Tonight, on the phone:
Lee: When you left Kansas, Ryan, everything really just fell apart. The heat wave, the crises at Duke TIP..
Ryan: It fell out of balance.
Lee: Exactly, the place is literally not the same without you.
Ryan: Dare I say, I disrupted the force?
Lee: Um, okay.
Lee: And I realized that this end of term report will probably be about 12 pages.
Ryan: You should do the entire thing as printouts of a Powerpoint presentation.
Lee: "This is how the hierarchy of Duke TIP Kansas handled this."
Ryan: And every third slide is an upside down smiley.
Lee: I should do the entire thing with emoticons like Jeremy last year.
Ryan: I don't know how to respond to that.
Lee: I've reduced you to one-word answers responses again, like 'Yeah' and 'Okay.'
Ryan: That should be the benchmark of all of our conversations.
Ryan: We have this job fair on Monday, which I don't have to worry about because of the Outside thing, but I'm still gonna go and hand out my resumé and meet these people.
Lee: That sounds good man.
Ryan: But I think I should use that quote from the Rocky Balboa trailer in my personal, 90sec. pitch.
Lee: Oh god.
Ryan: Like I'll hand them my resumé and then lean in and say "Let's start buildin' some hurtin' bombs!"
Lee: "So Ryan, how do you see the Columbia Publishing Course as building your career?" "I see it buildin' some hurtin' bombs!"
Ryan:I should bet people that for every recruiter I say that to, they owe me a slice of pizza.
Lee: You mean, the pizza larger than your head.
Ryan: I've actually started describing it another way. I measured it the last time I went, and then I measured the circumference of my skull, and the pizza could literally wrap around my head.
Lee: That's incredible!
Ryan: So what I want to do next time is take a sheet of tabloid sized paper and trace around it–
Lee: No, you get somebody to wrap it around your head and take a picture of it!
Ryan: Or I could just use the grease stain imprint on the paper, and anyway bring that paper back to Kansas and just unfold it and be like "Look at that you sons of bitches."
Lee: Show it to Papa Keno's and be like "That's how they do it in Fuckin' New York!"
Ryan: "And they don't slice it either; they serve that shit whole!"
Lee: God that's so huge.
Ryan: We had a guy who thought he could eat an entire jumbo pizza, of which these slices are 1/10th.
Lee: That cannot be possible.
Ryan: That's what I said, but I'd sure like to see him try.
Lee: Pull out 10 slices of pizza and say "Let's start buildin' some hurtin' bombs!"
Ryan: *literally falling down from laughter* That's going on the blog.
Ryan: It'd be really great if I had a copy of Wingman to peruse this week.
Lee: Someday, Ryan, someday it will become a reality.
Ryan: The best article idea we had, well not the best idea but the best execution, and I'll leave you with this for the evening, was about Asian fetishes.
Lee: Okay.
Ryan: The premise was a guy moving to Boston for college and soon dating only Asian women. And the tagline for the article was "Find out why this Caucasian will only put his cock in Asians."
Lee: *30 seconds of laughing* Now you've reduced me to one-word answers!
Ryan: I knew you'd appreciate that.
Lee: How do I respond!?
26 July 2006
25 July 2006
"Let's start buildin' some hurtin' bombs!"
Am I the only person excited about this? Yes.
I can't help it; I hear that music, set to a training montage, and I want to become a fighter too. I also want to look as fit as Sly Stallone when I'm 60 as well. Jeebus.
I can't help it; I hear that music, set to a training montage, and I want to become a fighter too. I also want to look as fit as Sly Stallone when I'm 60 as well. Jeebus.
23 July 2006
Vanilla.
For the past couple of years, whenever I went to an ice cream shoppe, I told people I was on a never-ending search for the most sublime vanilla known to man. That search ended tonight. And it ended in, of all places, Brooklyn.
Actually, that's not so surprising. But before I can get to Brooklyn, I have to take you through the rest of the week leading up to it. As you may have noticed down below, this week was our magazine workshop. There were far fewer hours required than the book workshop, and it was much less intense, but the frustration level was considerably higher, due to the fact that this was one project, compared to six, and we had to make it absolutely precise. Being the men's magazine group, we decided to walk the fine line between Maxim and Esquire: beyond frat boys, but still irreverent and with boobs. Thus 'Wingman' was born, with an idea towards being Men's Health, but for dating & sex. Anyway, it was never a problem to design (as you may have guessed, I was the art director; one of the few this year to complete the designer sweep for both workshops), but it was a problem to pin down the idea; Wednesday night I made six different covers–three sets of two each–that set out different visions of the magazine. Once we picked one, I was on my way. Though I battled against the Jenny McCarthy photo until the last possible moment.
The workshop ended, for me anyway, early Friday afternoon, but I didn't do anything the rest of the day beyond going to the Rec. That's because I was really deep into The Fountainhead. Now I know, I know; I've had a love-hate relationship with Ayn Rand, especially when love in this context means hate. But since I started designing in the book workshop, I could not get that book out of my head. Last weekend, when coming back from my museum trips, I stopped and bought a second copy of Fountainhead and started reading. During the week I would steal 10-30min. during meals and in the mornings to read it, and finally finished it last night. It remains one of my most favorite novels ever, and like any of her works, it will be cause for a lot of thought about what I do and why I love it so much.
Yesterday morning I woke up determined again to have a great weekend. I took off for the tip of Manhattan with umbrella in tow; it was overcast and ugly all day. I took the subway down to Chambers St., farther south than I've ever been in this city. Arriving about 30min. later, I stepped out and walked down Broadway until I reached the World Trade Center site, which I walked past with great tenderness, until I saw the street vendors with their t-shirts and their hologram pictures. Then I seethed and walked away, looking straight ahead until I crossed Vesey Bridge to the other side of West St. and the World Financial Center, which has been made into about as much of a mall as you're likely to find in NYC. The WFC sits at the north end of Battery Park City, a planned park and private development on top of the landfill from the construction of the Twin Towers back in the 70s, and it is the site of some of the newest, 'greenest' apartment buildings in New York, which you wouldn't know if you hadn't visited the Skyscraper Museum in the south end of the park (as I did). Walking along the Hudson Shore, I came around a corner and saw the Statue of Liberty standing against a grey sky. It was magnificient nonetheless.
Dodging the sudden rainshower, I walked around the area where all of the ferries and boat tours launch from, and going nuts from the sheer horror of tourist traps run amok, I headed back towards the WTC site as a wayfinding measure to get to the rest of Lower Manhattan. Deciding that I was already down here, I walked around, trying to divine my way towards Wall St. and the New York Stock Exchange. That area of Manhattan is really neat to walk through; I've never been to an old European city, but I've seen them in the movies, the narrow alleys of odd, one-way streets that start and end in the wrong places with buildings shooting up practically from the sidewalks. That's how the Financial District is; I ended up walking past the NYSE by a block, when I should've known to turn when I saw the huge gold lettering for 'Trump Building.' (Because he doesn't have enough of those in this city. Hmph.) Anyway, I walked past the Exchange and Federal Hall up the street where G-Dub (as in 'I cannot tell a lie, which means I never invaded a nation because I needed an excuse to win an election that I couldn't possibly have won otherwise.' That G-Dub) was inaugurated. By this time I was getting hungry, and set out to find a place to perhaps get some Chinese food, but pasta was a second choice. I happened to pass by a Borders, and though it contained no food, I spent a good 45min. in there anyway. I was really very hungry, and settled for spaghetti and chicken parmigiana. Full of bad pasta and tired of walking around on this crappy day, I headed back to the subway, defeated by the city yet again.
[Bonus story! Last night I went out to get some Chinese while doing laundry, and while waiting for my take-out order of orange chicken and white rice to come out, I was staring absent-mindedly out the window towards the intersection of Amsterdam Ave. and 106th St., which is a major intersection (two ways, both ways). All of a sudden I saw a taxi come through and sideswipe a huge 15-passenger van that already mostly through; the taxi came over to the side with some front bumper damage, the van had been turned 90 degrees in the intersection with damage to its left side, but the right side, when it turned, slammed into a car service sedan. The front of the restaurant flooded with the cooks from the back yelling in Chinese about what happened, but I just watched it all with bemusement while hoping this wouldn't postpone my order. I quickly got it and walked out and across the crowded intersection, between the vehicles involved; the sedan, which I hadn't seen yet, got the brunt of it, it seemed like: the entire rear of the car was obliterated. Which is now my new favorite word. Mom called while I was walking down the block, and I told her that I love a city where car crashes are themselves a spectator sport.]
Enter this morning. I woke up after 10am and after getting a good measure of food for breakfast and lunch at the market, and a Sunday New York Times, I spent about three hours in the lounge reading the paper and watching Tiger Woods win the Open Championship like the bad-ass that he is. I came up to my room to do some reading for a few hours, and then decided that if I was ever going to go to Brooklyn to see the skyline of Manhattan, this was the time to do it: it was warm, it was sunny, it was perfect. After eating another of the slices that dare not speak their name, I got on the subway and 45min. later, I emerged on Clark St. in Brooklyn Heights. Immediately, walking through the streets, I was in love. Brooklyn was everything I liked about Lawrence, but ratcheted up about a dozen notches. The tree-lined roads with few stoplights at the intersections, the brick buildings and townhouses, the cafés and bars that just appear out of nowhere, they were all amazing. My goal on this particular trip was to stay there long enough to see the skyline at night, all lit-up. To facilitate this, I set out to find the Brooklyn Ice Cream factory. In a word, unbe-fucking-lievable. The Factory sits on a pier almost under the Brooklyn Bridge, from where you can see the buildings of Lower Manhattan to the left, and the buildings of Midtown, to the right underneath the span. Add to this the bluest sky I've seen in quite some time, and I was enchanted. Enchanted enough to spend 25min. in line for ice cream. And when I got the counter, they were out of the vanilla chocolate chunk. So I took a scoop of vanilla instead.
I never thought ice cream could be as smooth, mellow and transfixing as this was. Had I not had to wait another half an hour I've gotten another scoop; damn myself for only getting *one* after all that time in line! But seriously, it was great, and I walked back up through the Heights and found the Promenade, where one can stand and overlook the same vista, but with the added bonus of Lady Liberty in your sightlines as well. It was getting to 7:30pm, but I didn't want to wait another hour to see the skyline at night, so I headed back to the subway, falling even more in love with Brooklyn with each turn onto another, not-crowded street. This, I could most definitely get used to.
It was probably 50min. back to Manhattan on the subway, but I neglected to transfer from the 2 to the 1 at Times Square; the 1 goes straight up the Upper West Side underneath Broadway and stops right at Columbia University at 116th St.; the 2 branches off at 96th St. to curve underneath Central Park and come out at 110th and CP-North. I didn't know this. I emerged from the station, and knowing it was not far to get back to Columbia (indeed, I'd be making the same trek tomorrow morning to go for a run before class), I had to decide between going ahead and coming back to the dorm, or trying to see at least some skyline at night, which I could by going to the north edge of the Reservoir to look at Midtown. My sister had called while I was on the subway, so I talked to her while I hiked it through Central Park, a little lost at some points in the dark, but promising Sheree that I would not step off the main road (absolutely not; I'm reluctant to even go into the woods in the daytime) and eventually got to the running track.
If it was my favorite spot in New York City in the daytime, then for the love of God you must see it at night. Even better, it wasn't fully nightime yet, so you get all of the lights of the buildings plus the dying sunrays of dusk illuminating the clouds, and reflecting all of it, the calm waters of the Reservoir. I'm in love with this place all over again. Now I just need a camera.
I came back to Broadway along 97th St., and then walked the 18 blocks back up to Columbia where I've been typing this for literally the past hour. I've downed a thing of Gatorade and some fruit to balance all of the stuff I've eaten this weekend. Like I said, tomorrow morning is my return to Central Park; I think we have Victor Navasky, the former editor/publisher and now the owner of the Nation, at 10am. That should be interesting. I'm gonna try to come up with an Ayn Rand-themed question.
Actually, that's not so surprising. But before I can get to Brooklyn, I have to take you through the rest of the week leading up to it. As you may have noticed down below, this week was our magazine workshop. There were far fewer hours required than the book workshop, and it was much less intense, but the frustration level was considerably higher, due to the fact that this was one project, compared to six, and we had to make it absolutely precise. Being the men's magazine group, we decided to walk the fine line between Maxim and Esquire: beyond frat boys, but still irreverent and with boobs. Thus 'Wingman' was born, with an idea towards being Men's Health, but for dating & sex. Anyway, it was never a problem to design (as you may have guessed, I was the art director; one of the few this year to complete the designer sweep for both workshops), but it was a problem to pin down the idea; Wednesday night I made six different covers–three sets of two each–that set out different visions of the magazine. Once we picked one, I was on my way. Though I battled against the Jenny McCarthy photo until the last possible moment.
The workshop ended, for me anyway, early Friday afternoon, but I didn't do anything the rest of the day beyond going to the Rec. That's because I was really deep into The Fountainhead. Now I know, I know; I've had a love-hate relationship with Ayn Rand, especially when love in this context means hate. But since I started designing in the book workshop, I could not get that book out of my head. Last weekend, when coming back from my museum trips, I stopped and bought a second copy of Fountainhead and started reading. During the week I would steal 10-30min. during meals and in the mornings to read it, and finally finished it last night. It remains one of my most favorite novels ever, and like any of her works, it will be cause for a lot of thought about what I do and why I love it so much.
Yesterday morning I woke up determined again to have a great weekend. I took off for the tip of Manhattan with umbrella in tow; it was overcast and ugly all day. I took the subway down to Chambers St., farther south than I've ever been in this city. Arriving about 30min. later, I stepped out and walked down Broadway until I reached the World Trade Center site, which I walked past with great tenderness, until I saw the street vendors with their t-shirts and their hologram pictures. Then I seethed and walked away, looking straight ahead until I crossed Vesey Bridge to the other side of West St. and the World Financial Center, which has been made into about as much of a mall as you're likely to find in NYC. The WFC sits at the north end of Battery Park City, a planned park and private development on top of the landfill from the construction of the Twin Towers back in the 70s, and it is the site of some of the newest, 'greenest' apartment buildings in New York, which you wouldn't know if you hadn't visited the Skyscraper Museum in the south end of the park (as I did). Walking along the Hudson Shore, I came around a corner and saw the Statue of Liberty standing against a grey sky. It was magnificient nonetheless.
Dodging the sudden rainshower, I walked around the area where all of the ferries and boat tours launch from, and going nuts from the sheer horror of tourist traps run amok, I headed back towards the WTC site as a wayfinding measure to get to the rest of Lower Manhattan. Deciding that I was already down here, I walked around, trying to divine my way towards Wall St. and the New York Stock Exchange. That area of Manhattan is really neat to walk through; I've never been to an old European city, but I've seen them in the movies, the narrow alleys of odd, one-way streets that start and end in the wrong places with buildings shooting up practically from the sidewalks. That's how the Financial District is; I ended up walking past the NYSE by a block, when I should've known to turn when I saw the huge gold lettering for 'Trump Building.' (Because he doesn't have enough of those in this city. Hmph.) Anyway, I walked past the Exchange and Federal Hall up the street where G-Dub (as in 'I cannot tell a lie, which means I never invaded a nation because I needed an excuse to win an election that I couldn't possibly have won otherwise.' That G-Dub) was inaugurated. By this time I was getting hungry, and set out to find a place to perhaps get some Chinese food, but pasta was a second choice. I happened to pass by a Borders, and though it contained no food, I spent a good 45min. in there anyway. I was really very hungry, and settled for spaghetti and chicken parmigiana. Full of bad pasta and tired of walking around on this crappy day, I headed back to the subway, defeated by the city yet again.
