what makes this building do special is how it is a midget compared to its' giant neighbors. It is also special because who ever owns it, obviously cares much more for aesthetics than money. Most people would have knocked this little gem down, and built a monstrosity straight up, with many more floors - like every other building in the city. Funny little house - I think I love you.
On the left is another Dutch style 'canal house', that I also enjoy walking past. It manages to stately without being stuffy, which is a hard line to tread. The offset, leaded windows are also a treat. This section of Manhattan,officially The Ladies Mile Historic District, has at least a few gorgeous structures on every block. Sadly, it's in danger from over zealous development. How could anyone be greedy enough to destroy these gorgeous building to put up ugly condos for he sake of a few blocks? It seems people are hellbent on developing every part of the city until it's as ugly and homogeneous as the Upper East Side. Beat that shit back uptown!
Take notice of the fine patterned brick work, and inset stone sculpture at the
apex of the house. It looks like it's some type of family crest, or more likely the symbol of a club that

no longer exists. The light colored stone that outlines the roof really gives this dwelling a sharp silhouette, and is just another fine detail worth noticing.

It's too bad someone decided to run an ugly aluminum gutter right down the side of these attractive patterned windows. Of course, people can add terrible details as well as beautiful ones. Someone hide that gutter, please.

When I mentioned the Cigar Store Indian earlier, I compared it's vague racism to that of

lawn jockeys. I believe nearly every lawn jockey today, thankfully, is now painted white.To me, lawn jockeys are just bizzare. I don't really get what they are, and I find them very ugly. The pair of lawn jockeys in front of this building are painted quite frequently. The face is always white, but I have noticed over the years that their clothing changes color once or twice a year.Lawn jockeys are pretty uncommon in Manhattan, but they are out there as a curiosity if you care to search for them.
Most row houses are nearly identical, design wise. This one is a bit different at the roof. We have a cool stepped gable, with a very large quadruple windowed dormer.I enjoy buildings that stray from the norm, especially when done with taste.
This building on the right is chock full o' details
that you don't see everyday. Over the door is a brick
arch that has a tile mosaic of animals, and a cool looking lantern. There is n arch shaped piece of stone sculpture hanging on the wall at the left, and some stone lions guarding the wall in front of the building.I often mention Hundertwasser in my writings. He's one of my favorite architects, and for many more reasons that the buildings he designed. He had quite a few unique ideas that I love. One of these ideas is his 'Window Rule'. Basically, the 'Window Rule' is the idea that people living in a building have the right, and should be encouraged too, decorate the area outside their apartment windows, as far as they can reach with their arms. This encourages people to make their homes unique. This building here, as well as some of the other details I've pointed out in this post, remind me of that idea. I'm glad people still want to express their uniqueness by decorating where they live with fantastic details.Everyone in NYC should take pride in where they live, and show they live there by adding details and decorations.
Here's two more closeups of this fine detailing for you to enjoy.

As usual, my walk ended up at my friends apartment  of 19th street for a visit, discussing the days' newspaper and grabbing a drink with my buddy. Over the years I have been blown away by the view of from his apartment windows, of which there are 5 in the living room alone. I'm jealous. My friend ignores his view, but I feel it is my duty to exploit for everyone else enjoyment, including mine. The Empire State Building is still an outstanding skyscraper. The prototypical one if you will. Even though it costs a bundle, the creepy Helmsley's still light it up every night, end even change the light colors depending on the various holidays and seasons of the year.Being close to X-mas, it is of course red and green at
this time of year.

It's still hard to beat the feeling of insignificance a skyscraper can bring upon you. I imagine it's how ancient Romans felt inside the Pantheon. Spooked by the gods.
I really enjoy discovering the little tiny details in New York's architecture. Finding the unknown bits is rewarding for me, and I like spreading the knowledge.
Until next time...Et In Arcadia Ego. -Michael

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.
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,
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
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.

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.

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
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.

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.

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

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.

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,
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.