Urban Studies

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Arthur Jones' workout regimen included Nautilus pullovers and chain smoking.

Bill Bowerman, Arnold Schwarzenegger and the recently deceased Jack LaLanne all helped spark fitness crazes in America, but half-crazy Arkansan Arthur Jones may have had a bigger influence on the modern health club than anyone else. Jones created Nautilus machines, which resembled the exterior of a shellfish, selling his first unit in 1970. This equipment shifted the focus of exercise from barbell lifting to high-intensity machine training.

In 1985, Time profiled Jones and his growing empire. If he just pioneered exercise equipment, Jones would have been interesting in a small way. But he was also a cantankerous world traveler and adventurer who was married six times to much younger women and had the kind of massive ego and appetites particular to the self-made American male.

His 2007 obituary in the New York Times included Jones’ famous quote: “I shot 630 elephants and 63 men, and I regret the elephants more.” An excerpt from the Time piece about Jones when he was 58:

“The gravel-voiced Jones has none of the polish of his machines. He wears horn-rimmed glasses and ill-fitting pants, gulps coffee, chain-smokes Pall Malls and often totes a Colt .45. ‘When I was broke, I was crazy; now that I am rich, I am eccentric,’ he declares. He is about 65 but refuses to confirm it. His motto for summing up his favorite pursuits: ‘Younger women, faster airplanes and bigger crocodiles.’

Jones has had five wives, all of whom he married when they were between the ages of 16 and 20. He lives with his current spouse Terri, 23, on his 600-acre Jumbo Lair spread near Ocala, Fla., which is also home to 90 elephants, three rhinos, a gorilla, 150 snakes, 300 alligators and 400 crocodiles. The animals come in handy for Jones’ research projects, which he and his staff conduct with no particular goal. ‘If I knew what I was going to discover, I wouldn’t do it,’ huffs Jones. ‘Very little in life happens according to plan.’ But with his growing fortune, Jones has plans that tend to happen.”

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Arianna Huffington: a friend of measles.

The acquisition of the Huffington Post gives AOL ownership of some brilliant muckraking.

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While on the subject of U.S. Postal Service history, I should point out that the above photograph comes from the Smithsonian with the following eye-popping caption:

“After parcel post service was introduced in 1913, at least two children were sent by the service (with stamps attached to their clothing; the children rode with railway and city carriers to their destination). The Postmaster General quickly issued a regulation forbidding the sending of children in the mail after hearing of those examples.”


Taken from the 1893 Brooklyn Daily Eagle Almanac.

  • Explosives
  • Poisons
  • Liquids
  • Ardent
  • Inflammable oils
  • Animals (alive or dead)
  • Fresh fruit liable to decomposition
  • Insects (except queen bees and their attendant bees and dried insects when safely packed)
  • Substances exhaling an offensive odor
  • Obscene and indecent books, prints, writings or papers
  • All letters upon the envelopes of which, or postal cards indecent, lewd, obscene or lascivious delineations, epithets, terms or language are written or printed
  • All matter concerning lotteries or other similar enterprises offering prizes, or concerning schemes devised or intended to defraud the public or for the purpose of obtaining money under false pretences.
  • All mail matter not addressed to a post office or to no particular person, firm, company or publication

The 1905 IRT wreck occurred just a few minutes after seven in the morning.

September 11 was an ominous date in NYC history even before 2001, if on a smaller scale. Due to a switching error, a horrendous 1905 train wreck killed 12 and seriously injured another 48 in Manhattan on the erstwhile IRT Ninth Avenue line at West 53rd Street. As this astounding (and anonymous) photo illustrates, it was a horrifying calamity of Hollywood blockbuster proportions long before movies were capable of simulating such disasters. The motorman, Paul Kelly, faced criminal charges for the crash because police suspected the incident was a willful act connected to an imminent strike by the motormen. Kelly went on the lam and eluded capture for nearly two years. The July 1, 1907 New York Times reported on his arrest in San Francisco. An excerpt:

“Paul Kelly, wanted by the New York police on a criminal charge growing out of the death of twelve persons in an elevated railroad wreck on Sept. 11, 1905, was arrested here last night by local detectives and detained pending orders from New York. Kelly admitted his identity.