[Bonus story! Last night I went out to get some Chinese while doing laundry, and while waiting for my take-out order of orange chicken and white rice to come out, I was staring absent-mindedly out the window towards the intersection of Amsterdam Ave. and 106th St., which is a major intersection (two ways, both ways). All of a sudden I saw a taxi come through and sideswipe a huge 15-passenger van that already mostly through; the taxi came over to the side with some front bumper damage, the van had been turned 90 degrees in the intersection with damage to its left side, but the right side, when it turned, slammed into a car service sedan. The front of the restaurant flooded with the cooks from the back yelling in Chinese about what happened, but I just watched it all with bemusement while hoping this wouldn't postpone my order. I quickly got it and walked out and across the crowded intersection, between the vehicles involved; the sedan, which I hadn't seen yet, got the brunt of it, it seemed like: the entire rear of the car was obliterated. Which is now my new favorite word. Mom called while I was walking down the block, and I told her that I love a city where car crashes are themselves a spectator sport.]
Enter this morning. I woke up after 10am and after getting a good measure of food for breakfast and lunch at the market, and a Sunday New York Times, I spent about three hours in the lounge reading the paper and watching Tiger Woods win the Open Championship like the bad-ass that he is. I came up to my room to do some reading for a few hours, and then decided that if I was ever going to go to Brooklyn to see the skyline of Manhattan, this was the time to do it: it was warm, it was sunny, it was perfect. After eating another of the slices that dare not speak their name, I got on the subway and 45min. later, I emerged on Clark St. in Brooklyn Heights. Immediately, walking through the streets, I was in love. Brooklyn was everything I liked about Lawrence, but ratcheted up about a dozen notches. The tree-lined roads with few stoplights at the intersections, the brick buildings and townhouses, the cafés and bars that just appear out of nowhere, they were all amazing. My goal on this particular trip was to stay there long enough to see the skyline at night, all lit-up. To facilitate this, I set out to find the Brooklyn Ice Cream factory. In a word, unbe-fucking-lievable. The Factory sits on a pier almost under the Brooklyn Bridge, from where you can see the buildings of Lower Manhattan to the left, and the buildings of Midtown, to the right underneath the span. Add to this the bluest sky I've seen in quite some time, and I was enchanted. Enchanted enough to spend 25min. in line for ice cream. And when I got the counter, they were out of the vanilla chocolate chunk. So I took a scoop of vanilla instead.
I never thought ice cream could be as smooth, mellow and transfixing as this was. Had I not had to wait another half an hour I've gotten another scoop; damn myself for only getting *one* after all that time in line! But seriously, it was great, and I walked back up through the Heights and found the Promenade, where one can stand and overlook the same vista, but with the added bonus of Lady Liberty in your sightlines as well. It was getting to 7:30pm, but I didn't want to wait another hour to see the skyline at night, so I headed back to the subway, falling even more in love with Brooklyn with each turn onto another, not-crowded street. This, I could most definitely get used to.
It was probably 50min. back to Manhattan on the subway, but I neglected to transfer from the 2 to the 1 at Times Square; the 1 goes straight up the Upper West Side underneath Broadway and stops right at Columbia University at 116th St.; the 2 branches off at 96th St. to curve underneath Central Park and come out at 110th and CP-North. I didn't know this. I emerged from the station, and knowing it was not far to get back to Columbia (indeed, I'd be making the same trek tomorrow morning to go for a run before class), I had to decide between going ahead and coming back to the dorm, or trying to see at least some skyline at night, which I could by going to the north edge of the Reservoir to look at Midtown. My sister had called while I was on the subway, so I talked to her while I hiked it through Central Park, a little lost at some points in the dark, but promising Sheree that I would not step off the main road (absolutely not; I'm reluctant to even go into the woods in the daytime) and eventually got to the running track.
If it was my favorite spot in New York City in the daytime, then for the love of God you must see it at night. Even better, it wasn't fully nightime yet, so you get all of the lights of the buildings plus the dying sunrays of dusk illuminating the clouds, and reflecting all of it, the calm waters of the Reservoir. I'm in love with this place all over again. Now I just need a camera.
I came back to Broadway along 97th St., and then walked the 18 blocks back up to Columbia where I've been typing this for literally the past hour. I've downed a thing of Gatorade and some fruit to balance all of the stuff I've eaten this weekend. Like I said, tomorrow morning is my return to Central Park; I think we have Victor Navasky, the former editor/publisher and now the owner of the Nation, at 10am. That should be interesting. I'm gonna try to come up with an Ayn Rand-themed question.
21 July 2006
18 July 2006
From the Department of Duh.
Capitalism is at its most glorious when it is at its most inefficient, overproductive, wasteful, and absurd.
–Momus, Wired Tech Podcast
–Momus, Wired Tech Podcast
16 July 2006
On how much Central Park totally rocks.
Way more than I could possibly describe here. I spent over an hour running through it today, and was just amazed by the scope of it. With 58 miles of jogging paths, you could run there every day and never take the same route twice. Last week it was the Reservoir running track with the skyline of Manhattan; today it was running north up trails I didn't know, gaining in elevation when I thought there couldn't be anymore elevation left, until I came out at the Observatory, overlooking the Great Lawn, the Delacorte Theater (Shakespeare in the Park) and 5th Avenue on one of those fucking gorgeous Sunday mornings that make you realize that as long as there is Central Park, there is always a reason to live here.
Explode.
Tonight on the phone:
Ryan: But that was only the second most absurd thing to happen this week. The first was the exploding building in New York City.
Lee: Yeah I heard about that.
Ryan: What really took it to the next level though was that the New York Times was using 'blew up' in their descriptions. Like 'Doctor so-and-so, who has been in a coma since his townhouse blew up this week, succumbed to his injuries today.'
Lee: Because in that situation you wouldn't use 'exploded' or 'burnt down.'
Ryan: We're the paper of record, and we record this building as having 'blew up.'
Ryan: And I had that argument with the guy in the headquarters of Condé Nast and I was like "Wait, how did I get into this?"
Lee: "What happened!?!"
Ryan: I literally was walking back to the subway thinking "One step in any other direction, to any other group of people, and that never would've happened."
Lee: This doesn't sound like the kind of guy who you will persuade or calm down anytime soon.
Ryan: That'd be a hell of a lunchroom conversation though, if we talked again.
Lee: "Hey, remember that night last week when you acted like a complete jackass? Me too!"
Lee: We did do the jello snarfle, but there was waay too much jello. They used the black bowls from the cafeteria, and it was just–
Ryan: Wait, the black bowls as in the big plastic ones? As in, the ones we used to eat our pasta from?
Lee: Yeah man.
Ryan: You're snarfling jello out of salad bowls.
Lee: I looked at them and just thought "You cannot be serious."
Ryan: So eighteen hours later when the kids finally came down from having sugar flowing through their brain cavity...this is like our plan for having the kids eat their dozen Krispie Kremes last year from the Royals game–
Lee: And just letting them run around until they puke. That would've been awesome.
Ryan: But that was only the second most absurd thing to happen this week. The first was the exploding building in New York City.
Lee: Yeah I heard about that.
Ryan: What really took it to the next level though was that the New York Times was using 'blew up' in their descriptions. Like 'Doctor so-and-so, who has been in a coma since his townhouse blew up this week, succumbed to his injuries today.'
Lee: Because in that situation you wouldn't use 'exploded' or 'burnt down.'
Ryan: We're the paper of record, and we record this building as having 'blew up.'
Ryan: And I had that argument with the guy in the headquarters of Condé Nast and I was like "Wait, how did I get into this?"
Lee: "What happened!?!"
Ryan: I literally was walking back to the subway thinking "One step in any other direction, to any other group of people, and that never would've happened."
Lee: This doesn't sound like the kind of guy who you will persuade or calm down anytime soon.
Ryan: That'd be a hell of a lunchroom conversation though, if we talked again.
Lee: "Hey, remember that night last week when you acted like a complete jackass? Me too!"
Lee: We did do the jello snarfle, but there was waay too much jello. They used the black bowls from the cafeteria, and it was just–
Ryan: Wait, the black bowls as in the big plastic ones? As in, the ones we used to eat our pasta from?
Lee: Yeah man.
Ryan: You're snarfling jello out of salad bowls.
Lee: I looked at them and just thought "You cannot be serious."
Ryan: So eighteen hours later when the kids finally came down from having sugar flowing through their brain cavity...this is like our plan for having the kids eat their dozen Krispie Kremes last year from the Royals game–
Lee: And just letting them run around until they puke. That would've been awesome.
15 July 2006
The Day of the Three Museums.
I don't want to walk anymore today. I'll go find some lo mein somewhere tonight for dinner, but other than that, my legs have checked out.
Instead of going to Central Park this morning for a run, I slept in until 9am. Deciding against just dicking around until I could go to the Rec at noon, I chose instead to get breakfast and head out to the Cooper-Hewitt. I got there just before 11am and spent probably no more than 20min. inside; it sucked. Art is not design, so why the entire second floor was devoted to landscape paintings is still beyond me. There was only one display I liked, and that was modern utensil design. But they did have a nice selection of typography books in the shop.
Leaving there, I walked down to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, as it's along 5th Avenue and it's free for Columbia students. I took a good hour and a half in the exhibits and probably covered, at most, an eighth of the Met; it's hyooge. And that was by walking at a brisk pace through most of that. At first I thought it would be a bore, with all of the classical and ancient stuff; that kind of stuff has just never interested me. But then I got to the Modern Art, and boy was that fun. Picasso makes me so happy. I heart Stuart Davis. de Kooning and Rothko are simply wonders to behold. Miró freaks me out. Modigliani is probably my new favorite painter. And Peter Bonnard, a Frenchman I had never heard of before, can suck it. Seriously, I got to the point where I could recognize his style before I even saw his name, and every time I just felt this intense loathing bubbling up inside me to where I wanted to scream 'Goddamn it, I just want to burn you, you son of a bitch!' Art rocks.
Seeking to capitalize on this experience, I walked the rest of the way down 5th to Midtown to go back to MoMA, as I found out yesterday from a classmate that with our Columbia cards we can get in there for free too. Nearly hunched over, exhausted and with a sore lower back from traversing half of Manhattan by foot, I nonetheless made my way through the floors and exhibits I didn't make it to last week. The paintings were very nice, but I'm still not getting the sculpture. The Dada special exhibit was somewhat interesting, but I don't think a movement that was meant to showcase the absurdity of humanity can be properly presented in a manner that is itself not absurd. For example, they could've had the exhibit exactly set up like it is, but with all of the lights out, so that you couldn't see it. That would be Dada at its finest. There was also a special project from Herzog & de Mueron, architects who were given free reign to collect and comment on the Museum's works. The centerpiece was an auditorium of wooden benches in the middle of a darkened room, with slots in the walls on three sides so you could look in at mid-20th century products like chairs and such. The benches, though, existed to help you watch the 16 flat screen TVs mounted on the ceiling; I counted one showing Goodfellas, one with Deer Hunter, two showing Apocalypse Now at different points in the movie, and at least half were showing porn films of varying age, quality and subject matter. Hmm, I guess that's modern?
So maybe I don't really get art. Which is why I'm a designer at heart; I like things to have purpose and reason for existence. There is a problem, and through proper application of taste, creativity and logic, the problem is solved. Though the gallery that showed the evolution of Cubism by Picasso was sweet, and I think Rothko made a pretty good decision to leave behind the whole portrait thing.
One last thing: for any young homeless people who happen to be reading this blog, please please please do not walk up and down a subway car, begging for money while carrying a Starbucks cup. I don't care if it is just water inside, it's just not a good visual. Again, the designer's mindset is kicking in here. Have a great day, all.
Instead of going to Central Park this morning for a run, I slept in until 9am. Deciding against just dicking around until I could go to the Rec at noon, I chose instead to get breakfast and head out to the Cooper-Hewitt. I got there just before 11am and spent probably no more than 20min. inside; it sucked. Art is not design, so why the entire second floor was devoted to landscape paintings is still beyond me. There was only one display I liked, and that was modern utensil design. But they did have a nice selection of typography books in the shop.
Leaving there, I walked down to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, as it's along 5th Avenue and it's free for Columbia students. I took a good hour and a half in the exhibits and probably covered, at most, an eighth of the Met; it's hyooge. And that was by walking at a brisk pace through most of that. At first I thought it would be a bore, with all of the classical and ancient stuff; that kind of stuff has just never interested me. But then I got to the Modern Art, and boy was that fun. Picasso makes me so happy. I heart Stuart Davis. de Kooning and Rothko are simply wonders to behold. Miró freaks me out. Modigliani is probably my new favorite painter. And Peter Bonnard, a Frenchman I had never heard of before, can suck it. Seriously, I got to the point where I could recognize his style before I even saw his name, and every time I just felt this intense loathing bubbling up inside me to where I wanted to scream 'Goddamn it, I just want to burn you, you son of a bitch!' Art rocks.
Seeking to capitalize on this experience, I walked the rest of the way down 5th to Midtown to go back to MoMA, as I found out yesterday from a classmate that with our Columbia cards we can get in there for free too. Nearly hunched over, exhausted and with a sore lower back from traversing half of Manhattan by foot, I nonetheless made my way through the floors and exhibits I didn't make it to last week. The paintings were very nice, but I'm still not getting the sculpture. The Dada special exhibit was somewhat interesting, but I don't think a movement that was meant to showcase the absurdity of humanity can be properly presented in a manner that is itself not absurd. For example, they could've had the exhibit exactly set up like it is, but with all of the lights out, so that you couldn't see it. That would be Dada at its finest. There was also a special project from Herzog & de Mueron, architects who were given free reign to collect and comment on the Museum's works. The centerpiece was an auditorium of wooden benches in the middle of a darkened room, with slots in the walls on three sides so you could look in at mid-20th century products like chairs and such. The benches, though, existed to help you watch the 16 flat screen TVs mounted on the ceiling; I counted one showing Goodfellas, one with Deer Hunter, two showing Apocalypse Now at different points in the movie, and at least half were showing porn films of varying age, quality and subject matter. Hmm, I guess that's modern?
So maybe I don't really get art. Which is why I'm a designer at heart; I like things to have purpose and reason for existence. There is a problem, and through proper application of taste, creativity and logic, the problem is solved. Though the gallery that showed the evolution of Cubism by Picasso was sweet, and I think Rothko made a pretty good decision to leave behind the whole portrait thing.
One last thing: for any young homeless people who happen to be reading this blog, please please please do not walk up and down a subway car, begging for money while carrying a Starbucks cup. I don't care if it is just water inside, it's just not a good visual. Again, the designer's mindset is kicking in here. Have a great day, all.
14 July 2006
Still can't sleep.
Of course it's mostly because Peter Kaplan may have changed my life tonight. But I'm also trying to come up with a new name for my magazine idea.
I would've posted the idea down below, but the thing is that I accidently saved over it when I did a subsequent assignment while still in Lawrence; the only copy of it that remains is what Kaplan had in front of him tonight. We will get them back this weekend, upon which I'll promptly retype and save again. But I'll give you the basic gist.
The magazine was to be based upon one that I used to follow avidly for, like, the three issues that it existed. Starting out as Racquet, it was a tennis magazine that rarely did the kind of athlete bios and slam-pow! features like Tennis does today; instead, it was a more relaxed and refined magazine that focused on the leisure and participation side of the game. Indeed, my best memoy is of a piece by a man recalling his summers playing tennis on the Maine coast. It was the kind of literature that one rarely saw in a sports magazine then, and almost never sees now. Racquet then changed after I subscribed and relaunched as TSL, or The Sporting Life, and sought to expand to such activities as flyfishing and driving. I remember one issue coming in the mail, and then no more.
So my idea was to take this magazine and relaunch it with an even broader base, but with the same spirit intact: to be not a sports magazine, but a sporting magazine. To again highlight and enhance the participatory nature of athletics and the outdoors, while also reclaiming sports from the likes of ESPN, SI and the 24-hour media that is trying to desperately to put the same fans they claim to be "watching out for" in the seats to watch the players that are suspected of steroid use or negotiating contracts with built-in trade clauses. As such, my magazine would try to feature athletes from international and alternative sports, but that is not the main draw; neither is the product or style guides that would bring an aspect of Outside and GQ into the fold. No, the draw of the magazine is in making sport–as a pastime, as a pursuit, as an ideal–back into a literary form. Our readers may get SI, but they're also reading Esquire as well as Play and the New York Times Magazine. They want their passion for their particular athletic activity, whether for fun or competition, on the weekend or a vacaction, to be reflected by fine writing. They want to know about new fitness trends, but without the 'Get your six-pack abs while having sex 78 times a week!' attitude of Men's Health. They want reviews of golf resorts, but also want to know about other leisurely or athletic activities in the area. And they could care less about Terrell Owens. Seriously.
