outbound traffic

to read what this guy and others like him are talking about, and not come away feeling like you’re watching a movie in which you’re the only person who knows where the boogie man is.

I can’t get my head around why so many of my otherwise smart friends don’t have a handle on Peak Oil and climate change. Or even a sense that it’s a real, physical thing, something they will have to deal with personally. My friend Dan, who I look up to inordinately, last week told me basically “i don’t have time to think about it, so if it happens, I’ll load up my gun and deal then.”  That’s the sentiment of someone who wants to have something strong and forceful to say, but can’t speak the truth, which is they’re going to be caught flatfooted.

We all need to make plans for our future. Starting, oh, NOW.  Last night AG and I decided to do our small part, and ditched plans to buy a Subaru Impreza. Instead, we’re giving the Honda Accord to Jim Mason, to feed into his gasification skunk works, and will buy a Mercedes to run on biodiesel.  A small step, but perhaps enough to stave off sleeplessness as I watch our little girl sleep.

OK, *now* i get why all parents want to post baby pix everywhere. It truly is extraordinary–one moment Andie is in my arms, in a birthing tub, howling…and a moment later a very blue person emerges from between her legs and lands on her chest. As the seconds pass, it turns from purple to pink, as oxygen floods in, and the capillaries expand now that they’ve got a bit of room. And after a Shroediger’s Cat moment, we turn her over to learn she is, in fact, a girl.

She’s asleep in my lap right now, as I write. It’s notable how virtual most of the primary relationships are in mine and Andie’s life. The fact is, most of the connections we have are via our laptops. So it was entirely natural, if a bit self conscious, to Flickr, Twitter, IM, text, Tribe, Live Journal etc afterwards. She had a gmail and twittr account before she was born–I know, wrong on some level…but I’m also glad I snagged the name all the same.

Young Juniper is born into a world that won’t exist long, racing in both directions: toward the technological singularity, of all information available to everyone, everywhere, instantly, and toward the inevitable, unavoidable disasters of climate change and peak oil. This morning’s story, in which former White House Chief of Staff Leon Panetta described the moral grinding down that will take place over the next 30 years, as rich nations kick the poor away from our lifeboat, is sobering. What have we done, what can we do, and how will this little girl survive? Sobering thoughts, 21 some hours into her life.

But pretending it’s not otherwise would be worse, I suspect. And so, we plan, we work, we hope…and we prepare. And for the moment, she sleeps, as it should be.

This is the forth and final installment of our series on how poorly the Chronicle’s Design Editor responds to criticism that he’s not done his homework. Air kisses for everyone from Big Z!
On Oct 24, 2007, at 3:03 PM, Sardar, Zahid wrote:

Thanks Tom,
appreciate your input, and be sure to continue to express your views always. It gets people informed about every point of view.
best
Zahid

To which I replied:

Zahid,

Not sure what you’re thanking me for, but if it’s for saying “the emperor has no clothes,” then you’re welcome. I still do wish you’d answer in a substantive way, but clearly that’s not something you seem inclined to do. Too bad.

And yes, I’ll be sure to continue to express my views, and I’m sure you won’t mind if, in that spirit, I blog about this informative email exchange.

And thanks, also, for giving me something new to look for in the Chronicle; I’ll be sure to read your columns with interest from now on.

Best,

Tom

Part three of the SF Chron Design Editor: Punk or Not? series

On Oct 24, 2007, at 1:24 PM, Sardar, Zahid wrote:

thanks tom…I think , as i said before , there is a public forum online where you can express your views.
For now, I think it is enough that we agree that Burning Man’s goals to be green were not met.
thanks and let’s see each other possibly next year on the playa where more resouces will be burned.
best
Zahid

From: price_tom@hotmail.com
Subject: Do you ever respond to feedback, or always insist on pointing at someone else instead?
Date: October 24, 2007 2:02:26 PM PDT
To: ZSardar@sfchronicle.com
Cc: mwhite@sfchronicle.comZahid,

Continuing to ignore a critique of your story won’t make it go away. And just saying something is true doesn’t make it so.

Burning Man’s environmental goals were met. I know, because it was my job to help define them. Your editor defines the goals for your job, by saying what’s due, and when. So you both know when you’ve gotten it done. Same with the people I work for.

Meanwhile, why aren’t you answering the very reasonable questions being asked about your story? Why aren’t you doing the same thing you’ve asked me, namely backing up my claims and responding to criticism? Why are you instead running away from answering a legitimate, thoughtful, well reasoned critique of your work?

A quick glance at your last several columns indicates you either receive no feedback at all, or derision as a shill for developers. If you’re so certain of your point of view, then take the same time you suggest someone else would to back up your claims, or admit they were a mistake. Either with do, neither would be a confirmation that you can’t.

Regards,

Tom Price

“Hi, I’m Zahid, and I’m beyond using mere facts.”
So he wrote back, almost right away. Well, sort of. I mean, there were words, but they didn’t say…anything, really. Is *this* really his reply? That art is something we can do without? I’m wondering how he got this job.

Then again, his replies and column taking together are actually fascinating examples of why he probably did get it–they combine seemingly savvy insights with implied wisdom and self referential nomenclature, but without the burden of quantifiable outcomes. Or, he talks a good game, but it’s done in a way that usually stands up to criticism because, when parsed, the implied strong POV isn’t really there.

