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August 29, 2005

A Tale of Two Ferry (Terminals), Part Two: St. George If the ferry terminal on the Manhattan side imposes itself awkwardly on Battery Park, the new terminal at St. George, in Staten Island, manages the diametric opposite: most of the time one is hard pressed to find it.

Like the other side, this side as a somewhat colorful history. After sticking his nose in Manhattan business and sinking the VSBA proposal, borough president Guy Molinari had a go at a little one-upmanship, tapping Peter Eisenman to develop a concept that was everything you would expect: daring, perhaps gimmicky, and expensive. And like most Eisenman schemes that fit that bill, it eventually faded, to be replaced by HOK, the SOM of the Midwest.

My general understanding that something grand was growing on the Richmond shore -- along with a pretty glowing press release on the HOK site -- sent me to the far side of the harbor, where I was promptly confused by the hype. The couple items I’d read indicated that the development was going to displace any notion that the new terminal was merely a traffic turnaround. Given some of the impressive riverfront development being undertaken elsewhere around Manhattan, I was reservedly hopeful. This turned out to be a misplaced hope.

Arriving at the terminal, the gap between the disparate cultures of Manhattan and Staten Island are placed in immediate and stark relief when trying to exit the building. There are several points of egress, but most lead to transfer points to other modes of transit. One leads west to the minor league stadium for the Yankees, but beyond that, it is hard to discern a route to the nearest local street, which seems a good quarter mile distant -- and, worse, it doesn’t look exceptionally pedestrian friendly.

None of this indicts the efforts of HOK, since one mandate of their redesign was to retain most of the existing infrastructure, which includes several bus turnabouts, some car lanes -- for both drop off and ferry access -- limited parking, and the terminus of the Staten Island light rail line. Unknotting this snarl would have certainly been an expensive proposition, and I can say with no authority that it would improve circulation, never having accessed the terminal from the land side.

But this isolation, particularly for the casual visitor, makes for a listless visit, a sensation made more acute when one considers the bustle that defines Battery Park on the far shore. Perhaps this is appropriate for the borough that works hardest to extricate itself from the larger identity of New York City (even as they relentlessly campaign for subsidized access via the ferry and Verrazano Narrows), but it is disorienting and alienating, given how easy it is to get to the Manhattan side from any number of modes or approaches (granted, the last hundred yards are rather difficult, but this is a temporary condition).

And it quickly dispenses with any notion that this is the lynchpin of a waterfront redevelopment. Given the vistas of lower Manhattan, the harbor and Brooklyn immediately available, it would seem to be a sensible idea. But there is nothing there to indicate the opportunity is being pursued. The bizarre, seemingly security-induced requirement that all passengers must exit forces a little bit of visitor wandering, and for those who fail to hustle back to the departing ferry will be rewarded with a half-hour visit to a mostly empty facility.

This terminal is also seems incomplete, with some sections possibly awaiting renovation, or perhaps just tenants. It isn’t readily apparent, nor can one tell if there is a raft of food and entertainment opportunities forthcoming. Given how isolated it is, I suspect that very little is. Consequently, ‘new terminal’ seems a misnomer. The signature element, a large arch that springs toward the stadium, looks more to be part of it than the terminal, and given its placement, it serves as an awkward intermediary not seeming affixed to either portion.

The arch motif continues on the inside, as some poorly selected flooring mimics the curve the length of what I guess would be called the ‘main hall’ -- in point of fact, a weakly residual space that collects the disparate entry and exit points. This area is seems to be the locus of retail opportunities, but, again, it was hard to tell if any are pending.

The waiting area is the most articulated section, and is nice, if by nice, one means well-executed, vaguely modernist engineering chic. Sort of a lightweight Morphosis or Nicholas Grimshaw, which HOK does just fine, in the same way that SOM does the upscale corporate interiors well. Prominent columns wrapped in perforated metal, clearly articulated structural members, and a gently curving roof deliver everything you expect, but not much more.

It’s not as bad a space as the above might describe. The scale is good, managing to not seem crowded or barren (though early morning rush might be another matter), and the preponderance of metal is not cold or off-putting, since it is, after all a port. Being a high traffic space, hard surfaces are logical, though it might have been nice if the space reflected what is the most dramatic element of the existing building, the stands of creosote slathered wood that line each slip.

The flooring in this space is far better, featuring a helpful map of the harbor area. Another nod to location are air vents that look vaguely like portholes. Passenger circulation is handled no better -- or worse, just more of the same non-soltuion -- here than the other side; the sliding glass barn doors are nicely detailed, but distinctive in no way. The pathways seem a little better defined, but that might simply be an affect of the more orthogonal layout. Circulation routes are still best understood by following the crowd.