Originally I wanted to re-use The Sporting Life, but that's almost too old-school; there's 1950s, and then there's 1950s. On the last possible morning before I sent the assignment in I changed it to Glorious, which undoubtedly sucks but I loved the way it sounded and looked; I could see it in Gotham Ultra all across the top of the cover, with an amazing photo of a tennis player on a rooftop court in Manhattan. But even Kaplan said it was 'feminine', while this magazine would be very much masculine. So I need a new name. I've Googled 'Pursuit' or 'Pursuits', and found no magazines; I also did a Yahoo! directory search and didn't find any by just that name. I'll probably spend the next hour in bed thinking about this, so don't be surprised if I keep posting after waking up my computer with the latest entry, which I'll delete just as soon as I wake up in the morning. God I love publishing!
I would've posted the idea down below, but the thing is that I accidently saved over it when I did a subsequent assignment while still in Lawrence; the only copy of it that remains is what Kaplan had in front of him tonight. We will get them back this weekend, upon which I'll promptly retype and save again. But I'll give you the basic gist.
The magazine was to be based upon one that I used to follow avidly for, like, the three issues that it existed. Starting out as Racquet, it was a tennis magazine that rarely did the kind of athlete bios and slam-pow! features like Tennis does today; instead, it was a more relaxed and refined magazine that focused on the leisure and participation side of the game. Indeed, my best memoy is of a piece by a man recalling his summers playing tennis on the Maine coast. It was the kind of literature that one rarely saw in a sports magazine then, and almost never sees now. Racquet then changed after I subscribed and relaunched as TSL, or The Sporting Life, and sought to expand to such activities as flyfishing and driving. I remember one issue coming in the mail, and then no more.
So my idea was to take this magazine and relaunch it with an even broader base, but with the same spirit intact: to be not a sports magazine, but a sporting magazine. To again highlight and enhance the participatory nature of athletics and the outdoors, while also reclaiming sports from the likes of ESPN, SI and the 24-hour media that is trying to desperately to put the same fans they claim to be "watching out for" in the seats to watch the players that are suspected of steroid use or negotiating contracts with built-in trade clauses. As such, my magazine would try to feature athletes from international and alternative sports, but that is not the main draw; neither is the product or style guides that would bring an aspect of Outside and GQ into the fold. No, the draw of the magazine is in making sport–as a pastime, as a pursuit, as an ideal–back into a literary form. Our readers may get SI, but they're also reading Esquire as well as Play and the New York Times Magazine. They want their passion for their particular athletic activity, whether for fun or competition, on the weekend or a vacaction, to be reflected by fine writing. They want to know about new fitness trends, but without the 'Get your six-pack abs while having sex 78 times a week!' attitude of Men's Health. They want reviews of golf resorts, but also want to know about other leisurely or athletic activities in the area. And they could care less about Terrell Owens. Seriously.
Originally I wanted to re-use The Sporting Life, but that's almost too old-school; there's 1950s, and then there's 1950s. On the last possible morning before I sent the assignment in I changed it to Glorious, which undoubtedly sucks but I loved the way it sounded and looked; I could see it in Gotham Ultra all across the top of the cover, with an amazing photo of a tennis player on a rooftop court in Manhattan. But even Kaplan said it was 'feminine', while this magazine would be very much masculine. So I need a new name. I've Googled 'Pursuit' or 'Pursuits', and found no magazines; I also did a Yahoo! directory search and didn't find any by just that name. I'll probably spend the next hour in bed thinking about this, so don't be surprised if I keep posting after waking up my computer with the latest entry, which I'll delete just as soon as I wake up in the morning. God I love publishing!
Is it a coincidence?
That the movies that make you most glad to be alive seem to star Gael Garciá Bernal?
Peter Kaplan said he would subscribe to my magazine in an instant.
He's only America's foremost expert in magazines and media. Too bad the magazine doesn't exist.
Kaplan, the editor of the New York Observer and an authority on media in all of its forms, came to speak to us tonight as one last primer before we begin our magazine workshop this weekend. I knew he'd be talking about the history and mission of magazines (which he did in superb fashion), but I didn't know he had also read our magazine ideas. He wanted to call out the better ideas in front of class, for those students to explain their ideas and then he would say why they had potential. Now, the guy who was brought in expressly to discuss our ideas, which happened the other day, pretty much dismissed ours, and never mentioned mine at all.
Tonight, after about six others, Kaplan called my name. I stood up and tried, a couple of times, to explain my magazine idea. I say a couple of times because he kept stopping me and telling me that I wrote it down better than I was saying it out loud. Eventually he stopped me for good and read what I wrote. He then proceeded to explain why he loved it: because it had enthusiasm. Because it was about being a participant in sports again, after years of being spectators (which is what ESPN plays into almost exclusively). Because it was about having that same passion for athletic pursuits that we imagine our fathers having. Because the articles practically assign themselves, and you can do the kind of literature that writers will line up for. Because the photography and art could be magnificient. And, as a bonus, because it has one hell of an advertiser base.
Over and over again, he told us that the inherent existence of a magazine is in its editors; they are the blood that flows through the idea of the publication. Through their committment to a certain and distinct worldview, they bring catharsis to society through constantly challenging and bonding, seducing and nailing the magazine's readers. This was the message he wanted us to have, going into our workshops, where he dares us to make a magazine, not based on cold calculations of finance, but on our sensibilities and interests, indeed on our 'own best instincts.' "You have to beguile the reader with something that matters, and create a staff that knows they live in service to an idea. Anything you do less than that is dead."
Afterwards, I went up to shake his hand and have a quick word. He quickly smiled when I stepped up and said that I should absolutely take this idea and however possible, make it happen for real. He asked where I was from, and I said Kansas. He goes "Where in Kansas?"
"Lawrence."
"Oh, I know what they did there."
"Well, I wrote a paper on it. The Union fire, right?"
"Yeah. Where did you go to school?"
"The University there."
"Did you like it?"
"Very much so."
"Are you moving to New York?"
"Um, I will if I have to?"
"Are you a writer? If you write, you should keep doing it because this was good."
"Actually, I want to be a designer. Do design and editing."
"(with a surprised, inquiring look on his face) Really? (picking up newspaper) Well if you're in New York and you get stuck, email me, if we're still around."
"(with a surprised, embarassed look on my face) Thank you, and I will. And seriously, tell Bobby DeNiro to commit already."
"He hasn't yet!"
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what I like to call one hell of an evening. Tomorrow morning is running in Central Park, followed by my customary croissant and orange juice, and then a trip to the Cooper-Hewitt. And then a nap, because there's no possible way I'm gonna be able to sleep tonight.
Kaplan, the editor of the New York Observer and an authority on media in all of its forms, came to speak to us tonight as one last primer before we begin our magazine workshop this weekend. I knew he'd be talking about the history and mission of magazines (which he did in superb fashion), but I didn't know he had also read our magazine ideas. He wanted to call out the better ideas in front of class, for those students to explain their ideas and then he would say why they had potential. Now, the guy who was brought in expressly to discuss our ideas, which happened the other day, pretty much dismissed ours, and never mentioned mine at all.
Tonight, after about six others, Kaplan called my name. I stood up and tried, a couple of times, to explain my magazine idea. I say a couple of times because he kept stopping me and telling me that I wrote it down better than I was saying it out loud. Eventually he stopped me for good and read what I wrote. He then proceeded to explain why he loved it: because it had enthusiasm. Because it was about being a participant in sports again, after years of being spectators (which is what ESPN plays into almost exclusively). Because it was about having that same passion for athletic pursuits that we imagine our fathers having. Because the articles practically assign themselves, and you can do the kind of literature that writers will line up for. Because the photography and art could be magnificient. And, as a bonus, because it has one hell of an advertiser base.
Over and over again, he told us that the inherent existence of a magazine is in its editors; they are the blood that flows through the idea of the publication. Through their committment to a certain and distinct worldview, they bring catharsis to society through constantly challenging and bonding, seducing and nailing the magazine's readers. This was the message he wanted us to have, going into our workshops, where he dares us to make a magazine, not based on cold calculations of finance, but on our sensibilities and interests, indeed on our 'own best instincts.' "You have to beguile the reader with something that matters, and create a staff that knows they live in service to an idea. Anything you do less than that is dead."
Afterwards, I went up to shake his hand and have a quick word. He quickly smiled when I stepped up and said that I should absolutely take this idea and however possible, make it happen for real. He asked where I was from, and I said Kansas. He goes "Where in Kansas?"
"Lawrence."
"Oh, I know what they did there."
"Well, I wrote a paper on it. The Union fire, right?"
"Yeah. Where did you go to school?"
"The University there."
"Did you like it?"
"Very much so."
"Are you moving to New York?"
"Um, I will if I have to?"
"Are you a writer? If you write, you should keep doing it because this was good."
"Actually, I want to be a designer. Do design and editing."
"(with a surprised, inquiring look on his face) Really? (picking up newspaper) Well if you're in New York and you get stuck, email me, if we're still around."
"(with a surprised, embarassed look on my face) Thank you, and I will. And seriously, tell Bobby DeNiro to commit already."
"He hasn't yet!"
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what I like to call one hell of an evening. Tomorrow morning is running in Central Park, followed by my customary croissant and orange juice, and then a trip to the Cooper-Hewitt. And then a nap, because there's no possible way I'm gonna be able to sleep tonight.
13 July 2006
Disausted.
Seriously, the most absurd evening I've ever experienced. We sat in a most interesting lecture this afternoon with the online editors from American Express Publishing (Travel + Leisure!!!), but we didn't care because everybody wanted to get out and start getting ready for our big night out. It did not disappoint.
We had to leave here by 4:30pm to get down to headquarters in Times Square in time for the party, but half of the guys in the course (which means seven of us) were ready to go by 4:10, so we took off. I was clad in my 'Interpol' clothes: my black/red pinstriped suit pants, black textured shirt, black with silver belt, and silver tie. Thankfully I never got hot during the entire evening (girls at the party would exclaim that they were hot and I'm like 'Um, I'm looking at and down your dress. There's not enough there to make you start sweating.' But I digress), so I was able to keep my calm composure (which proved most necessary later). We got to Conde Nast and entered the party lounge, where black-suited waiters and waitresses really did pass around fantastic food (the most tender steak skewers you can imagine) and the two open bars contributed to lots of stumbling on the way back uptown. We toured the new Frank Gehry-designed cafeteria, and had the chance to take armfuls of free magazines on the way out.
The party itself was fun; I stood and listened to various Conde Nast execs talk about their path to the towering heights of magazine journalism, but I missed the VP/Creative Director for CN, who was like the one person I actually would've liked to talk to. Several girls in our course came up and said 'Ohmigod, I just shook hands with Anna Wintour! And she was nice!' A colleague and I have been tasked with designing the thank you card to CN, and I took pictures throughout the proceedings, but despite the first-hand account of Anna's personality, I was still afraid of taking a picture of her for the collage. Oh well.
Anyway, we had to leave by quarter after seven to come back and listen to what was easily the most entertaining lecture of the course: Mickey Boardman of Paper. He. Was. Fabulous. In every sense of the word that you dare to think of. He took us through his favorite covers of the 22-year old magazine, and dished out a LOT of gossip about working with celebrities in cover shoots. He was a dream to talk to afterwards too. I've collected more business cards in one day than in my entire life up to now. I absolutely must get some sleep now, but I need to stay up and think of ways to email my resume to these guys.
Oh, I almost forgot to tell you. At the end of the party, I got into a near-shouting match with a fellow classmate over whether capitalism can actually help save the world (I was on the pro-side; don't laugh) with a guy who believes that all capitalists are to blame for the current destruction of the planet. I don't mind fervent discussion; I do mind when you can't get through a single sentence without the other guy sticking his face in yours to tell you what you were 'actually' saying. I even walked away from him at one point and he followed me. I've studied Marx and I've read more Ayn Rand than anybody should ever have to; I'm not gonna be lectured by some goddamn philosophy major by what I really mean by 'my own self-interest.' Buying organic food isn't capitalist? Fuck you.
We had to leave here by 4:30pm to get down to headquarters in Times Square in time for the party, but half of the guys in the course (which means seven of us) were ready to go by 4:10, so we took off. I was clad in my 'Interpol' clothes: my black/red pinstriped suit pants, black textured shirt, black with silver belt, and silver tie. Thankfully I never got hot during the entire evening (girls at the party would exclaim that they were hot and I'm like 'Um, I'm looking at and down your dress. There's not enough there to make you start sweating.' But I digress), so I was able to keep my calm composure (which proved most necessary later). We got to Conde Nast and entered the party lounge, where black-suited waiters and waitresses really did pass around fantastic food (the most tender steak skewers you can imagine) and the two open bars contributed to lots of stumbling on the way back uptown. We toured the new Frank Gehry-designed cafeteria, and had the chance to take armfuls of free magazines on the way out. The party itself was fun; I stood and listened to various Conde Nast execs talk about their path to the towering heights of magazine journalism, but I missed the VP/Creative Director for CN, who was like the one person I actually would've liked to talk to. Several girls in our course came up and said 'Ohmigod, I just shook hands with Anna Wintour! And she was nice!' A colleague and I have been tasked with designing the thank you card to CN, and I took pictures throughout the proceedings, but despite the first-hand account of Anna's personality, I was still afraid of taking a picture of her for the collage. Oh well.
Anyway, we had to leave by quarter after seven to come back and listen to what was easily the most entertaining lecture of the course: Mickey Boardman of Paper. He. Was. Fabulous. In every sense of the word that you dare to think of. He took us through his favorite covers of the 22-year old magazine, and dished out a LOT of gossip about working with celebrities in cover shoots. He was a dream to talk to afterwards too. I've collected more business cards in one day than in my entire life up to now. I absolutely must get some sleep now, but I need to stay up and think of ways to email my resume to these guys.
Oh, I almost forgot to tell you. At the end of the party, I got into a near-shouting match with a fellow classmate over whether capitalism can actually help save the world (I was on the pro-side; don't laugh) with a guy who believes that all capitalists are to blame for the current destruction of the planet. I don't mind fervent discussion; I do mind when you can't get through a single sentence without the other guy sticking his face in yours to tell you what you were 'actually' saying. I even walked away from him at one point and he followed me. I've studied Marx and I've read more Ayn Rand than anybody should ever have to; I'm not gonna be lectured by some goddamn philosophy major by what I really mean by 'my own self-interest.' Buying organic food isn't capitalist? Fuck you.
Camp Conde Nast.
The magazine behemoth is hosting a cocktail party for us this afternoon. There will be a hyooge banner across the lobby welcoming us CPCers, and then upstairs in the reception area, two bars and the finest hors d'oeuvres we may ever try will be fueling 100 students schmoozing with the editors of GQ, Vogue, Glamour, Self, the New Yorker, Vanity Fair, Details, Wired, etc. I mean, it's not like we're doing it just for fun; it's practically a class requirement at this point. After all, career fair is in two and a half weeks.
11 July 2006
More than cute.
I just downloaded my first album on my MacBook tonight, and I'm getting even greater vibes than I got when I bought Panic! At the Disco. Cute Is What We Aim For has the same spirit in their song names and lyrics and their pop sound, but on a much more refined note. It sounds both restrained, and yet more expansive then Panic!; comparatively, Panic! feels like they rely on gimmicks, while Cute focuses on a straight-up, fun, yet biting tone. They're like Saves the Day but without the underlying darkness. Whatever the case, to use Mischa's words, I approve. Oh most definitely.
ETA: I also just bought Reinterpretations by the Shanghai Restoration Project. I am going to have some damn good music to design to next week during the magazine workshop.