The result? Like most design, and design literature, and fashion writing, it’s a simulacrum of analysis berift of substance. See? I just did it–the combo of those sentences would be read by most as a critique of him, but parsed, they’re not. Oh, clever, Zahid. You’ve got mad skills.
His reply, in toto, and mine below: (more…)

The design editor at the Chronicle, Zahid Sardar, wrote a story saying Burning Man was a failure at being green, and gave examples. I called to talk to him, but he didn’t call back. So I wrote with some feedback, and he wasn’t having any of it. Well, Zahid, back atcha: (more…)

Leaving Forrest Brady’s very cool, very eclectic IgniteSF event last night, Andie and I agreed that the most thought provoking presentation (admittedly, pregnant lady and I skipped out post Scubabot) was Brooke Blumenstein’s Web 2.0 Outside the Tech Scene.
Her partner Toby Segaran’s on datamining was also a kick, listen to both here. And I’m fascinated to see they’re experimenting with outsourcing their lives, since I’ve become enamored of the same idea after having the 4 hour workweek shoved down my throat by my friend Brian. I digress.
Setting aside the presentation form itself ( 15 slides, 5 minutes, which really keeps things moving along ), and Brooke’s nervousness ( a tip to a potentially otherwise great speaker: modulate your voice, and decide which part of you you’re going to let move, keep the rest still ), her talk about Katzenbach Partners Hub+ knowledge management system, which generates tags for saved documents, provoked an idea.

AG and I’ve both broken our heads against Burning Man’s extranet, which although well intentioned is a kludge, and so doesn’t inspire use. In fact, it actively discourages it. So coming to learn how to make one work was interesting.

But to the question: why can’t we embed publishing into the production platform itself? Why can’t Word or Excel or whatever have a button insterted into the menu bar that saves the document directly to the archiving architechture, automatically pulling key words from the title and headers, and suggesting tags, and suggesting which teams be allowed access?

It seems so simple to do, and of course I understand none of the technical implications. But given the amount of data increasing daily, why can’t we simplify the storage and retrieval of it just a wee bit?

I write a file which has the words “solar”, “gerlach,” and “DPW” in the title–surely that’s plenty to explain what teams of people aught to be interested in it, and where it should live? And from that, be able to infer and generate tags?

Like I said, I’m sure I’m missing something.

“Meet Andie Grace, aka ActionGrl, the latest in our series of Beautiful Pregnant Women. Her partner, a great man who answers to the name Thumper, took this shot on AG’s birthday in the deep, dusty Nevada desert. I’ve watched Andie, often from afar, as she’s glided through various life stages, tribes, trials, and transformations with more grace and beauty than sometimes even I can bear. Bassist. Filmmaker. Media maven. The girl you wished was living next door. Girl of Action. Mom to Be. Virgo. Her six-word memoir? “Wasn’t born a redhead; fixed that.” Catch her if you can.”
Sure Larry, whatever you say. And all I’m saying is: takes a special kind of smooth to mack on all them preggers ladies and get away with it, just another reason to pour props for Mr. Smith!

OK, now that the late unpleasantness with my colleagues has been sorted ( details are petty and unworthy of repetition; shit happens, nuf said), I can write about things that really matter to me, like architecture.

When the new federal building in San Francisco was unveiled, much was said about its look, and feel. The Thom Mayne design ( whom The Times called “the government’s favorite architect”, and who won the 2005 Pritzker) was lauded for its environmental efficiency.

But amidst all the hype and hoopla, I feel like the critics missed the essential nature of the thing. Witness John King in the San Francisco Chronicle last November:

For those of you who haven’t yet seen the Great Speckled Bird of Mission Street, it’s a wide slab of concrete that climbs 18 stories and then stops — except that panels of perforated steel snap over the top of the slab like an eccentric paper airplane before cascading down the side of the building that faces the south.

At ground level there’s an L-shaped plaza and a freestanding cafe with a roof that marks the finale of the cloak as it buckles up and rears back, a metallic wave frozen as it breaks.

Then in February he returned, lauding the design in fawning praise, which really said little of note or insight:

One problem is that the perforated sunscreen seems heavy; during much of the day it looks more like a dull blanket than a sleek veil.
Another miscalculation is the roof of the cafe, which is topped by a tangle of trusses and panels.
The idea was for the veil to leap across the plaza, and from above it looks fine. Up close? You’d think a giant robotic spider landed on the cafe and is about to pry it open.

which he closes by adding:

San Francisco’s character is rich and rooted. It also has been redefined from day one by immigrants and cultural trends. The city only grows stronger by exposure to fresh ideas — including buildings that make you look twice, and make you think hard.

More’s the pity then, John, that you didn’t take your own advice.

Nicolai Ouroussoff of The Times naturally did a better job–he’s got more material to work with to stay fresh–but even his longish story missed the mark.

The view of the building, and it’s message, can be summed up in one word: earthquake.

Physical, metaphorical, take your pick. The jagged slash down the face, with its heaving gapes, atop the buckled courtyard plaza–it fairly screams that the facade crumpled and slid down the side.

The angled struts on the right, kicked out like so many 2×4s propping up Marina teardowns, lean like a colt slipping on winter ice. Look at the man’s sketches from his Pritzker file, judge for yourself.

And yet the gleaming, soaring north face speaks to San Francisco’s unending role as a cauldron of reinvention and repurposing, a social fulcrum levered against itself, rising up from whatever wreckage it’s found itself in.

As in 06, and 89, the city shakes loose what has fallen, and builds on that foundation.

That’s what Mayne has done here: demonstrated in one building the fall, and resurrection, of one of the world’s greatest cities.