The most interesting, though entirely incidental, result of my trip was spending an hour talking to a off-duty NYPD officer/security guard who was watching absolutely nothing. Aside from fielding repeated questions about where to find a bar, he seemed to have the afternoon set aside to watching lower Manhattan from afar. The best part was our mutual confusion about our environs, me never having left the ferry before, he never having been to Staten Island before. Standing underneath the arch from nowhere to nowhere, we talked about commute hassles, where to eat in the city, and how little native New Yorkers move about their city (born 46 years ago in the Bronx, I was there for his first trip to Staten Island. Ever.). It’s a shame he didn’t have any beer on him, and an extra chair, because that would have been a just fine way to watch the sun set. Hopefully someone will notice how nice that bit of outdoor space would be with some chairs. A boarded-up staircase that leads to what looks like an upper level hints that something is still in the works, though when was hard to discern. From what has been said, no matter what is to come, it will apparently be quite an improvement. To the unfamiliar visitor, however, such subtleties are lost. Hopefully, the final stage won't leave one that disappointed. Regardless of the weakness of the two terminals, the ferry is still a joy at sunset. Take the trip. Even if there isn’t a beer waiting for you at the other end, there’s one on the way.

Found always via this Permanent Link.

August 26, 2005

A Tale of Two Ferry (Terminals), Part One: South Ferry. It’s been said for several months that the new Staten Island Ferry has been complete, but it hardly looks that way. When the ‘official’ announcement occurred the sign wasn’t even finished. Now, at least that much as has been done, but visiting it still leaves you with a sense of incompleteness, not the least of which is due to the massive construction site it sits atop (much of which is unrelated).

The history of the new terminal building is somewhat sordid. The original terminal was badly damaged by fire in 1991. A competition was held soliciting new designs. The winning firm, Philadelphia’s VSBA (Venturi Scott Brown Associates), suggested a massive, not entirely cartoony (by their standards) clock face, a gesture not without precedent. Push back from Staten Island Borough President Guy Molinari forced a redesign, which was also rejected, leading to VBSA’s resignation, with the work subsequently awarded to the associate on VSBA's bid, Fred Schwartz.

After a some tribulations involving sub-contractor chicanery and whatever else befalls a public sector project, over a decade later, the building is close to done. Figuring the last touches (including the tie into the South Ferry station) would take another year or two, and hearing that the other side was as about as done, I decided to spend a recent Saturday on the Ferry, and some time wandering the terminals.

I’ve always been a fan of the Ferry. It’s free, the views are great, and like any quality public transit, alcohol is served. The ramshackle condition of the terminal wasn’t entirely frustrating, given the sorry state of so much of our various transit systems. Like I said, it’s free, and there’s beer.

And now there’s a big shiny mound of glass parked in front of it. I say in front, because it’s hard to discern if any changes were made to the slips proper, and the immediate circulation areas are nondescript enough that change wouldn’t be evident. If there is a unifying order, it is not readily apparent. There is an attempt to create a node at the entry, where the three slips funnel into a hub -- the radius clearly evident at the entrance, with its concave signage. This could be read in reverse -- the building radiating from that point -- but I’ve always thought the slips were the focus of the building, so I relate from that point back.

Given the most travelers will pass through both sides of the node, a compression and expansion will be the effect. But it’s an effect that only occurs to someone watching for it -- an actual compression would compromise circulation. So it ends up feeling like a half effort, and weakly delineated.

The other gesture is a thrusting upward of the main lobby (and attendant entry hall) as it travels towards the aforementioned hub. This creates a strange polygon that doesn’t resolve visually into a regular space, regardless of your approach. Seen from above, it is apparent that a symmetrical solution was not possible, and, given the difficulties of the site (very little site work was allowed for the foundation due to the presence of the South Ferry station beneath), simply placing the form was a considered challenge. The interior layout -- a fairly straightforward entry stair flanked by two ancillary stairs that follow the building edge as it splays toward the slips, all of it ending at the entry hall -- tries to hard to assert that it could be a regular and symmetrical figure, but ends only seeming to splay in too many directions at once.

The entire site is awash in construction still, so perhaps when it is completed (my best guess will be post-2006, based on the South Ferry information) it won’t seem ungainly, but for now it looks like giant, irregular barge has been beached in Battery Park. Part of this is due to the intrusion -- I’m still a little surprised when I see it -- and part is due what I think was an intention to make the entire form hover, with a pass through drive below, resting on the ground only at the entry hub. With the visual clutter of construction, it’s hard to tell. But, it also seems that such a plan may have been a good intention, but there will still be plenty of competing visual activity (another terminal building, some unfortunate support facilities, the park, and what looks to be a snarl of driveways) at the most finished state, and it’s questionable if this form is commanding enough to organize site, or simply an awkward participant.