ETA: I also just bought Reinterpretations by the Shanghai Restoration Project. I am going to have some damn good music to design to next week during the magazine workshop.
09 July 2006
Unprofessional.
Last night, on the phone:
Lee: I was in the office the other day when you called, and Michelle got quite a hoot out of it.
Ryan: She told me she was still at work and couldn't talk, and I'm like 'Come on. I'm quite certain this is not the most unprofessional thing to happen there this week.'
Lee: Yeah, I can't see us getting in trouble for it.
Ryan: 'Uh-oh! A personal phone call with 20min. left in the work week! Shut down Duke TIP Kansas!'
Lee: 'We're moving it to K-State!'
Ryan: Holy shit that's funny.
Lee: I was in the office the other day when you called, and Michelle got quite a hoot out of it.
Ryan: She told me she was still at work and couldn't talk, and I'm like 'Come on. I'm quite certain this is not the most unprofessional thing to happen there this week.'
Lee: Yeah, I can't see us getting in trouble for it.
Ryan: 'Uh-oh! A personal phone call with 20min. left in the work week! Shut down Duke TIP Kansas!'
Lee: 'We're moving it to K-State!'
Ryan: Holy shit that's funny.
Forza Italia! (pt. 2)
So Italy came through, as I, um, predicted. Yeah, I totally did. Though I hate hate hate penalty kicks to decide a match, let alone the championship of the world. It's just so unsatisfying. But I loved this Italian team, and I think the cursed Frenchmen are a bunch of a brutes. Seriously, head butting someone in the chest?
I got up a little after 7am this morning and headed out towards Central Park for a good run. I ran up the Great Hill along West Dr., going south until I pulled off onto a sidewalk past the tennis courts. Then I realized I was at the running track for the Jackie Onassis Reservoir. Oh. My. Gosh. It's my new favorite place in Manhattan. The reservoir stretches across a good quarter or so of the park, and at the north edge, the skyline of New York is arrayed before you, with the grand apartment buildings of 5th Ave. and Central Park West guiding your eyes to the whole of Midtown, Hell's Kitchen, and Gramercy. I loved the view so much I took a second lap, and then came back to watch the Wimbledon final.
After the first set I felt very sleepy, so I came back up to my room and listened to the BBC feed while resting (I love a good 10am nap). I watched the final set with Kristina who is way super cool, and then set out to find a barbershop to follow through on my decision of last night. It felt so good to get rid of all that stuff and get back down to my 1/8th of an inch; I need to remember that my hair looks much better as a Wimbledon court, not a fairway rough.
I got some juice and a big cookie to hold me over until lunch, which I was going to eat with some classmates while watching the World Cup final. When I found out they were going to the other side of the isle, I said that I was going to be fine right here. I got a crappy beef burrito across the street, which barely lasted through regulation, let alone overtime and penalty kicks.
Afterwards came the highlight of my weekend (MoMA excepted). I went down the street to Le Monde, a "student-priced" brasserie, in the words of the Not for Tourists guide (I actually found the restaurant on my own the first week I was here, and then looked it up later). For $28 it may not sound all that spectacular for a burger and frites with a beer, and some vanilla ice cream for dessert, but it was truly sublime. I can't wait to go back next weekend for a true brunch.
Now I'm in for the night; I'm supposed to be doing a homework assignment tonight, but there are a lot of us who never got the assignment on Friday (which should have been expected, considering that everybody couldn't wait to get out of that building after being stuck there for an entire week). I'll just read and listen to the internet radio station from P.S.1, a MoMA-sponsored museum/center in Queens; they play great techno-lounge music, and I hear the museum is fantastic. Just another listing for another weekend.
I got up a little after 7am this morning and headed out towards Central Park for a good run. I ran up the Great Hill along West Dr., going south until I pulled off onto a sidewalk past the tennis courts. Then I realized I was at the running track for the Jackie Onassis Reservoir. Oh. My. Gosh. It's my new favorite place in Manhattan. The reservoir stretches across a good quarter or so of the park, and at the north edge, the skyline of New York is arrayed before you, with the grand apartment buildings of 5th Ave. and Central Park West guiding your eyes to the whole of Midtown, Hell's Kitchen, and Gramercy. I loved the view so much I took a second lap, and then came back to watch the Wimbledon final.
After the first set I felt very sleepy, so I came back up to my room and listened to the BBC feed while resting (I love a good 10am nap). I watched the final set with Kristina who is way super cool, and then set out to find a barbershop to follow through on my decision of last night. It felt so good to get rid of all that stuff and get back down to my 1/8th of an inch; I need to remember that my hair looks much better as a Wimbledon court, not a fairway rough.
I got some juice and a big cookie to hold me over until lunch, which I was going to eat with some classmates while watching the World Cup final. When I found out they were going to the other side of the isle, I said that I was going to be fine right here. I got a crappy beef burrito across the street, which barely lasted through regulation, let alone overtime and penalty kicks.
Afterwards came the highlight of my weekend (MoMA excepted). I went down the street to Le Monde, a "student-priced" brasserie, in the words of the Not for Tourists guide (I actually found the restaurant on my own the first week I was here, and then looked it up later). For $28 it may not sound all that spectacular for a burger and frites with a beer, and some vanilla ice cream for dessert, but it was truly sublime. I can't wait to go back next weekend for a true brunch.
Now I'm in for the night; I'm supposed to be doing a homework assignment tonight, but there are a lot of us who never got the assignment on Friday (which should have been expected, considering that everybody couldn't wait to get out of that building after being stuck there for an entire week). I'll just read and listen to the internet radio station from P.S.1, a MoMA-sponsored museum/center in Queens; they play great techno-lounge music, and I hear the museum is fantastic. Just another listing for another weekend.
08 July 2006
Meh.
Forget this whole 'hair' thing. I'm gonna try to find a barber tomorrow. After what should be spectacular finals at Wimbledon and the World Cup, of course.
The problem with this city.
I've only been here for three weeks, but I think I've got this one nailed down: too many restaurants. Seriously, when any given block in this city has, by my estimate, approximately 15,000 places to get food, then where am I supposed to eat?
I woke up this morning with a renewed drive to turn this into Ultimate New York Weekend. I should've stuck with Friday. I went out to get a croissant and an orange juice, then walked across Morningside Park (which is really very cool) to the C train at 116th, which I took down to 23rd, in Chelsea. I wanted to go to the Center for Book Arts and look at their exhibits, but I went west when I should've gone east. Forty minutes later I entered the CBA, and walked out within five minutes, thoroughly disappointed with their concept of a 'book.' Going back to 7th Ave., I got on the 1 train at 28th to Times Square, then transfered to the N and took it to Lexington and 59th. I thought I could salvage the morning by stopping by Serendipity, where Tiffany had told me about the frozen hot chocolate. Unfortunately, you can't get it to go, and the waiting list was stretched out to the street. Trying to remain undaunted, I pressed on towards my ultimate goal for the day: the United Nations headquarters. I entered the main building and realized that MoMA has more of a security presence than the UN (and maybe there's a good reason for that). Deciding against a guided tour, I bopped around the gift and book shoppes before leaving to come back to 53rd so that I could at least have the option of going back through MoMA to see the floors that I didn't look at last night. I was getting very tired, as I was in my tenth hour of exploring New York City in the last 24 hours, and, after realizing that the Museum of Arts and Design across the street was primarily furniture and interior design, decided to scrap my Ultimate Weekend. I went back to 49th and Broadway, caught the 1 back up to 110th where I got out and tried to pick one place to finally eat some lunch; had to settle for a slice of cheese pizza that I could bring back to the dorm with me.
I'm going to rest and watch Germany:Portugal this afternoon, and then decide if I should go for a run tonight or tomorrow morning. With all of the walking I've done, I'm content to wait until tomorrow; I'm not planning on much this evening anyway. New York, you won this round.
I woke up this morning with a renewed drive to turn this into Ultimate New York Weekend. I should've stuck with Friday. I went out to get a croissant and an orange juice, then walked across Morningside Park (which is really very cool) to the C train at 116th, which I took down to 23rd, in Chelsea. I wanted to go to the Center for Book Arts and look at their exhibits, but I went west when I should've gone east. Forty minutes later I entered the CBA, and walked out within five minutes, thoroughly disappointed with their concept of a 'book.' Going back to 7th Ave., I got on the 1 train at 28th to Times Square, then transfered to the N and took it to Lexington and 59th. I thought I could salvage the morning by stopping by Serendipity, where Tiffany had told me about the frozen hot chocolate. Unfortunately, you can't get it to go, and the waiting list was stretched out to the street. Trying to remain undaunted, I pressed on towards my ultimate goal for the day: the United Nations headquarters. I entered the main building and realized that MoMA has more of a security presence than the UN (and maybe there's a good reason for that). Deciding against a guided tour, I bopped around the gift and book shoppes before leaving to come back to 53rd so that I could at least have the option of going back through MoMA to see the floors that I didn't look at last night. I was getting very tired, as I was in my tenth hour of exploring New York City in the last 24 hours, and, after realizing that the Museum of Arts and Design across the street was primarily furniture and interior design, decided to scrap my Ultimate Weekend. I went back to 49th and Broadway, caught the 1 back up to 110th where I got out and tried to pick one place to finally eat some lunch; had to settle for a slice of cheese pizza that I could bring back to the dorm with me.
I'm going to rest and watch Germany:Portugal this afternoon, and then decide if I should go for a run tonight or tomorrow morning. With all of the walking I've done, I'm content to wait until tomorrow; I'm not planning on much this evening anyway. New York, you won this round.
On the superficiality of politics and the meaning of design, or: What I want to be when I grow up, pt. 2.
I've just finished reading The Cheese Monkeys by Chip Kidd, the assistant art director and an editor-at-large at Knopf, and I must say that it has been as insightful as it was frightening. Insightful in that it gave voice to things I had known only intuitively, and frightening in the scope of what I don't know. You know, the kinds of things that one would, say, learn in art school? But that's crap, because I worked this week with two top tier professionals in book design and they didn't get a degree in design. Their talent is of course undeniable, and in the words of Mr. Kidd himself, makes all the difference in the world. Do I have it? Did I ever? Or was I just always fooling myself and everybody around me?
Last night I had trouble sleeping because I kept critiquing my book covers. All week I've heard praise, along with a few tweaks, and listened to our resource people be quite generous in telling me that my covers were 'lovely' and 'beautiful', and that they wouldn't say that I had talent if they didn't mean it. But over and over in my mind I kept saying 'But I'm not good yet! I can't be! Yes, they look nice. But do they look inspired?' For that, friends, is my goal. To reach the sublime, to capture the essence, so that upon glancing at the cover, or the spread, or the whatever, one's only thought is
"Of course."
I'm a rather humble guy when it comes to this stuff (indeed, I felt extremely embarassed whenever somebody started talking about my covers: 'Talk to the sales or editorial or publicity people; they actually worked this week! I just dicked around in a design lab until I felt like it was presentable!') but I don't think I'm out of line to say that as far as the technical stuff is concerned, I'm getting it down pretty good. All of my picked-up typographic knowledge (ascenders and descenders; x-heights; the difference between the Didot/Bodoni families and, oh, say, Garamond perhaps?) served me well, and my thorough knowledge of InDesign and PhotoShop allowed me to transfer exactly what was in my mind onto the screen, and then to the page.
But that's the problem. I knew what I was capable of doing, or what I brought to the table and out of the technology at hand. I still don't know whether I felt myself reaching for an idea because I knew that I could take something from a lesser branch and through the magic/curse of desktop publishing, still be able to create a work of suitable design. (Though each cover does have a great idea behind it, esp. 'Devil's Chord' and 'Pin Factory.') There's a reason why Sara Eisenmann (who hired Chip Kidd at Knopf!) has been said to say that CPC students who come in with little or no design background usually do better at the covers. It's not hard to understand: they don't know what's possible yet. They don't know what the programs are and aren't capable of doing; they're not thinking in terms of kerning or halftone screens; the purity of the mind can allow for a greater reach of ideas. When they asked me how to curve text into a circle or a wavy line, I had to express my apologies, for I never did that before, and thus did not know; though I had always wanted to learn, I never took the time to explore those possibilities. I knew what I done before, and that was enough. It cannot be anymore.
You can take all of this for what you will; it is after midnight and I've yet to get a full night of sleep during this most intense week of my life. As for the title? I've yet to read a single daily newspaper or read more than a few stories from the NYTimes.com that wasn't World Cup or Book/Arts-related since I arrived in NYC. And I'm not freaking out. In fact, I'm somewhat relieved to know that the world can continue on without my spending three hours a day on political blogs. Spend enough time talking about a fake book on the Republican Revolution and you realize that it's all crap anyway; the conservative/liberal dichotomy, the perceived 'traditional values' or 'progressive wave', and the 'It's 900 days until Bush is out, and then everything will be well again!' No it won't! The problem isn't Bush. It's never been Bush. It's the system that allowed him to become president. It's the system that says that two parties are enough, thank you very much. It's the system that encourages a flag-burning amendment to come to the floor every fucking year and keeps the words 'minimum wage' from even being uttered within earshot of Congress. I realize I'm ranting here, and the point isn't that this is a thunderbolt from the great blue; it's that I'm done. Not with the ship of state, mind you; I'll still keep up on the goings-on, and chit-chat and vote accordingly. But as far as the game is concerned, put me on the bench, coach; it's not fun anymore, and I'll be damned if I'm going to do something that isn't fun.
Let others write their screeds, and I'll even respond occasionally, but I've got enough on my plate with this design business. And if I work really really hard, and spend more money on formal classes, and catch a few breaks, then maybe I'll actually get into a position where I can spend the better portion of my life racking my brain and body over a sketchpad and a cinema display. Ideas, when given expression on a page, or a sign, or a façade, have more power than we can possibly know. They are the very essence of meaning, and inevitably, invariably, bring us up to the ranks of the inspired.
Last night I had trouble sleeping because I kept critiquing my book covers. All week I've heard praise, along with a few tweaks, and listened to our resource people be quite generous in telling me that my covers were 'lovely' and 'beautiful', and that they wouldn't say that I had talent if they didn't mean it. But over and over in my mind I kept saying 'But I'm not good yet! I can't be! Yes, they look nice. But do they look inspired?' For that, friends, is my goal. To reach the sublime, to capture the essence, so that upon glancing at the cover, or the spread, or the whatever, one's only thought is
"Of course."
I'm a rather humble guy when it comes to this stuff (indeed, I felt extremely embarassed whenever somebody started talking about my covers: 'Talk to the sales or editorial or publicity people; they actually worked this week! I just dicked around in a design lab until I felt like it was presentable!') but I don't think I'm out of line to say that as far as the technical stuff is concerned, I'm getting it down pretty good. All of my picked-up typographic knowledge (ascenders and descenders; x-heights; the difference between the Didot/Bodoni families and, oh, say, Garamond perhaps?) served me well, and my thorough knowledge of InDesign and PhotoShop allowed me to transfer exactly what was in my mind onto the screen, and then to the page.
But that's the problem. I knew what I was capable of doing, or what I brought to the table and out of the technology at hand. I still don't know whether I felt myself reaching for an idea because I knew that I could take something from a lesser branch and through the magic/curse of desktop publishing, still be able to create a work of suitable design. (Though each cover does have a great idea behind it, esp. 'Devil's Chord' and 'Pin Factory.') There's a reason why Sara Eisenmann (who hired Chip Kidd at Knopf!) has been said to say that CPC students who come in with little or no design background usually do better at the covers. It's not hard to understand: they don't know what's possible yet. They don't know what the programs are and aren't capable of doing; they're not thinking in terms of kerning or halftone screens; the purity of the mind can allow for a greater reach of ideas. When they asked me how to curve text into a circle or a wavy line, I had to express my apologies, for I never did that before, and thus did not know; though I had always wanted to learn, I never took the time to explore those possibilities. I knew what I done before, and that was enough. It cannot be anymore.