The inside is even less distinguished, with a series of discrete decisions not that impressive on their own, and never cohering into a pleasing whole. Small exceptions, such as the Exit signage, don’t offset the jumble throughout. Functionally, the space works just fine, but there is nothing that cleverly addresses the queuing habits of riders, which is to mill about the gate awaiting the next ferry. Any sort of crowd control would have been intrusive and foolhardy -- a big open space is certainly the most efficient way to move bodies -- but given how essential the process is, with people packing in slowly but surely as the ferry docks and departing passengers flooding out exit hall, some sort of response would have been a pleasant diversion.

The one attempt at a unifying element -- and mostly likely the significant remnant of VBSA involvement -- is the band of signage the wraps inconsistently around the terminal. A band running around the interior partitions (clearly visible through the outer sheathing of glass) is a quote from Edna St. Vincent Millay (here’s a good chance to attack my poor note taking -- I’m not quite sure on this point). In the main terminal space, this same band is repeated both as wayfinding signage, as well as electronic sign boards.

Oversize signage is fine, except the nomenclature is inconsistent (telephones are phone, a water fountain is H20 -- apparently because spelling it out would leave the end of the sign in the real water just out the window), and the uneven perimeter makes it surprising user unfriendly. The electronic signs are worse, since they present information randomly, with color changes that are arbitrary (that is, the exit direction isn’t only red, and the gates only green, etc.), and they fail to do the one thing such an overt gesture should: announce where the next ferry arrives. Surely the gaggle of people that collect in front of the correct gate serves the same purpose, but given the lineage of the signs in VSBA’s out-scaled postmodernism, having a giant ‘Next Ferry Here’ declaration would have been nice. Given the work of firms such as 2x4 in developing compelling and effective signage, this is a missed opportunity.

Some details work well -- the Exit signage is clever, the benches are quite nice, given the usual annoyance of interruptions to make them sleeper proof. One the water side, the short awning that juts out over each slip is edged in the same ungainly orange of the ferry boats (a color used to make them stand out in the fog). Some fail badly, such as the persistence of what appears to be temporary fencing and barriers used for crowd control in the interstitial entrance/exit areas. Though this may have nothing to so with Schwartz, seeing a weather-beaten portable wood gate is jarring and draws undue attention.

The history of this project is one of missed opportunities (one competition entry, from Aldo Rossi, was particularly elegant -- one suspects VBSA was picked because they were rooting for the home team on the jury). And, at their worst, the glittering behemoths being constructed for Fulton Street and the WTC PATH Station will overwhelm what, as a matter of siting, was one of the most exciting opportunities for a freestanding structure in Manhattan in some time. It won’t make anyone cringe, but nor does it resonate with the songs of sirens, as the sea is purported to do. Of course, this particular sea is only taking one to Staten Island, so maybe this is proportional. And once one gets to the other side, well, it’s more disappointment. More on that later. . .

Found always via this Permanent Link.

August 23, 2005

Fuck you heroes. So last night I was privy to a bit of lore heretofore a mystery to me: how does all that graffiti -- excuse me, street art -- happen? When do such luminaries as Neckface find the opportunity to execute their craft? Well, if you are walking past 240 E 2nd Street at around 11:05 PM on a Monday night, you might see an rather uninteresting looking punk leaving his tag on the front of the building. I have long since given up on deciphering tags, so it looks like ‘WISPHERS’ to me. Something like that. And if you are the sort who tags a building early enough in the evening to have a middle-aged blogger catch you, you probably drive to the East Village in your parent’s black Range Rover (plate: NY BVN 5161), and then race off, your revolutionary act of resistance complete.

I used to think that my derisive comments to the effect that most of what passes for, I dunno, visual anarchy, is a bunch of people who think Mark Ecko is some sort of avatar of antithetical culture (but is really just a whiner, begging a judge to protect his lastest PR gimmick, all of it supported by the unwavering fealty of alterna-culture whores everywhere), but really are just a bunch of rich white kids, I used to think that was bitter and dismissive presumption. Turns out, every once in a while, that I am dead on. So, you punk-ass bitches who drive to the East Village to leave entirely tired tags on my neighborhood: whatever. Live the dream. Buy a Tony Hawk videogame or something. Gnarly.

Found always via this Permanent Link.

August 22, 2005

If I had a shovel in the mornin', I'd... hand out some government money in the evening. The Real Estate has been pretty closely tracking what’s going on with Goldman Sachs new tower in Battery Park City, which has quickly morphed from the only commercial development in downtown that wasn’t awash in government pump-priming into yet another poorly negotiated handout that will continue to unwind in entirely unsuspenseful fits and starts until the final bits of public money are extracted from the pockets of any unsuspecting souls on Broad Street who haven't left after getting waylaid by the Starck PR juggernaut.

The one point that I have to agree with is that the Goldman people don’t seem to be bad sorts, even though the ironclad deal they wrangled looks like they make a sport of putting the screws to anyone within arms’ reach. I had business dealings with them some years ago, and they were real smart, real difficult (in the nicest sort of way), and refreshingly free of ‘knuckle-dragging’ (an term I must credit to one of my favorite clients) personas that are rampant in financial services. They make lots of money by making shrewd deals, and this latest one is an example of why they are so damn successful. I even heard that Pataki has to caddy for Hank Paulson on weekends for the next five years. Which is more useful than anything he’s done downtown in the past ten.

So we’re on the hook for something like three bills (really big bills, ones with eight zeroes), or as GS spokesperson Peter Rose put it in a rather understated way “the standard incentives for any corporation.” I don’t know about you, but I’m forming a corporation tomorrow. Given the bad money being thrown after the good downtown these days, it would be particularly mean spirited to harsh on this deal. Word is that Goldman was playing it straight up when they pulled out in April, citing security concerns. Since Pataki couldn’t be roused from the grain alcohol stupor he looks to be operating in these days, it took the newly refreshed and perhaps slightly more humble Dan Doctoroff to kick start the process (at least he recognized the need to burnish his legacy a bit before leaving town). Now things like agreements and milestones and whatnot are in place, it looks like an announcement will be finalized in the coming weeks.

The most significant downside to this plan is that it doesn’t net any new jobs downtown. Goldman has substantial holdings downtown (including Broad Street, Maiden Lane, and, when I knew them, Liberty Plaza across the way), all of which will be discharged when the new building is done. Though they have an tentative agreement to bring more jobs downtown over the next two decades, they aren’t obliged to, and they have a brand spanking new tower across the river that is only half full. So they have some flexibility.

In the mean time, what is to become of 85 Broad Street, the current Goldman HQ? Unlike the recent activity further up towards Wall, 85 is a rather imposing, bland corporate edifice from the seventies, with very little Starck conversion glamour possible.

More broadly -- heh, heh -- what of the gradual decline of Broad Street and the Financial District? Most expect the trading floor at the NYSE to be a museum piece inside a decade, if not far sooner (who remembers the Grasso Garden planned back in the 90’s? The threat to move to Jersey if they didn’t get a half billion? Good times). The aftermath of 9/11 has turned the street into a pedestrian mall (replete with tourists mugging with heavily armed soldiers for photos). This isn’t an entirely unplanned effort: Rogers Marvel produced some concepts a while back, which may or may not be what is currently being completed.

Given that they area is still bereft of a viable residential or commercial streetscape (at least one that reflects the means required to be residential in the area), perhaps a more thoroughgoing solution should be pursued. Some attention is being paid to the various slips, the area is rich in historic import of all kinds, and the proximity to the water means that it isn’t nearly as oppressive as 6th Avenue. Parts of Broad can be, but the irregular street pattern creates far more interesting vistas.

If there is any future for large scale commercial development downtown, it is near the WTC site, for better or worse. Much of the declining inventory are big block, bland office towers that will appeal to almost no one. But given all the dire prognoses, downtown is still one of largest business districts in the country. For all its caginess and careful negotiation, Goldman Sachs still ranks as perhaps the best example of a quintessentially New York corporation, and has respected that reputation with consistent effort. Some other downtown stalwarts -- Brown Brothers Harriman comes to mind -- will persist, but even if one subscribes to the belief that a business has as much responsibility to their community as a resident, businesses are fickle, moving on, failing, changing. Downtown was already in flux before the horror of September 11. We have seen little there of inspired, thoughtful leadership. What hope do we then have for the area at large?

Found always via this Permanent Link.

August 17, 2005

Wednesday Lore: Boy, I sure do miss the Pyramid. If it weren’t for Starbucks, what would be have to complain about? Well, I’d have plenty, but I don’t know about the rest of you. The end of hipster civilization (LES, oughts edition) as we know it occurred last week, when the dreaded green awning appeared over a storefront somewhere on the frontier (I believe it was Delancy). I wouldn’t notice because that stretch of the LES is populated with such stalwarts of alternative culture as Dunkin Donuts and Payless.