You can take all of this for what you will; it is after midnight and I've yet to get a full night of sleep during this most intense week of my life. As for the title? I've yet to read a single daily newspaper or read more than a few stories from the NYTimes.com that wasn't World Cup or Book/Arts-related since I arrived in NYC. And I'm not freaking out. In fact, I'm somewhat relieved to know that the world can continue on without my spending three hours a day on political blogs. Spend enough time talking about a fake book on the Republican Revolution and you realize that it's all crap anyway; the conservative/liberal dichotomy, the perceived 'traditional values' or 'progressive wave', and the 'It's 900 days until Bush is out, and then everything will be well again!' No it won't! The problem isn't Bush. It's never been Bush. It's the system that allowed him to become president. It's the system that says that two parties are enough, thank you very much. It's the system that encourages a flag-burning amendment to come to the floor every fucking year and keeps the words 'minimum wage' from even being uttered within earshot of Congress. I realize I'm ranting here, and the point isn't that this is a thunderbolt from the great blue; it's that I'm done. Not with the ship of state, mind you; I'll still keep up on the goings-on, and chit-chat and vote accordingly. But as far as the game is concerned, put me on the bench, coach; it's not fun anymore, and I'll be damned if I'm going to do something that isn't fun.
Let others write their screeds, and I'll even respond occasionally, but I've got enough on my plate with this design business. And if I work really really hard, and spend more money on formal classes, and catch a few breaks, then maybe I'll actually get into a position where I can spend the better portion of my life racking my brain and body over a sketchpad and a cinema display. Ideas, when given expression on a page, or a sign, or a façade, have more power than we can possibly know. They are the very essence of meaning, and inevitably, invariably, bring us up to the ranks of the inspired.
07 July 2006
Ultimate New York Friday.
7am Run in Riverside Park.
8:20am Breakfast in the J-School.
9am Final copy-edit for the prospectus of Hudson University Press.
10:50am Final printing of HUP catalog, designed by yours truly.
11am Magazine orientation meeting.
12pm Prospectus complete and ready for submission.
1pm Walk into Columbia University Security to report that my iPod nano has been stolen from the desk in my room sometime in the past week.
2pm Emerge in Union Square Park at 23rd St., spend next 15min. or so finding my way to the Strand Bookstore.
3:15pm Leave Strand, head south on Broadway towards SoHo.
3:30pm Get to Spring St., find the bakery I've been wanting to try for years to purchase a croissant (my new favorite breakfast food!), a brownie, and a cup of Earl Grey.
4pm Emerge in Rockefeller Center at 49th to find a place to sit down and eat my treats. Walk away thoroughly unimpressed by both the locale and the food.
4:15pm Get in line for Target Ticket Free Friday at the Museum of Modern Art on 53rd.
4:30pm Get in the building.
4:40pm Get through the checkroom.
5pm Leave behind the actual museum to check out the bookstore.
5:30pm Exit MoMA after looking at half the exhibits (with resolve to come back at a later date and see the rest), check out the Design Store across the street.
6pm Enter Niketown at 57th and 5th. Consider buying a Netherlands ballcap; realize I never look in good in ballcaps. Consider buying a NY Niketown t-shirt; realize that I can no longer wear anything larger than a small without looking like a loser.
6:30pm Leave Niketown, and with weary legs, push on to 59th and Columbus Circle to come back to Columbia. An already full train is forced to disembark all of its passengers due to mechanical failures, and what seems like half of humanity packs itself into the next one, with me in the middle.
6:55pm Exit at 110th and Cathedral Parkway, go down the block to a walk-in Chinese place (which I have been craving all week).
7:15pm Satisfy craving for General Tso's Chicken back in the dorm while I regale all who will listen about my iPod travesty. Proceed to make everybody both hungry for real (read: non-Columbia) food and paranoid about leaving valuables in our locked dorm rooms.
8:35pm Still unsure of my plans for the rest of the night; seriously considering just reading, but worried about others having fun without me. Being in New York City, I really need to get to used to this feeling to preserve my sanity.
8:20am Breakfast in the J-School.
9am Final copy-edit for the prospectus of Hudson University Press.
10:50am Final printing of HUP catalog, designed by yours truly.
11am Magazine orientation meeting.
12pm Prospectus complete and ready for submission.
1pm Walk into Columbia University Security to report that my iPod nano has been stolen from the desk in my room sometime in the past week.
2pm Emerge in Union Square Park at 23rd St., spend next 15min. or so finding my way to the Strand Bookstore.
3:15pm Leave Strand, head south on Broadway towards SoHo.
3:30pm Get to Spring St., find the bakery I've been wanting to try for years to purchase a croissant (my new favorite breakfast food!), a brownie, and a cup of Earl Grey.
4pm Emerge in Rockefeller Center at 49th to find a place to sit down and eat my treats. Walk away thoroughly unimpressed by both the locale and the food.
4:15pm Get in line for Target Ticket Free Friday at the Museum of Modern Art on 53rd.
4:30pm Get in the building.
4:40pm Get through the checkroom.
5pm Leave behind the actual museum to check out the bookstore.
5:30pm Exit MoMA after looking at half the exhibits (with resolve to come back at a later date and see the rest), check out the Design Store across the street.
6pm Enter Niketown at 57th and 5th. Consider buying a Netherlands ballcap; realize I never look in good in ballcaps. Consider buying a NY Niketown t-shirt; realize that I can no longer wear anything larger than a small without looking like a loser.
6:30pm Leave Niketown, and with weary legs, push on to 59th and Columbus Circle to come back to Columbia. An already full train is forced to disembark all of its passengers due to mechanical failures, and what seems like half of humanity packs itself into the next one, with me in the middle.
6:55pm Exit at 110th and Cathedral Parkway, go down the block to a walk-in Chinese place (which I have been craving all week).
7:15pm Satisfy craving for General Tso's Chicken back in the dorm while I regale all who will listen about my iPod travesty. Proceed to make everybody both hungry for real (read: non-Columbia) food and paranoid about leaving valuables in our locked dorm rooms.
8:35pm Still unsure of my plans for the rest of the night; seriously considering just reading, but worried about others having fun without me. Being in New York City, I really need to get to used to this feeling to preserve my sanity.
06 July 2006
05 July 2006
No. 6.
Colophon: Artwork found at this website. Type is Gotham Extra Light, from H&F-J, and Didot (standard).
No. 5.
Colophon: Artwork found somewhere on the internet (I know, I'm getting worse at this). Type is Jenson, Onyx, Bulmer, Runic, and Poplar. Colors are Pantone 292 and 294.
04 July 2006
No. 4.
Colophon: Can't remember where exactly the images came from; it took me two days to find them. Typeface is Flood.
No. 3.
Colophon: Image via Wikipedia. Typefaces are Bodoni, Latin, and Cyclone, which is from Hoefler & Frere-Jones.
03 July 2006
No. 1.
Colphon: This is a fake book cover; this is not in print, nor is it for any commercial or promotional use whatsoever except in a course project. Image from Express Train. Typefaces are Gotham and Cyclone, and are from Hoefler & Frere-Jones.
By the way.
I made my first trip to Central Park yesterday on my little field trip to the Museum of the City of New York. I of course got lost, and spent a good 40 min. traversing the park before getting to 5th Ave. The trip itself was a bust; I found no good artwork at that museum (but I did get in for free!) or at the Museum of El Barrio. But I got to see a bit of the Park and that's always a good thing.
The most ridiculous night ever.
Until tomorrow night. Seriously, fuck publishing.
I can get away with saying that after 1am in the morning.
I can get away with saying that after 1am in the morning.
02 July 2006
Intensity.
This is my first wireless posting ever, thanks to my lovely MacBook. I'm writing this from the World Room of the Graduate School of Journalism, where the Pulitzer Prizes are awarded every year, and which serves, since Friday night through this Saturday, as headquarters for the Hudson University Press ("Jerry Orbach is our dean!"). This workshop is absolutely intense, but only for everybody else; they're all dealing with numbers and math and editing press releases and stuff like that. I just design six covers, and on this, the second day of workshop, I already have two pretty much locked in. I'll try to post them later in the week when they get finalized, but let's just say, these are most definitely portfolio material.
The most beloved cover so far is the one that nobody thought I could pull off. For a book titled The Devil's Chord, I wanted to stay away from satanic imagery and instead show the devil at play. I thought it would be great also to stay away from stock photography (which sucks when pulled off the internet) and do my own. I went out and found some faux parchment paper and hand-drew this tritonal chord onto it, and after three attempts, I managed to set it on fire, get it into position where the flame starts to engulf the staff and notes with one hand, and aim the camera with my other hand to take the photo (without my fingers in the frame), all the while it started raining. With absolutely no editing to the image, it became the cover, and has met universal acclaim. My other cover, a black & white subway photo I found on the internet, has also received lots of compliments due to the (of course) selection of typeface, and the way I balanced text in the tonal areas of the image. I'm working with a couple of legends in the business, and I can't wait to get started in the morning and start researching our other titles. As Dean Orbach would say, "Kick-ass."
The most beloved cover so far is the one that nobody thought I could pull off. For a book titled The Devil's Chord, I wanted to stay away from satanic imagery and instead show the devil at play. I thought it would be great also to stay away from stock photography (which sucks when pulled off the internet) and do my own. I went out and found some faux parchment paper and hand-drew this tritonal chord onto it, and after three attempts, I managed to set it on fire, get it into position where the flame starts to engulf the staff and notes with one hand, and aim the camera with my other hand to take the photo (without my fingers in the frame), all the while it started raining. With absolutely no editing to the image, it became the cover, and has met universal acclaim. My other cover, a black & white subway photo I found on the internet, has also received lots of compliments due to the (of course) selection of typeface, and the way I balanced text in the tonal areas of the image. I'm working with a couple of legends in the business, and I can't wait to get started in the morning and start researching our other titles. As Dean Orbach would say, "Kick-ass."
01 July 2006
Holy. Shit.
This workshop is gonna be insane. ETA: I never changed the time settings on here; it's still on Central Time, so everything I post is really one hour later. Thus I was talking about getting done with the first night of workshop at 1:45am after sitting in a conference room for six hours coming up with book ideas. Natch.–10:20am
30 June 2006
Exile, pt. 2.
I found out this afternoon that I will be a design director in our book workshop, which starts tonight. I still don't know what kind of house I'll be working for, but I know that I will have to do six book jackets (and potentially a catalogue or other promotional materials), and will be pretty much sequestered away from the rest of my group for six days while tucked away in a special studio with two professional designers (meaning that I won't learn much about the rest of the process, but oh well). This is so exciting I can hardly stand it. Now I just hope I can live up to the hype.
29 June 2006
Turn on the bright lights, pt. 2.
Times Square, for those who have never seen it at night, is amazing. It's actually quite small, but is the most incredible intersection of humanity and commercialism I've ever seen. I was already a committed capitalist, and while trying on Swatches, I knew I had joined the winning team.
Anyway, as impressive as that was, I'm still in love with the subway. I found a book last week at Strand called 'The Island at the Center of the World' about when the Dutch ruled New York, and now I want '722 Miles' about the building of this incredible system below the streets. I get the same feeling of excitement and wonderment watching the subway train roll toward me as I do when I stick my head out of our 9th floor bathroom windows to look up and down Broadway. I wonder if I'll ever lose that feeling. God I hope not.
Anyway, as impressive as that was, I'm still in love with the subway. I found a book last week at Strand called 'The Island at the Center of the World' about when the Dutch ruled New York, and now I want '722 Miles' about the building of this incredible system below the streets. I get the same feeling of excitement and wonderment watching the subway train roll toward me as I do when I stick my head out of our 9th floor bathroom windows to look up and down Broadway. I wonder if I'll ever lose that feeling. God I hope not.
And so it begins.
I just applied for what would be a great entry-level job, using my professionally-revised resumé. I'm going to Times Square to celebrate by looking at bright lights in this wet night.
27 June 2006
Bracketology: On crack.
Dan Shanoff today has perhaps the greatest idea ever in all of sports, and maybe in all of anything. As the column is updated daily, I'll post the salient details for expanding the NCAA tourney to be truly perfect:
My only problem is that I think the floated proposal of doubling the field from 64 to 128 teams doesn't go far enough. My plan?
I call it "Ultimate Madness": Expand the field to include all teams.
Start with this: Modestly expand the current D-1 RPI listing of teams from 334 to 336 by promoting just two teams from Division 2. That makes the rest of the numbers work.
Then the fun begins, starting with the elimination of conference tournaments, replaced by something a lot more fun, exciting and fair:
Step 1: When the regular season ends, the top 32 teams in the country are seeded and given a bye into the classic 64-team "Big Dance." Earning a bye week is the incentive to play hard in the regular season.
(And we still have the drama of the "bubble" as teams jockey for a spot in this Top 32 field.)
Step 2: The leftover 304 teams are seeded into a "Little Dance," held during the 10 days previously reserved for Championship Week:
The weakest 64 play two preliminary games to find 16 teams to join the remaining 240, rounding out the 256-team "Little Dance" bracket. (Try that in your office pool!)
The benefits are obvious: Every fan enjoys a stake; smaller schools get way more exposure; big schools can prove they belong in the ultimate field of 64; revenue for TV partners and the NCAA would be astronomical.
Step 3: Within simply 3 games played over a week, this 256-team field is narrowed to 32, then seeded with the Top 32 teams into the conventional 64-team bracket we all know and love.
The Top 32 teams might be rested, but the "Other 32" have been battle-tested by anything from 3-5 games -- gaining momentum, generating fan buzz and finding chemistry that would lead to more Big Dance parity.
Step 4: Play the 64-team Big Dance as usual.
All of a sudden, every game is up for grabs: The traditional 16-vs.-1 game isn't the lock it used to be: Not when the 16th-seeded team is truly the 64th-best team in the country.
26 June 2006
And because I'm in a cut-the-bullshit mood tonight.
The coolest guy on the planet. 'No Reservations' is the most refreshing show I've watched in a long, long time.
"A pretty grisly scenario."
John Updike in the New York Times Book Review. If you're not registered, you should be. [Courtesy of Mr. Chip Kidd.]
Chip Kidd. Even just the name is bad-ass.
"My problem with Andy Worhol is that this guy takes the fucking Campbell's soupcan or Brillo pad box, exactly, with every single detail the same, and just because he makes it Art with a capital 'a' can make a million fucking dollars and not give a cent to the guy who fucking made the soup can or box in the first fucking place. I mean, Jesus, think of the son of a bitch at Brillo, fucking Brillo, who designed the box and dies, penniless, in his unheated attic apartment!"
"I don't do much lawyering for my books. I go up to the editor in chief and show it to him. If I say 'You should like this, here's why' then I just sound like an asshole. And I can't stand next to the table in the store and tell those people why they should like it. It has to stand on its own legs."
"Jackets do not sell books. Bookstores sell books. Jackets, hopefully, get your attention for long enough to make you pick it up. After that, the jacket has to stand aside to the book and the author inside."
"My teacher said 'You have to eat the world with your eyes.' In New York, your eyes are burping all the time."
"Being Japanese, I think they're just too polite to reject anything I design."
"Either show or tell. To do both is treat the audience like they are fucking idiots."
"The lady said she was developing graphic novels to target the 12-16 year old girl market. Art Spiegelman responded 'I try not to think of my audience as targets to shoot at.' I agree with him totally."
"Whether you should go to grad school for design is based on natural talent. If you have the time and ability to learn it on your own, to study others, and to develop your own visual language, then fuck school. The most essential thing is to learn what's been done, and why it's been done."
"I don't do much lawyering for my books. I go up to the editor in chief and show it to him. If I say 'You should like this, here's why' then I just sound like an asshole. And I can't stand next to the table in the store and tell those people why they should like it. It has to stand on its own legs."
"Jackets do not sell books. Bookstores sell books. Jackets, hopefully, get your attention for long enough to make you pick it up. After that, the jacket has to stand aside to the book and the author inside."
"My teacher said 'You have to eat the world with your eyes.' In New York, your eyes are burping all the time."
"Being Japanese, I think they're just too polite to reject anything I design."
"Either show or tell. To do both is treat the audience like they are fucking idiots."
"The lady said she was developing graphic novels to target the 12-16 year old girl market. Art Spiegelman responded 'I try not to think of my audience as targets to shoot at.' I agree with him totally."