I don’t know that there is as much of the presumed griping going on as is being reported -- it’s all very meta-commentary, likely because we’ve heard the griping so much we just assumed it was happening. Maybe I just hang out in the wrong places, and as a result of this incursion, there is a groundswell of hipsters who are decamping for… the South Bronx? Chapel Hill? Good riddance.

It is coming of age ritual, certainly, to assail the befouling of one’s narrowly constructed artifice. To stay youthful, I do it a whole bunch. I imagine that much of what is being said about the mermaid beachhead bespeaks a similar amount of self-reflexive irony. If not, I direct you to Kim’s (the St. Mark’s outpost since the original -- which you can find written about in Spy circa 1991 as part of a sidebar item chronicling business that had wacky juxtapositions [the original Kim’s was a laundry that started renting videos] -- has been vacated, perhaps to make room for a Starbucks) to rent a copy of Theory of Achievement (found on the Surviving Desire DVD. Better yet, buy it.).

Now that the devil’s nectar has imposed itself, we will all be drawn inexorably to it’s siren call, no? Given it’s ubiquity, I doubt anyone is making the trek to the Essex Street station to see if the frappucinos are better. So the Green Giant must be confident the neighborhood is underserved, in the parlance of pervasive marketing (though some are certainly eager to demonstrate otherwise).

I didn’t really want to spend too much time on this particular instance, since the bones are still getting picked over daily (it gives something write about other than the plague that is Scarano & Associates), aside to offer my moment of apocalypse, which was walking home from work one night and seeing the very low key opening of 71 Clinton, and thinking "A $22 hangar steak on Clinton Street? Fuck. That’s the beginning of the end." See, we all have our own particular threshold. Rather than assert the quality of one over another, I'd rather recall some things lost to me, which with resonate a few, while for others it will seem as tired as whining about a Starbucks.

I miss the drug dealers on Avenue B. They made the street life safer, and more interesting. Eric, who sold dope -- dope dealers were the most gregarious; coke dealers were iffy, and the heroin guys never spoke to anyone, because they didn’t have to -- was the best salesman I ever met. He was seemed genuinely cheery and collegial, and remembered everyone’s name. I hope he’s selling real estate somewhere now.

I miss the Gas Station. There’s no good way to describe it, and Google is of no help. A former Gas Station (what else?), it became a club and local workspace of sculptors, and the output of some formed a carbuncle worthy of a Mad Max film that loomed over the intersection of B and Second Street. It was grittier (oh, that’s overused, I know) than the 6th Street Garden, and was devoid of the hippie territoriality that pervades some community gardens. It reminded me of a children’s book I had about the Watts Towers, or maybe I just like industrial ruins. When it was torn down, I was living in Hell’s Kitchen. The first apartment I was shown when I moved back was in the awful building that planted on the site. I refused to walk in the door.

I miss Ci Vediamo. I was told when I first moved here that it was staff owned (which seemed like a very cool thing at the time). I never confirmed this, but they served the best cheap pasta -- in one of the basement spaces flanking the aforementioned original Kim's -- I ever had in Manhattan. This opinion could be occluded by time and the fact that it was the place I ate to celebrate my first job in New York (followed immediately by the theft of my backpack in the bar that is now where Niagara is, an event and place I am not nostalgic about). And I miss The Friends and the Two Rabbits. I can’t remember the proper French version of this, but it was the place that was supposed to be what the idea of a restaurant in the East Village should be (and sure, there’s a bunch of places in Williamsburg that fit that bill now, except I don’t live there): small, friendly, interesting and tasty.

But if there is truly a sign of a changing of the guard, happening the very same week that Seattle interposes the worst -- or best, depending on your viewpoint -- idea to happen coffee since the invention of Juan Valdez, is something new to miss: Eric, bartender at Joe’s on Sixth Street, has moved on. I don’t know the details enough to write intelligently on the why, but, then again, it’s his business. Joe’s was never any sort of scene that I knew of, but it has a dependable jukebox, and has been a friendly place to drink the whole of my time in the East Village. Eric was there all along. I suspect being a bartender isn’t anyone’s lifelong dream after being in it for a few years (true to form, he was in a couple bands along the way), so valorizing one is probably just an inverse of decrying the imposition of a Starbuck’s. It’s not so much that I can’t look forward to quelling my own impending sense of non-accomplishment without him to pour a stiff bourbon; it’s just that he was a truly decent guy. And, Starbucks or not, we don’t get so much of that around here.

Previous Lore:
070605: Does this bus stop at 82nd Street?
060105: Don't Let The Sun Go Down On Your Grievances.
052505: Neither city, nor subway, but Empire.
050405: Like Usual?
042705: The best thing ever.

Found always via this Permanent Link.

August 5, 2005

Good Tidings. I’m predisposed to like the work of Lewis Tsurumaki Lewis, even though in my first encounter -- their submission to the 2000 Cooper-Hewitt Triennial -- I found to be overly fussy (I say this not with critical authority, I just think prejudices should be clearly stated). Subsequent projects, most explicated via exquisite hand drawn perspectives, had a decidedly different effect. I was also unaware of their rather impressive professional credentials. I only knew they had office space in a pretty ramshackle storefront in my neighborhood, a work environment that has long been a fantasy of mine.

Rather than take the typical approach of the interested indie aficionado angered by the welter of attention they have received as of late, I’m pleased that they seem to be pervasive in the narrow world of architectural publications (even moving beyond). I’m consistently encouraged by the tactile and, frankly, fun, spirit imbued in their work. In an age where being avant garde seems to require a blob, they create compelling and original forms that do not require dogmatic intellectual biases to enjoy their visceral effects.

So I looked forward to the opening of their most recent work, Tides, a restaurant on Norfolk Street (just across from Tonic and what looks to be a positively abhorrent pending building from Tschumi) between Delancy and Rivington. Tides is quite obviously a seafood restaurant, and a small one at that. I’ll leave the final word on the food -- though I had what to me were positively refreshing and tasty oysters and octopus on a steamy July night -- to those with perhaps more skilz in this department. But don’t take my hesitance as an indictment of the food. I was there perhaps the fifth or sixth night they were open, and the food was comparable -- to my limited palate -- to that of Lure and the Oyster Bar. Instead, I’ll focus on what I presume to be my forte -- the physical space.

The dominant element that will undoubtedly receive the most attention is the striking ceiling, which features thousands of bamboo skewers. Though the inspiration was literally a seabed, the undulating forms call to mind a range of ‘tidal’ inspiration, including, for me, the marshes where I spent my college years. Given the restaurant name, the resultant effect would seem to be a very literal interpretation, but the abstraction and executions supersedes this. With too much academic training, there can be a a fussy need to legitimate each decision, even as the most renown designers seem to operate on sheer formal virtuosity; here, it is a welcome admixture of the two poles.

As is notable in all LTL’s small space projects, it is not simply a ‘Big Wow’ moment surmounted by a very pedestrian space. Rather, the rest of the decisions are representative of the same degree of rigor -- bordering on obsession -- about every element one encounters. Opposing the sinuous forms of the skewers on the ceiling is a long band of highly polished wood that folds irregularly down the length of the space, forming two booths and the bathroom.

A clever visual trick is played by varying the heights of the booths, a necessity due to an intruding staircase, but also an idea so blindingly simple that it makes you wonder why it hasn’t been done more often. Even as the folds occur at varying heights and angles, the booths finish at a consistent height, topped by a hood that repeats over the bathroom. Due to the elevation of the benches and the small size of the space overall, it appears that the bathroom is undersized, which is not the case.

The bathroom itself is perversely understated and prominent. Not visibly marked in any way, it is also the only enclosed space in the room. The door slides, and is finished almost seamlessly (albeit set in) with the surrounding wood.

Inside, the underside of the last hood rises up to a dim but useful fixture, and the space is comfortable (even a nice respite, the most commodious space in the restaurant). The sink is always a place for designers to show their clever-clever props, and this doesn’t disappoint. I’m not one of those aggressive bathroom tourists who seek out the range of interesting solutions to be found in the city (I still haven’t been in a stall at Bar 89), and can only recall two memorable examples, that of the Royalton urinals (which has a superficial similarity) and sinks at Brasserie. Here one is faced with an interesting logistical challenge -- how to preen as one’s visage is deformed by the sliding water -- that is also a intellectual challenge to one’s vanity at the same time. The only real weak spot is the door handle, one those nice ideas that would work in a home, where you likely wouldn’t actually utilize it often, but here it is a little awkward to operate.

What made my visit exceptionally pleasant, both as a diner and putative critic, was a chance to sit and talk with one of the co-owners, Stephen Yee. Since I basically sandbagged him, it was a good test to explore how the client experiences the design process and to hear a relatively unvarnished presentation of the tribulations -- or rewards -- of working with an architect. It was gratifying because his comments reinforced the benefits a well-wrought collaboration can yield. He reported an enthusiasm and flexibility (the sketch of the booth concept was done on-site while trying to puzzle out a way to deal with the stair) in the LTL team that produced in him a similar commitment to realize as many of the ideas as possible, even those that presented budget challenges in a project that was a modest undertaking.