"Whether you should go to grad school for design is based on natural talent. If you have the time and ability to learn it on your own, to study others, and to develop your own visual language, then fuck school. The most essential thing is to learn what's been done, and why it's been done."
25 June 2006
Oranje crushed.
It would have been the best football match I've ever seen, had it not been the absolute worst one. The number of referees that FIFA will be looking at to call the final is dwindling down with every game, it seems. Bleh, watching that just leaves a pit in your stomach.
24 June 2006
Bigger than my head.
I ate a slice of pizza tonight that was almost unimaginably huge. And almost impossibly cheap. For $2.75 I got a slice of cheese pizza that was 1/8th of the jumbo pizza, which means 'you don't want even want to know how big the entire pie is.' This is going to be a weekend fixture, I can already tell. Especially since everything else is rather pricey in this city.
Something else that's big? The bookstores. I took a trip down the 1 to 42nd St.-Times Square station, then got on the NR to Union Square. A few of us walked around in the drizzle until we got to the Strand Bookstore, famous for its 18 Miles of Shelves. I spent a good deal of time just looking through the sale boxes, let alone browsing through the history and political shelves (and I didn't even make it to the design books). Great deals and sales on these books too; I got a few books about NYC, and forgot to pick up a box of really nice postcards for the 2nd round of mailings back to Lawrence.
From there, we simply looked for the nearest place to eat as it was pouring heavily outside, and thus I had my first (and hopefully last) trip to Quizno's. Walking down Broadway, we crossed over through NYU and Washington Square Park, before coming back up 5th Avenue with the Empire State Building rising above us the whole time. Meeting up with a classmate, we went west at 14th St. at the upper edge of the Village, then headed north to the Chelsea Piers to watch the Argentina:Mexico match. After overtime, we came back along 23rd St. to the 7th Avenue station for the 1 back to Columbia, and then had our slices of heaven.
All in all, a good day to really get out into the city and start realizing just how big and yet how local New York is and can be. If only it hadn't been so damn wet; the entire week was perfect warm, sunny weather while we were stuck here for 'class', and on our free weekend, we get this shit. I think I'm gonna kick back in the lounge downstairs, watch some TV, rest my legs from traversing the city in wet flip-flops, and reconstruct my resumé in a new word processor since I don't have Office on my MacBook. This is gonna be a good summer.
Something else that's big? The bookstores. I took a trip down the 1 to 42nd St.-Times Square station, then got on the NR to Union Square. A few of us walked around in the drizzle until we got to the Strand Bookstore, famous for its 18 Miles of Shelves. I spent a good deal of time just looking through the sale boxes, let alone browsing through the history and political shelves (and I didn't even make it to the design books). Great deals and sales on these books too; I got a few books about NYC, and forgot to pick up a box of really nice postcards for the 2nd round of mailings back to Lawrence.
From there, we simply looked for the nearest place to eat as it was pouring heavily outside, and thus I had my first (and hopefully last) trip to Quizno's. Walking down Broadway, we crossed over through NYU and Washington Square Park, before coming back up 5th Avenue with the Empire State Building rising above us the whole time. Meeting up with a classmate, we went west at 14th St. at the upper edge of the Village, then headed north to the Chelsea Piers to watch the Argentina:Mexico match. After overtime, we came back along 23rd St. to the 7th Avenue station for the 1 back to Columbia, and then had our slices of heaven.
All in all, a good day to really get out into the city and start realizing just how big and yet how local New York is and can be. If only it hadn't been so damn wet; the entire week was perfect warm, sunny weather while we were stuck here for 'class', and on our free weekend, we get this shit. I think I'm gonna kick back in the lounge downstairs, watch some TV, rest my legs from traversing the city in wet flip-flops, and reconstruct my resumé in a new word processor since I don't have Office on my MacBook. This is gonna be a good summer.
23 June 2006
Fifteen hundred miles..
To meet up with a friend from Kansas who's living in a Columbia dorm two blocks away while interning at MTV. Interesting how things work out.
Tonight was our first staff happy hour; drinking is very big here, or maybe just among people in publishing. Afterwards I came back and then went out with said friend from Kansas; we ventured down the block to a restaurant where I had spring rolls and a milkshake. Oh, and literally next door to my dorm, in the student union, is the Socialism 2006 convention. I love this place.
Tomorrow, I get lost downtown. I've been looking forward to this for years now.
Tonight was our first staff happy hour; drinking is very big here, or maybe just among people in publishing. Afterwards I came back and then went out with said friend from Kansas; we ventured down the block to a restaurant where I had spring rolls and a milkshake. Oh, and literally next door to my dorm, in the student union, is the Socialism 2006 convention. I love this place.
Tomorrow, I get lost downtown. I've been looking forward to this for years now.
Rule of thirds.
Okay, one more crack at the World Cup. Now that I've had a chance to see the teams in action (unlike the NCAA tourney, where you have an entire regular season, plus conference tourneys to see who's hot), I want to take the knockout teams and play it through, because matchups are sooo crucial to this thing.
Round of 16 Germany:Sweden, Argentina:Mexico, England:Ecuador, Holland:Portugal, Italy:Australia, Switzerland:Ukraine, Brazil:Ghana, Spain:France
Quarters Germany:Argentina, Australia:Switzerland, England:Holland, Brazil:Spain
Semis Argentina:Switzerland, Holland:Spain
Vice-Championship Switzerland:Spain
Championship of the World Argentina:Holland
Round of 16 Germany:Sweden, Argentina:Mexico, England:Ecuador, Holland:Portugal, Italy:Australia, Switzerland:Ukraine, Brazil:Ghana, Spain:France
Quarters Germany:Argentina, Australia:Switzerland, England:Holland, Brazil:Spain
Semis Argentina:Switzerland, Holland:Spain
Vice-Championship Switzerland:Spain
Championship of the World Argentina:Holland
Triple option.
I want to hate this. It just screams 'We are way too indebted to Nike to stop this now!' But the more I look at it and see the various options (Oh, I suppose the yellow helmet with the whites might not look too bad), the more I appreciate the ambition of the design. I still think the metal grating shoulder print only works on the whites, but I am glad they kept the Thunder Yellow; I might be like the one in every thousand people who like it, but I've long since gotten used to being 'that one'.
22 June 2006
Observations.
I forgot to mention this last night, but I found the diner that was used on Seinfeld. It's actually called Tom's Restaurant, and the inside looks nothing like Monk's on the show, but the sign is very neon. Also, when crossing a street in New York, you do not stand on the curb, but instead about four feet out while hoping the driver coming toward you doesn't get all twitchy, as you really have only a few inches of space to spare. Oh, there are a lot of dogs and their owners out at 6:45am in the park. Just in case you were curious.
21 June 2006
New York's Finest.
I saw my first two NYPD blue tonight. They happened to be standing at the corner of 108th and Broadway as I was jaywalking across.
Today was a good day, a transitional day of sorts. Today I started really paying attention to what is truly possible in publishing, and how I might get there while also dealing with the knowledge that I can really only do it in New York City. We met with a senior editor this afternoon in small groups to discuss the manuscript that got sent to us a month ago (I found out that mine is indeed being published, but it has an amazing, yet still probably embargoed story). Then we listened to a panel of all of the editors, then had 'Sherry Hour' of wine and crackers while gathered around the editor who most piqued our fancy. Then a short dinner led into another panel, this one of recent CPC alumni who are now working as editorial assistants all over NYC. Their advice – "Don't worry! The job will come! And living in NYC is do-able! Even though I had to live in a Days Inn for two weeks while finding an apartment! But you'll get it, and you'll find out your spending priorities quickly!'
I have no problem subsisting on a life of cereal in New York City: I've done it for five years now anyway, not because of money, but because I freaking like cereal that much. I can go without cable or even a TV, I don't drink Starbucks anyway, I don't wear Diesel jeans, and living in a small room with flatmates is not beyond my capabilities. As long as I have occasional access to the internet (outside of work) and a gym membership, I'm good. I'm taken care of, because most of my time will and must be spent on my career. The next two or three years of my life determines whether I can make this work: if I can't design, I'll know it soon enough. But I'm not going to crash out because I can't afford to live here. Could I make a living somewhere else? Possibly. But then we get into the meaning of 'living', and I'm not up for that tonight.
Anyway, I'm excited for the weekend. Tomorrow morning I'm getting up early and running in Riverside Park. I'm going to buy Chip Kidd's book (along with some Columbia t-shirts) and spend tomorrow night reading that and doing homework. Friday we have the evening off, so I'll probably go out with classmates. Saturday and Sunday we're on our own for meals, which was my rationale for taking a quick stroll on Broadway tonight, to see what little markets and bistros are there (and there are plenty, believe me). One of those days I want to go downtown to Chelsea or the Village and get lost for a few hours. I'll save Central Park for another weekend.
It's 10:21pm here and I'm listening to the sounds of New York. I'm ready for the rest of my life.
Today was a good day, a transitional day of sorts. Today I started really paying attention to what is truly possible in publishing, and how I might get there while also dealing with the knowledge that I can really only do it in New York City. We met with a senior editor this afternoon in small groups to discuss the manuscript that got sent to us a month ago (I found out that mine is indeed being published, but it has an amazing, yet still probably embargoed story). Then we listened to a panel of all of the editors, then had 'Sherry Hour' of wine and crackers while gathered around the editor who most piqued our fancy. Then a short dinner led into another panel, this one of recent CPC alumni who are now working as editorial assistants all over NYC. Their advice – "Don't worry! The job will come! And living in NYC is do-able! Even though I had to live in a Days Inn for two weeks while finding an apartment! But you'll get it, and you'll find out your spending priorities quickly!'
I have no problem subsisting on a life of cereal in New York City: I've done it for five years now anyway, not because of money, but because I freaking like cereal that much. I can go without cable or even a TV, I don't drink Starbucks anyway, I don't wear Diesel jeans, and living in a small room with flatmates is not beyond my capabilities. As long as I have occasional access to the internet (outside of work) and a gym membership, I'm good. I'm taken care of, because most of my time will and must be spent on my career. The next two or three years of my life determines whether I can make this work: if I can't design, I'll know it soon enough. But I'm not going to crash out because I can't afford to live here. Could I make a living somewhere else? Possibly. But then we get into the meaning of 'living', and I'm not up for that tonight.
Anyway, I'm excited for the weekend. Tomorrow morning I'm getting up early and running in Riverside Park. I'm going to buy Chip Kidd's book (along with some Columbia t-shirts) and spend tomorrow night reading that and doing homework. Friday we have the evening off, so I'll probably go out with classmates. Saturday and Sunday we're on our own for meals, which was my rationale for taking a quick stroll on Broadway tonight, to see what little markets and bistros are there (and there are plenty, believe me). One of those days I want to go downtown to Chelsea or the Village and get lost for a few hours. I'll save Central Park for another weekend.
It's 10:21pm here and I'm listening to the sounds of New York. I'm ready for the rest of my life.
20 June 2006
Wisdom.
We listened to Robert Gottlieb tonight. He never speaks publicly. Ever. But he's a legend as an editor (Bill Clinton, Joseph Heller, Katharine Graham, Michael Crichton, John LeCarre, Robert A. Caro, Toni Morrison), and he gave me enough material to take three pages of notes, the most I've taken in a looong time. The verdict? I can't wait to get into this industry. And I've still yet to meet and listen to Chip Kidd, which happens Monday night; I'm going to be in the very front row for that one.
"What is publishing? Making public your enthusiasm for a specific book. It's that simple, and it is anything but simple."
"'I loved this book so much, but I couldn't tell anybody. So I made a cup of tea and sat down and told myself!' That's the publishing impulse. But now it's all marketing and chains."
"The rule in publishing is that you have to do everything right, because you don't know what will make the difference. Even then, sometimes it just doesn't work."
"Don't try to edit something you don't like. It only ends in tears. Your job is to make something better than what it is, not other than what it is."
"All of the executives left Simon & Schuster at that time. Six of us, of which I was the youngest, ran the house, because nobody told us we couldn't."
"Every editor's memoirs would begin with the same line: 'And so I said to Leo, don't just write about war, write about peace too.'"
"You hold the professional trust of the writer; you must tell him the things he himself knows, but is trying to deny."
"Editing Bill was great. I would write in the margin of the manuscript 'This is the single most boring page I've ever read.' And he would write in response 'No, page 311 is more boring.'"
"Book publishing is tedious, it takes years for the returns, and there are a hundred steps, any of which can go wrong, and all of which will."
"The hardest thing about reviewing ballet is How do you conveigh with words what uses no words? To say what is unsayable?"
"The more you read, the better an editor you should be. Don't be in awe of fiction; much of it is garbage. The most successful authors are often the best, and that is comforting. It has to be. After all, imagine the alternative."
"You have to have the attitude of 'We're here to publish the best. Let somebody else do the second best.'"
"None of you will ever have to deal with a Caro for as long as you live. The level of detail was almost inhuman."
"You're as good an editor on your first day as you are on your last. It's just an application of taste to words."
"What is publishing? Making public your enthusiasm for a specific book. It's that simple, and it is anything but simple."
"'I loved this book so much, but I couldn't tell anybody. So I made a cup of tea and sat down and told myself!' That's the publishing impulse. But now it's all marketing and chains."
"The rule in publishing is that you have to do everything right, because you don't know what will make the difference. Even then, sometimes it just doesn't work."
"Don't try to edit something you don't like. It only ends in tears. Your job is to make something better than what it is, not other than what it is."
"All of the executives left Simon & Schuster at that time. Six of us, of which I was the youngest, ran the house, because nobody told us we couldn't."
"Every editor's memoirs would begin with the same line: 'And so I said to Leo, don't just write about war, write about peace too.'"
"You hold the professional trust of the writer; you must tell him the things he himself knows, but is trying to deny."
"Editing Bill was great. I would write in the margin of the manuscript 'This is the single most boring page I've ever read.' And he would write in response 'No, page 311 is more boring.'"
"Book publishing is tedious, it takes years for the returns, and there are a hundred steps, any of which can go wrong, and all of which will."
"The hardest thing about reviewing ballet is How do you conveigh with words what uses no words? To say what is unsayable?"
"The more you read, the better an editor you should be. Don't be in awe of fiction; much of it is garbage. The most successful authors are often the best, and that is comforting. It has to be. After all, imagine the alternative."
"You have to have the attitude of 'We're here to publish the best. Let somebody else do the second best.'"
"None of you will ever have to deal with a Caro for as long as you live. The level of detail was almost inhuman."
"You're as good an editor on your first day as you are on your last. It's just an application of taste to words."
The words my mother never wanted to hear.
"I went downtown, on the subway, by myself. I love this city."
I told my mom that after I returned to the 116th St. stop for the 1 train from my mid-day excursion to the Apple Store. I took the train to Columbus Circle, which is an amazing sight to walk out from under, then traversed the width of Central Park along 59th St. to the corner of 5th Avenue and walked into and then beneath the huge glass cube. The kind lady at the store guided me along my purchase of a white MacBook (with accompanying free 2G iPod nano!) and the requisite software, and then I made the return trip. All of this happened in time for lunch at noon.
You may be asking yourself, How so? Because our morning session only lasted an hour and a half. This thing really is not living up to my expectations so far, but hey, it's New York, Fucking New York, and I'm getting over my fear (sorry mom and dad, that I broke my promise. But sooner or later I will be hitting up Times Square, at night, by myself. So brace yourself). Anyway, I can't say that this course isn't interesting, but there's not much of it; we listen to a guest speaker for an hour or two, then we have three hours (or more) of downtime until the next one. I know things will pick up when we get to the week-long workshops, and I really shouldn't be complaining. After all, it's more time to watch the World Cup.
Oh, the Rec center isn't nearly as good as the one at KU, there was still lukewarm water in the shower this morning, and the meals here are really hit or miss. But Riverside Park, just two blocks away, is amazing; I'm thinking I may take an early run Saturday morning, and then go down to Chelsea or the Village to spend the day walking about. This may turn out alright.