It seems I’ve gone on too long -- is that so unusual? -- and still haven’t mention still other details, including the tables (designed and manufactured by the LTL team) that feature a substrate of clear acrylic that is lit by a sunken candle, and light fixtures that have a similar ethereal finish. Even the required safety signage, placed so unfortunately when I was there, was due a revamp from the designers, along with a new wait station. If you go and it’s a bit warm, don’t blame the designers (as I wondered, looking at the fans clipped awkwardly to the booth hoods) -- instead, it was the usual sad tale of a derelict contractor resulting in the wrong unit. It should be corrected by now, but if the HVAC gods looked unfavorably on Tides last week, fear not: a cool ocean breeze is certainly in their future.

So go: I recommend, unreservedly. I always feel odd when I get excited about a compelling interior. The first time I ate at Brasserie, I had the same sense of dislocation: I shouldn’t be getting so excited because I noticed something that perhaps wasn’t supposed to be so immediately evident. Rather than question my own perverse perspective, I’m going to let go of it, and accept that it is simply the wonder of encountering something that is simply good, endowed with all that such a simple and direct term implies. A good thing. Try it.

Found always via this Permanent Link.

August 3, 2005

When? March? Nah. No one remembers March. What should cause for rejoicing across the city has instead produced a bit of badly crafted snark from the Times. After years of fighting, Rep. Jerry Nadler finagled $100 million for design and engineering fees to build the long discussed (back to 1893 -- and you thought the Second Avenue subway plan was getting long in the tooth) freight tunnel for New York Harbor.

Aside from eliminating a great deal of truck traffic from Manhattan streets, adding construction jobs for five years, increasing employment in Brooklyn and distracting infrastructure junkies like me, the tunnel might also shore up a key part of our remaining industrial base. How’s that?

The short version (like I can do that) is this (most of this is pulled from this Daily News article): New York used to be the leading port on the East Coast, but now competes on pretty equal footing with the "Hampton Roads" area. Maersk, the European shipping behemoth, currently requires 40 feet of draft (the water depth required for the shipping channel and port area), but is moving rapidly towards 45 or 50 feet, to accommodate the next generation of container ships.

There is also the potential of an industry wide move of a hub-and-spoke model of distribution, which would mean that Maersk would want to have only one major port of call. Hampton Roads (via Newport News) has a slight edge already, drafting 45 feet, and also having more expansion opportunities on land. The Port of Newark just hit the 45 foot mark, and is spending over a billion dollars to go down another five.

Dredging is a nasty business. The sea bed in the harbor area is filled with two-plus centuries of muck of all kinds, including PCB runoff from the Hudson, more pedestrian offal, and, oh yeah, lots of bedrock. Every inch they take out of the Kill Van Kull channel (which already is only slightly harder to get in than Nobu) is solid rock topped with a dressing of carcinogens.

Additionally -- and it may be hard to believe this -- most of the Port of Newark area is wetlands, and most every bit of land not developed is protected. The Ports (Elizabeth & Newark) are operating at near capacity, and even if they get the channel depth Maersk demands, they couldn’t do much to handle additional traffic or storage.

So there wouldn’t be a simple alternative now, would there? Well, there is the Port of Brooklyn, which drafts from 65 feet at Red Hook down to 150 feet around 60th Street. Ships coming in wouldn’t have to traverse the Kill Van Kull, and last I looked, the light manufacturing base of much of Queens and Brooklyn was belly up, meaning there's a big pool of reserve experienced labor and cheap warehouse space available.

Given all this, why did the Port Authority turn its nose up at the money? Well, it may have something to do with the fact that the PANYNJ is often more sympathetic to NJ than NY development, even though its members are split equally. One likely cause of this is weak leadership in the New York governor’s office, and the fact that the New Jersey reps are keener on protecting their interests, since the key properties impact Jersey disproportionately. Pouring money into rail connections and the Port of Newark delivers jobs directly to some Jersey residents, and provides the rest an easier ride to their jobs in Manhattan.

Over here, we get Curious George touting his ‘one-seat’ ride to Kennedy. How sad is that? Can that man even read? What, are you going to do, pick up your seat from the LIRR train that takes you to Jamaica and carry it to the Air Train connecting to Kennedy?

So why does the Times do such a poor job of laying these issues out? I can’t properly imagine the answer to that, aside from sheer incompetence, laziness, or a continued pressure to kowtow to every pet Bloomberg project to further the interests of their business partner, Bruce Ratner. Because their take on all this is sort of a "Huh, huh, look at Nadler. He went and got all this money for the Port Authority and they don't even want it. Huh, huh." They do a fine job of outlining the political issues regarding the potential barriers to using this money, but they take a sideswipe jab at the funding process, implying that Nadler was simply landing some pork, and completely ignore any regional analysis that might situate the odd reaction of the PANYNJ as unfairly biased.

They also blithely proclaim that there are 'opponents' (that's plural) swarming. To prove the futility of Nadler's pipe dream, we get this bit of soundbite pap -- "We're going to make central Queens the truck capital of North America if this occurs." -- courtesy "Mitchell L. Moss, a professor of urban policy and planning at New York University". That's a clever bit of insight dumbed down for the people by the of high-falutin' perfesser, right? Well it turns out the Times doesn't always call Professor Moss by his upscale monkier. As recently as last August, he was called an "informal adviser to Mayor Michael Bloomberg". That same Mayor who did an about face and stopped supporting the plan, a decision that -- wait for it -- the Times denouced in an editorial on March 13.

But that was sooo long ago. March. And they might not have heard of Google at the Times. Or even read the Move NY & NJ site in detail. Just link to it and not read the home page. That's a good strategy. And consistent with the practice of seeming to form editorial opinion at random. Next week, the Times comes out in favor of reviving Westway!

Found always via this Permanent Link.

August 1, 2005

Pay to Pander. Last week, the Democratic-dominated City Council demonstrated why the party has such little credibility as an ideologically consistent, or even rational, body, and instead managed to recall only tired antics of someone like Speaker Peter Vallone, who ran the show for years before discovering that such efforts yield zero name recognition in the quest for mayorship.

Young Gifford Miller decided he needed some good press after he flubbed by 4,200% the cost of franking -- the freebie mailings politicians get to keep you ‘informed’ -- so he engineered a vote to roll back a Bloomberg decision in 2002 to require parking meters be active seven days a week.

The patent ridiculousness of this fight centers around the glib catchphrase ‘pay to pray’ because apparently every church in the five boroughs is awash in metered spots (my recollection is most of them are fronted by no parking zones), and the new rules severely attenuated one’s ability to worship (provided they were the Christian sort) and drive in the same day. Or people couldn’t drive to church. Or it is the Lord’s Day. I can’t quite figure it out, but the upshot is some essential entitlement was ripped from hands New Yorkers, and Miller, lacking any other issues of note where he can distinguish himself from the mayor (apparently all the good ones like a useless subway searching regulations, or possible malfeasance on the part of the DA and NYPD during the Republican National Convention weren’t as sexy as… parking), rode to the rescue.

Unfortunately, such a campaign runs counter to any good traffic calming or air quality management plans. Only in the outer reaches of the minds of folk like Rush Limbaugh will you find a person who tries to refute the overwhelming evidence that when the costs of driving and storing a car are below the market value of land in a central city, personal car use and the average numbers of riders decrease, leading to increased congestion, longer commute times and increased pollution, all of it subsidized by tax payers. We are paying to help people drive into the city to make our day smoggier and more trying. And the Giff thinks this is going to help separate him from the bland pack of Democratic nominees. It certainly would, if suffrage was granted to New Jersey and Nassau. Given that he just spent $1.6 million mailing postcards, the $7 million this is costing might seem downright cheap.

There’s no hoping that people will be self-policing, or show restraint. Taxes are not simply revenue generating mechanisms, but incentives or disincentives to behave in a particular way. Smoking and drinking are very expensive; owning a home is subsidized, relative to renting. The city has had moments of disincenting car owners (garage-only structures are prohibited south of 96th Street), but by and large stands pretty by pretty meekly while the city is overrun with private cars. I know households that keep more than one car in the city. I have a car -- I’d say over half the people I know do. Why? It’s cheap. I have to move it three times a week at most, and it usually takes about two minutes of my time before I leave the house in the morning (how’s that? I’m not telling you. Like any good, self-interested New Yorker, I’m not revealing where my cushy parking arrangement is). If the city made it any more expensive, I would have to reconsider the value of owning a car versus the alternates, of which we have many.

In the meantime, London -- the largest city to institute congestion pricing -- is looking to increase its daily fee by 50% (at current exchange rates, to about $20 to enter the congestion zone). Everyone predicted voters would push Ken Livingstone (who doesn’t drive and says openly he wants to ban cars) out the door, which hasn’t happened, alone with many other dire predictions of falling property values, and… oh, other bad stuff would happen.

There’s not much excuse for not highly regulating cars in cities. Given our twisted governmental structure, most significant decisions (and even ones as minor as lowering the speed limit on a single street) must be approved by the state DOT, so we can only get so aggressive about innovation. And if this is the Giff’s idea of innovation, we can look forward to a slow-moving, crowded and angry future.

Found always via this Permanent Link.