I told my mom that after I returned to the 116th St. stop for the 1 train from my mid-day excursion to the Apple Store. I took the train to Columbus Circle, which is an amazing sight to walk out from under, then traversed the width of Central Park along 59th St. to the corner of 5th Avenue and walked into and then beneath the huge glass cube. The kind lady at the store guided me along my purchase of a white MacBook (with accompanying free 2G iPod nano!) and the requisite software, and then I made the return trip. All of this happened in time for lunch at noon.
You may be asking yourself, How so? Because our morning session only lasted an hour and a half. This thing really is not living up to my expectations so far, but hey, it's New York, Fucking New York, and I'm getting over my fear (sorry mom and dad, that I broke my promise. But sooner or later I will be hitting up Times Square, at night, by myself. So brace yourself). Anyway, I can't say that this course isn't interesting, but there's not much of it; we listen to a guest speaker for an hour or two, then we have three hours (or more) of downtime until the next one. I know things will pick up when we get to the week-long workshops, and I really shouldn't be complaining. After all, it's more time to watch the World Cup.
Oh, the Rec center isn't nearly as good as the one at KU, there was still lukewarm water in the shower this morning, and the meals here are really hit or miss. But Riverside Park, just two blocks away, is amazing; I'm thinking I may take an early run Saturday morning, and then go down to Chelsea or the Village to spend the day walking about. This may turn out alright.
19 June 2006
Second day in.
I have eight minutes until evening lecture, but I'd like to fill you in on vaunted Columbia University: it's tiny. Also, it sucks. The buildings are crap, we eat on paper plates (our one entree selection at lunch and dinner; breakfast is a continental buffet in the room where the Pulitzers are announced), there was no hot water in the showers this morning, and we just now got our computer lab. Which isn't stopping me from making an excursion to the Apple Store in midtown at my earliest convenience, which will probably be the three and a half hours of downtime we have tomorrow afternoon (we had nearly six hours total today for lunch and dinner; why not squeeze the schedule into five weeks instead of six, then?), so that I can get a MacBook. No witty closing line tonight; gotta go learn about book reviewing.
18 June 2006
All that you can't leave behind.
I left my apartment this morning as the Campanile chimed 7am. I walked out and took a last look, suitcase in hand, tears on my cheeks, and listened to the bells ringing out over a silent, overcast Lawrence Sunday morning.
So I'm here, and I think it'll be fun, but I really fucking wish I had brought a computer with me. Every place that I've been told contains a computer lab, um, doesn't. I'll just have to flirt with somebody and use theirs shamelessly I guess.
It turns out that plane travel isn't as horrifying as I like to think it is. Though I've found that I have to keep my nose in my book during takeoff and ascent, else I start hyperventelating upon looking out the window.
People in New York City are the scariest drivers ever. The entire concept of the turn signal is completely foreign to this town.
My room smells. And the door is kinda broken.
I knew I was in NYC when the driver was bringing me through Harlem, and I saw the street sign for 'Malcolm X Blvd.'
That's it for now. I have to go find out what happened to my other suitcase. American Airlines hasn't called me yet, and that doesn't bode well for the person I'm gonna have to call.
So I'm here, and I think it'll be fun, but I really fucking wish I had brought a computer with me. Every place that I've been told contains a computer lab, um, doesn't. I'll just have to flirt with somebody and use theirs shamelessly I guess.
It turns out that plane travel isn't as horrifying as I like to think it is. Though I've found that I have to keep my nose in my book during takeoff and ascent, else I start hyperventelating upon looking out the window.
People in New York City are the scariest drivers ever. The entire concept of the turn signal is completely foreign to this town.
My room smells. And the door is kinda broken.
I knew I was in NYC when the driver was bringing me through Harlem, and I saw the street sign for 'Malcolm X Blvd.'
That's it for now. I have to go find out what happened to my other suitcase. American Airlines hasn't called me yet, and that doesn't bode well for the person I'm gonna have to call.
Goodbye, pt. 2.
Soon soon they will be born again in the sun
Soon too soon they will be wonderfully done
with each other
She looks away from him now
into the great American night
and seems to see very far
unless it's just contact lenses
making her eyes
so shiny
There is a great crowded bluff
in Lawrence Kansas
that looks a long way
into the astonished heart
of America
–Lawrence Ferlinghetti
Soon too soon they will be wonderfully done
with each other
She looks away from him now
into the great American night
and seems to see very far
unless it's just contact lenses
making her eyes
so shiny
There is a great crowded bluff
in Lawrence Kansas
that looks a long way
into the astonished heart
of America
–Lawrence Ferlinghetti
Ultimate campus tour.
I will never forget this. You three are the most amazing and wonderful people I could have ever hoped to meet.
Even though my feet smell now. Luckily I'm throwing away all of my bedding stuff in three and a half hours.
Even though my feet smell now. Luckily I'm throwing away all of my bedding stuff in three and a half hours.
17 June 2006
Mala Leche.
Watching USA:Italy at Tim's:
Tim: See, the problem is that American fans aren't aggressive enough about soccer. The ref knows that the Italian fans could kill him after the game.
Ryan: He's taking advantage of our ignorance.
Tim: Exactly. This is where George W. needs to step up and be like "I'll invade your ass. I may not know where your country is, but that doesn't matter."
Tim: Yes, because deliberately elbowing somebody in the face, and being a split-second late on a legal tackle are equally worthy of the red card. Fucker.
Tim: This is why Americans hate soccer. Any other sport you're encouraged to screen the opposing players to help score.
Ryan: Maybe we were right all along. Damn, that's a thought that's gonna fester when I try to sleep tonight.
Announcer: If the USA can pull off the win, as the underdog to a talented Italy team, nobody will be talking about the referee or the red cards.
Ryan: I'll take that bet. Moron.
Announcer: It's the 90th minute, you have a substitution left, the US should bring on somebody like Eddie Johnson to give some fresh legs.
Ryan: Hey Tim, why didn't you start talking about that twenty minutes ago!?
Tim: Fuck me! Yes, that's a fantastic idea! Bring on a substitute with fucking 30 seconds left in the game!
Ryan: I like how Musberger comes back from the commercial ranting about how the ref was suspended in 2002. No introductions, no 'Welcome back to post-game', just straight up invective. God I love sports.
[Hats off to Lee for title inspiration.]
Tim: See, the problem is that American fans aren't aggressive enough about soccer. The ref knows that the Italian fans could kill him after the game.
Ryan: He's taking advantage of our ignorance.
Tim: Exactly. This is where George W. needs to step up and be like "I'll invade your ass. I may not know where your country is, but that doesn't matter."
Tim: Yes, because deliberately elbowing somebody in the face, and being a split-second late on a legal tackle are equally worthy of the red card. Fucker.
Tim: This is why Americans hate soccer. Any other sport you're encouraged to screen the opposing players to help score.
Ryan: Maybe we were right all along. Damn, that's a thought that's gonna fester when I try to sleep tonight.
Announcer: If the USA can pull off the win, as the underdog to a talented Italy team, nobody will be talking about the referee or the red cards.
Ryan: I'll take that bet. Moron.
Announcer: It's the 90th minute, you have a substitution left, the US should bring on somebody like Eddie Johnson to give some fresh legs.
Ryan: Hey Tim, why didn't you start talking about that twenty minutes ago!?
Tim: Fuck me! Yes, that's a fantastic idea! Bring on a substitute with fucking 30 seconds left in the game!
Ryan: I like how Musberger comes back from the commercial ranting about how the ref was suspended in 2002. No introductions, no 'Welcome back to post-game', just straight up invective. God I love sports.
[Hats off to Lee for title inspiration.]
Unlimited.
So I changed my service today on my cell phone from the 1000 texts/month to a media package that gives me 1mb of internet plus 200 texts. This is solely so that I can keep up on World Cup scores, and on NYC weather, while in class. But when I switched, the lady told me that they were running a free promotion and that I got unlimited texts for the first month with the media package. I said 'So that's for this month?' She said 'It's for 30 days, so it runs from June 16th until...wow, actually it says here until August 13th.' So ladies and gentlemen, you haven't even begun to Facebook me enough yet.
14 June 2006
Closing time.
My schedule for the next 90 hours or so:
Today In Lawrence with TV and computer, but limited food.
Tomorrow In Lawrence through lunchtime, then home to Humboldt for evening with car and remaining electronics.
Friday Back in Lawrence after lunch, with no car, TV, computer or much of anything beyond what I'm taking to New York City.
Saturday In Lawrence all day, same conditions apply.
Sunday Leaving approx. 7:45am after breakfast downtown with my mom, who is taking me to KCI.
So if you want a meal or a drink with the Rt. Honorable Minister of the Church of Beer, or to drive him to said place for food and drink, or to invite him over to watch World Cup matches or movies, let him know. Cause you can always come back, but you can't come back all the way.*
*That line has no relevance, but I wanted to quote Bob Dylan at least once on this blog.
Today In Lawrence with TV and computer, but limited food.
Tomorrow In Lawrence through lunchtime, then home to Humboldt for evening with car and remaining electronics.
Friday Back in Lawrence after lunch, with no car, TV, computer or much of anything beyond what I'm taking to New York City.
Saturday In Lawrence all day, same conditions apply.
Sunday Leaving approx. 7:45am after breakfast downtown with my mom, who is taking me to KCI.
So if you want a meal or a drink with the Rt. Honorable Minister of the Church of Beer, or to drive him to said place for food and drink, or to invite him over to watch World Cup matches or movies, let him know. Cause you can always come back, but you can't come back all the way.*
*That line has no relevance, but I wanted to quote Bob Dylan at least once on this blog.
For all you doubters out there.
One day, one damn near empty apartment. Thanks, of course, to the fine strangers who will carry away anything marked with a 'free' sign, including the sign itself.
13 June 2006
The ten boxes in my living room...
Are telling me that it might not be such a terrible thing for the world's books to be digitized and accessable through a central mainframe onto portable e-paper screens.
Seriously, moving is a bitch.
Seriously, moving is a bitch.
On picking the USA to advance out of group play.
Surely by now you've heard. And yes, I did pick our boys to place second in the group-both times. But I want to make it very clear that it was not out of jingoism or because I picked up the Landon-graced cover of SI. It was simply and solely because I thought that if any manager in the World Cup could get past all of the crap that this team has had to deal with, it would be Bruce Arena. He has been the mastermind behind the US surge of the past decade, and I felt sure that he would prepare these players, some of whom play internationally while the others toil in MLS, for the rigors of the Group of Death. But as in any sport, the coach can only do so much; the blame for yesterday's game clearly rests on the players who allowed the Czechs to get in deep, and get in fast. I knew if the USA was to have any chance at advancing, they'd have to get at least a draw (and a precious point) out of this game; after watching Italy:Ghana yesterday, I think it might well be a tall order to not go 0-3-0.
Oh well, they say that you should root for your home team and then have a stand-by in case; I pick the Dutch. I can't say as to why, but when we're talking about a nation known internationally for sex, pot and dykes, do you really need a reason?
Oh well, they say that you should root for your home team and then have a stand-by in case; I pick the Dutch. I can't say as to why, but when we're talking about a nation known internationally for sex, pot and dykes, do you really need a reason?
12 June 2006
The greatest decision I may ever make.
I will not cut my hair for the rest of the summer. If all goes as planned, some lucky publishing house will have hired an orange fro by this winter.
Six days out.
I have lots of things to do before I leave Sunday morning. First among these is finishing the last couple of advance assignments, having to do with magazine circulation. But a very close second, and more pressing in my mother's eyes, is packing everything in my apartment and moving it back home within the next three days. Right now, though, I'm having way too much fun uncovering mp3s I had on my computer back in high school. There was more Creed than I'm comfortable with admitting, but holy crap, 'Firestarter', 'Mrs. Jackson', 'One Armed Scissor', 'South Side', 'Stan', 'Voodoo', 'Hemorrage (In my hands)', 'Original Prankster', and of course the classic 'It Wasn't Me'.. where have you guys been!?!
11 June 2006
TIP KU 06: The Pool.
For those of you who have no idea what TIP is, you can skip this. But I wanted to go ahead and make some predictions on how the first term will go, as it started today:
First kid to get written up: The boy who will streak naked into a now-off-limits girl's floor.
When it will happen: It probably already has. If not, then 7am tomorrow.
First doorway to have a finger stuck in it: Fraser Hall.
Exclamation upon this happening: 'Gadzooks, that was most inopportune and vacous of me; thou art doltish! Kindly please do open this entryway back up again that I might extract my forefinger and put a cold compress on it, posthaste!'
First couple caught making out: They probably already have. If not, then lunch tomorrow.
First trip to Watkins: Tuesday.
First trip to hospital: First 'ultimate' evening activity.
Location of first 'lost' kid: Hastings. Seriously, where else?
First broken bone: In honor of the World Cup, a metatarsal.
Kids who will boogie at the first dance: 30%.
Kids who will be reading at the first dance: 25%.
Action deserving of the first gold star: Finding the secret five-min., no stairs route from Oliver to Fraser.
Instructor to make their kids walk while holding lanyards: Mackey. He's old-school like that.
First evening activity to get suspended, then reinstated: Lacrosse. (Ha! Ha! I'll never get hired by Duke again.)
First kid to get written up: The boy who will streak naked into a now-off-limits girl's floor.
When it will happen: It probably already has. If not, then 7am tomorrow.
First doorway to have a finger stuck in it: Fraser Hall.
Exclamation upon this happening: 'Gadzooks, that was most inopportune and vacous of me; thou art doltish! Kindly please do open this entryway back up again that I might extract my forefinger and put a cold compress on it, posthaste!'
First couple caught making out: They probably already have. If not, then lunch tomorrow.
First trip to Watkins: Tuesday.
First trip to hospital: First 'ultimate' evening activity.
Location of first 'lost' kid: Hastings. Seriously, where else?
First broken bone: In honor of the World Cup, a metatarsal.
Kids who will boogie at the first dance: 30%.
Kids who will be reading at the first dance: 25%.
Action deserving of the first gold star: Finding the secret five-min., no stairs route from Oliver to Fraser.
Instructor to make their kids walk while holding lanyards: Mackey. He's old-school like that.
First evening activity to get suspended, then reinstated: Lacrosse. (Ha! Ha! I'll never get hired by Duke again.)
Dominance.
One of the more common arguments among sports fans is who is most dominant in their sport, ie: Lance in cycling, Tiger and Annika in golf, Tim Duncan in basketball, etc. I think the case can easily be made right now for Rafael Nadal in tennis: at the tender age of 20, he has just stared down a modern great in Roger Federer and came back from a set down to win his second consecutive French Open (his sixth win in seven meetings, fifth straight over Federer), his 17th title overall, and now 60 straight wins on clay. This kid's got a gleam in his eye.
Meanwhile in Paris.
This fourth set of the men's French Open final between Nadal and Federer may be the best I've ever watched. Two giants of the game, after lopsided opening sets, are slugging it out and it is magnificent to witness. The thing I've always loved and wondered about in tennis is the hyooge changes in momentum, such as Federer winning 6-1 in the first set today and then Nadal coming back to reverse it in the second set. After all, it's not like in team sports where you can bring in a reliever out of the bullpen or a specialist off the bench; they're the same players they were in the previous set, with the same strengths and weaknesses, and no advice from their coaches during play. They must adjust themselves, in real time, on the court. [Case in point, Nadal had six unforced errors to start out the match, while Federer had none; at the start of the fourth set, Federer had 47 to Nadal's 21.] Which is why tennis is a most glorious sport. Anyway, I hope Nadal can pull this one into a tiebreaker and take it home; always root for the guy in capri pants.
10K in 53'15".
I'm back, baby! Now watch me lose all of my endurance, strength and flexibilty because I'm too afraid to go outside and work out in NYC.
Freaky deaky Dutch, pt. 2.
Orange collared jersey + white shorts = classic. Orange shirt + orange shorts + orange socks = a few too many magic brownies.
09 June 2006
Six minutes later.
1:1
Goddammit, this is gonna be a fun tournament. I'm off to lunch; don't get into any riots, at least not without inviting me.
Goddammit, this is gonna be a fun tournament. I'm off to lunch; don't get into any riots, at least not without inviting me.
Five minutes in.
So I may have been a little hasty with my prediction of today's Germany:Costa Rica match. It's already 1:0, and there was a near-goal two minutes into the match. It's gotta be the ball.
08 June 2006
Backed-up.
Blogger has been fucked for the last day or so. So while I have a chance, here are some things I have accumulated over the last couple of hours.
• Being the tennis fan that I am (it's my favorite sport to play, though I haven't stepped onto a court in over a year now *tear*), I enjoy the hell out of the Grand Slams. My #1 dream growing up was to win Wimbledon, as Pete Sampras was and probably will be the greatest athlete ever in my eyes (I've modeled much of my game after him), and I loved the serve and volley action on the grass courts as much as I loved the keen upper crust English-ness. But lately I find my loyalties switching to the red clay of Roland Garros, site of the French Open. I've really come to appreciate the sheer stamina and the tactical fortitude that players must have to win on the much slower surface; there's a reason some have recommended that the French Open have three set matches for the men through the quarters (unheard of in the Slams) to save them from ubiquitous five-hour matches early on, like Rafael Nadal (sooooo awesome) had in the second-round last week. Anyway, here's a look at why the clay is so tough, and why I'd really like to play on it sometime soon and try it out.
• As if I needed any more reason, I'm really gonna miss Lawrence.
• The new UniWatch column on ESPN.com today focuses on one of the best reasons to watch the World Cup: the 'kits', as they're called in Europe. I know I mentioned Portugal as having my fave uniforms, but seeing all of them in one spot, I have to go with the Netherlands (the primary and alternates complement each other so well), followed by Italy (typography rules!) and Mexico (ditto, plus the underprint on the front stripe is great historical touch).
• Being the tennis fan that I am (it's my favorite sport to play, though I haven't stepped onto a court in over a year now *tear*), I enjoy the hell out of the Grand Slams. My #1 dream growing up was to win Wimbledon, as Pete Sampras was and probably will be the greatest athlete ever in my eyes (I've modeled much of my game after him), and I loved the serve and volley action on the grass courts as much as I loved the keen upper crust English-ness. But lately I find my loyalties switching to the red clay of Roland Garros, site of the French Open. I've really come to appreciate the sheer stamina and the tactical fortitude that players must have to win on the much slower surface; there's a reason some have recommended that the French Open have three set matches for the men through the quarters (unheard of in the Slams) to save them from ubiquitous five-hour matches early on, like Rafael Nadal (sooooo awesome) had in the second-round last week. Anyway, here's a look at why the clay is so tough, and why I'd really like to play on it sometime soon and try it out.
• As if I needed any more reason, I'm really gonna miss Lawrence.
• The new UniWatch column on ESPN.com today focuses on one of the best reasons to watch the World Cup: the 'kits', as they're called in Europe. I know I mentioned Portugal as having my fave uniforms, but seeing all of them in one spot, I have to go with the Netherlands (the primary and alternates complement each other so well), followed by Italy (typography rules!) and Mexico (ditto, plus the underprint on the front stripe is great historical touch).
Harder than it looks.
One of my assignments for CPC|NYC06, as I've taken to calling it, was to make a list of my favorite and most influential books (with a very short description of each). It took me about an hour to narrow it down, so here goes.
The Art of Looking Sideways Alan Fletcher – A treasure trove of inspiration for the artist, the bohemian, the designer, the literati, and anybody who simply takes joy in creativity.
Soccer in Sun & Shadow Eduardo Galeano – His short vignettes on the history, players, goals and very soul of the game are a welcome respite from the current business culture of sport.
In Praise of Athletic Beauty Hans Ulrich Gumbrecht – I read this right before coming to Columbia, and found it utterly absorbing in detailing emotions that I always felt, but never named.
The Sun Also Rises Ernest Hemingway – One of the few books I can just pick up and read at any page, his sparse, blunt style is absolutely transfixing. Also, everybody gets drunk.
Theater of War Lewis Lapham – Quite simply the best essayist today, this book is an arrow to the heart of all that has gone wrong in the American Republic over the past few decades.
Our Dumb Century The Onion – Intricate revisionist historical humor at its absolute finest; the headlines are the draw, but the devil, like always, is in the details.
The Fountainhead Ayn Rand – The only one of her works that doesn’t leave the taste of bile in my mouth, so, I guess that means something.
Strange Rumblings in Aztlan Hunter S. Thompson – Actually a long article for Rolling Stone, this is the kind of journalism that we should, my goodness should, see more of.
To the Finland Station Edmund Wilson – The best history I’ve ever read, Wilson illuminates a grand narrative of revolution in an era when that actually meant something.
Rolling Stone: The Complete Covers Fred Woodward & Jann S. Wenner – As a design, history and rock & roll junkie, I practically have this memorized. The whole thing.
The Art of Looking Sideways Alan Fletcher – A treasure trove of inspiration for the artist, the bohemian, the designer, the literati, and anybody who simply takes joy in creativity.
Soccer in Sun & Shadow Eduardo Galeano – His short vignettes on the history, players, goals and very soul of the game are a welcome respite from the current business culture of sport.
In Praise of Athletic Beauty Hans Ulrich Gumbrecht – I read this right before coming to Columbia, and found it utterly absorbing in detailing emotions that I always felt, but never named.
The Sun Also Rises Ernest Hemingway – One of the few books I can just pick up and read at any page, his sparse, blunt style is absolutely transfixing. Also, everybody gets drunk.
Theater of War Lewis Lapham – Quite simply the best essayist today, this book is an arrow to the heart of all that has gone wrong in the American Republic over the past few decades.
Our Dumb Century The Onion – Intricate revisionist historical humor at its absolute finest; the headlines are the draw, but the devil, like always, is in the details.
The Fountainhead Ayn Rand – The only one of her works that doesn’t leave the taste of bile in my mouth, so, I guess that means something.
Strange Rumblings in Aztlan Hunter S. Thompson – Actually a long article for Rolling Stone, this is the kind of journalism that we should, my goodness should, see more of.
To the Finland Station Edmund Wilson – The best history I’ve ever read, Wilson illuminates a grand narrative of revolution in an era when that actually meant something.
Rolling Stone: The Complete Covers Fred Woodward & Jann S. Wenner – As a design, history and rock & roll junkie, I practically have this memorized. The whole thing.
07 June 2006
Things I love, #62.
KEXP's Song of the Day podcast, for delivering an always great, sometimes amazing track to my iTunes every morning. Through them I've been introduced to Band of Horses, Rogue Wave, Common Market, The Gossip, Blue Scholars, among many others. The last two days picks have been singularly wonderful: "Chariot" by Page France, and "Rise Up in the Dirt" by Voxtrot. The first has those lifting lyrics that sound so corny when just read out loud; the second has those vocals that shift directions in an instant. Both together are making music fun again.
06 June 2006
He's so good.
Stephen Colbert, giving an inspired commencement address this past weekend.
There are so many challenges facing this next generation, and as they said earlier, you are up for these challenges. And I agree, except that I don’t think you are. I don’t know if you’re tough enough to handle this. You are the most cuddled generation in history. I belong to the last generation that did not have to be in a car seat. You had to be in car seats. I did not have to wear a helmet when I rode my bike. You do. You have to wear helmets when you go swimming, right? In case you bump your head against the side of the pool. Oh, by the way, I should have said, my speech today may contain some peanut products. ...
I mean even these ceremonies are too safe. I mean this mortarboard...look, it’s padded. It’s padded everywhere. When I graduated from college, we had the edges sharpened. When we threw ours up in the air, we knew some of us weren’t coming home.
Worst night of sleep *ever*.
So I didn't go back to bed until 2:30am, but it still took me a while to get to sleep. I remember waking and laying in bed, probably about 3:30 or 4am, because of a dream and being irrationally frightened at the thought of a possible curse/hex, notably of somebody coming into my apartment and killing me or of my heart exploding in my chest (so, uh, thanks Lee for the story about the girl with the failing liver). I woke up for good just a few minutes ago at 6:15am, 45min. before my alarm. So I downed a Clif Shot with some Gatorade, and I guess I'll go ahead and go to the Rec. But yeah, that's the last time I take a monster nap in the afternoon followed by coffee at night when I've been having trouble with a regular sleep schedule for the past three weeks. I mean, damn.
Still awake.
And there's not much going on in the world that I can gather on the internets. So I guess homework it is. Hopefully I can get a few hours of sleep before I'm up at 7am to run 10K at the Rec.
It's probably worth mentioning that I did come to a decision about NYU, and that decision is a 'no.' Seventy thousand dollars of debt is not something I want to be saddled with just to become a newspaper reporter; I had already decided to try my hand at publishing for the time being, and if that's not working out so well, then go back to grad school. Besides, I think my next step in academia should be a graduate certificate in design, as that's really what I want to do most of all. I've been going back and forth on it for a long time now, but I am going to put a portfolio together this summer and apply for Fabrica; if NYU can make room for me, surely Italy can too.
It's probably worth mentioning that I did come to a decision about NYU, and that decision is a 'no.' Seventy thousand dollars of debt is not something I want to be saddled with just to become a newspaper reporter; I had already decided to try my hand at publishing for the time being, and if that's not working out so well, then go back to grad school. Besides, I think my next step in academia should be a graduate certificate in design, as that's really what I want to do most of all. I've been going back and forth on it for a long time now, but I am going to put a portfolio together this summer and apply for Fabrica; if NYU can make room for me, surely Italy can too.
05 June 2006
Freaky deaky Dutch.
I've been watching this all day. Nothing gets one in the mood for the World Cup more than some guy orgasming from watching another man kick a goal. That being said, I sooo wish I could reproduce that yell after he repeats Denis Bergkamp's name for the five millionth time.
I was going to do this later in the week, but I'm afraid I'll forget before the first kickoff at 8am Friday morning. After receiving more counsel on the matter, I'm revising my bracket a bit. At this point, I'm just gonna go with a basic layout rather than hyooge grafs.
Group A Poland, Germany (By virtue of a German draw with Costa Rica in the first match, at which point the team gets booed off the field of the new Allianz Stadium in Munich by the home crowd.)
Group B England, Sweden
Group C Argentina, Ivory Coast (Er, Cote D'Ivoire)
Group D Portugal, Iran
Group E Italy, USA
Group F Brazil, Australia
Group G Switzerland, France (Curse the French!)
Group H Spain, Ukraine
Round of 16 Poland:Sweden, Argentina:Iran, England:Germany, Portugal:Ivory Coast, Italy:Australia, Switzerland:Ukraine, Brazil:USA, Spain:France
Quarters Sweden:Argentina, England:Portugal, Italy:Ukraine, Brazil:France
Semis Argentina:Italy, Brazil:England
Vice-Championship Argentina:Brazil
Championship of the World Italy:England
I was going to do this later in the week, but I'm afraid I'll forget before the first kickoff at 8am Friday morning. After receiving more counsel on the matter, I'm revising my bracket a bit. At this point, I'm just gonna go with a basic layout rather than hyooge grafs.
Group A Poland, Germany (By virtue of a German draw with Costa Rica in the first match, at which point the team gets booed off the field of the new Allianz Stadium in Munich by the home crowd.)
Group B England, Sweden
Group C Argentina, Ivory Coast (Er, Cote D'Ivoire)
Group D Portugal, Iran
Group E Italy, USA
Group F Brazil, Australia
Group G Switzerland, France (Curse the French!)
Group H Spain, Ukraine
Round of 16 Poland:Sweden, Argentina:Iran, England:Germany, Portugal:Ivory Coast, Italy:Australia, Switzerland:Ukraine, Brazil:USA, Spain:France
Quarters Sweden:Argentina, England:Portugal, Italy:Ukraine, Brazil:France
Semis Argentina:Italy, Brazil:England
Vice-Championship Argentina:Brazil
Championship of the World Italy:England
Really? In Kansas City?
The Kansas City Star unveiled their full new redesign today, after a couple weeks with just the feature sections. At that time I was underwhelmed, but predicted that upon holding the smaller, bolder paper in my hands, I would love it. And I do.
I'm glancing through and I must say I'm impressed; the entire news hole feels much livlier and readable than before, especially on the inside pages with the notorious pyramid ad stacks. The use of Gotham is well done to say the least, though I fear it may be getting on par with Interstate in the pantheon of sans serifs that newspapers use to look modern and edgy. But the use in terms of subheads and in the sidebars and other elements, such as the daily Top Ten rundown, is great; I *heart* the flush right by-lines; and I'm glad they're keeping the all caps headline for each section's main story, since Gotham Condensed is much cleaner than whatever typeface they had before. As far as the color, it's not quite a wallpaper feel like the European papers are going to, but it's getting there; those new presses will give the Star so much capacity for color and photo reproduction that I imagine they'll be pushing the limits in no time.
However, fonts and color are worthless if they distract or cover up the news; the big question is always that of reader-friendliness, on making the newspaper easier in getting the information you want and guiding you towards the information you need (but didn't know about). On that, the Star has succeeded in spades. Every element has been seemingly reimagined, at least on the design side; I just hope that they follow it with content worthy of the presentation. However, as great as the whole package is, and I think that in America it may now be the best designed newspaper (the Sunday Toronto Star holds the continental distinction), it still doesn't knock the Guardian off the top spot in redesigns. The Guardian wanted to go beyond the typical newspaper into the realm of daily magazine; they took a hyoooge gamble with hundreds of millions of pounds in new presses to go with the still rare Berliner format; and they have the content to put out (I believe) the best English-speaking newspaper in the world. I do like how the Guardian went blue for their new masthead, and after today, so will the Star. Imitation is the best form of flattery. But seriously, Kansas City, you are so lucky.
I'm glancing through and I must say I'm impressed; the entire news hole feels much livlier and readable than before, especially on the inside pages with the notorious pyramid ad stacks. The use of Gotham is well done to say the least, though I fear it may be getting on par with Interstate in the pantheon of sans serifs that newspapers use to look modern and edgy. But the use in terms of subheads and in the sidebars and other elements, such as the daily Top Ten rundown, is great; I *heart* the flush right by-lines; and I'm glad they're keeping the all caps headline for each section's main story, since Gotham Condensed is much cleaner than whatever typeface they had before. As far as the color, it's not quite a wallpaper feel like the European papers are going to, but it's getting there; those new presses will give the Star so much capacity for color and photo reproduction that I imagine they'll be pushing the limits in no time.
However, fonts and color are worthless if they distract or cover up the news; the big question is always that of reader-friendliness, on making the newspaper easier in getting the information you want and guiding you towards the information you need (but didn't know about). On that, the Star has succeeded in spades. Every element has been seemingly reimagined, at least on the design side; I just hope that they follow it with content worthy of the presentation. However, as great as the whole package is, and I think that in America it may now be the best designed newspaper (the Sunday Toronto Star holds the continental distinction), it still doesn't knock the Guardian off the top spot in redesigns. The Guardian wanted to go beyond the typical newspaper into the realm of daily magazine; they took a hyoooge gamble with hundreds of millions of pounds in new presses to go with the still rare Berliner format; and they have the content to put out (I believe) the best English-speaking newspaper in the world. I do like how the Guardian went blue for their new masthead, and after today, so will the Star. Imitation is the best form of flattery. But seriously, Kansas City, you are so lucky.
04 June 2006
Two weeks out.
Fourteen days from now, I will be on a plane to New York City. I still have like eight advance assignments to complete, and I've yet to start packing and moving from my apartment back to Humboldt. And all of my friends from TIP last summer are in town again or will be so very soon (Whit! Lee! Tiffany!), while old friends are still here (Mischa! Julie!), and I have to plan my last 36 hours in town to be with them as well as the congregation of the Church of Beer (Joah! Jeff! Annie! Tim!). I'm gonna be exhausted when I get to New York; luckily I'll have eight hours of class each day to catch up on sleep.
01 June 2006
The most important article you will ever read.
I am NOT kidding. Rolling Stone delivers yet another brilliant story that the mainstream media refuses to look at. Surprise, surprise.
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