The day before the strike of the elevated railroad men in New York, Kelly, who was a union motorman, was in charge of the train which was wrecked. It was charged that Kelly willfully disobeyed orders. He disappeared, and the Police Commissioner of New York offered a reward of $500 for his arrest.

Kelly has been here for a year, and has been in the employ of the Southern Pacific Railroad in a local freight yard.”

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I previously posted a clip of a 1950s housewife on LSD, but let’s see what acid does to a girl with an orange.

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"If you don't wait on me I'll report you."

Of all the important and momentous events in the life of writer Oscar Wilde, riding on a Long Island train wasn’t one of them. But that didn’t stop the Brooklyn Daily Eagle from reporting on a minor kerfuffle he was involved in while aboard a train headed for Long Beach, in its August 24, 1882 issue. Wilde’s haughtiness with a conductor was apparently met with pure cheek. An excerpt:

“Oscar Wilde has been badly snubbed by the guests of Long Beach and other resorts on Long Island. In traveling between Hunter’s Point and Long Beach in a drawingroom car the other day he occupied two chairs in the laziest kind of way. Presently Conductor Billy Reynolds passed through.

‘Conductor?’ called out Oscar.

‘What is it, sir?’

‘Hand me some ice water,’ commanded Oscar.

‘There’s the tank; fill in,’ tartly replied the conductor.

‘Impudence, damned impudence,’ chimed in Sam Ward. ‘I’d report the fellow, Oscar.’

‘See here, young man,’ cautioned Oscar, ‘if you don’t wait on me I’ll report you.’

‘Report and be damned,’ said the conductor. ‘I sized you up long ago.’

Oscar was as good as his word. The railroad officials laughed over it, and that conductor is said to be in line for a promotion.”

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Dan Callahan’s Coat – $1 (Oakland Gardens, NY)

For sale is a worthless coat formerly owned by a worthless person that goes by the name of Dan Callahan. The coat is roughly 90 years old and reeks of shit. It’s covered in dog hair and numerous other unidentifiable pieces of fuzz and/or actual dog shit.

By purchasing this item you will also receive the pocket contents which are as follows:

– 1 used and broken golf tee
– 1 empty box of cigarettes
– 2 broken cigarettes
– 1/4 empty tin of mint skoal pouches
– 15 State Farm Business Cards
– No Life
– 1 half consumed dog biscuit
– 1 dead frog
– 4 bags of Nike’s shit
– Dan Callahan’s 10 steps to success guide
– Sidewitz’s dad
– Forged scorecard
– Croxley’s coupon for 10 cent wings
– 1 giant sarcastic asshole
– Voucher for a free fluoride rinse
– Tee time for Bethpage Black in 2028
– The most hated human being alive
– His dad’s friend Leo
– Unlimited bitching & moaning
– Unlimited horseshit golf advice
– 1 really wide driveway
– 1 more of anything anyone else has

Ehhhhh you should probably buy this. Price negotiable.

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A fascinating five-minute clip about the landmark NYC magazine, Punk, which began publishing in 1975. The mag featured interviews conducted by writer Legs McNeil, who, according to the narrator of this British doc, was encouraged to ask his subjects “the dumbest questions because punk…is anti-intellectual.” I don’t know that McNeil really required much encouragement. I interviewed him once and he was (unsurprisingly) a huge asshole. Fuck you, Legs. (Thanks to The Documentarian.)

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Talese

Gay Talese in 2006, (Image by David Shankbone.)

During a 2009 interview with the Paris Review, New Journalism legend Gay Talese recalls how he published his first article at the New York Times. An excerpt (Thanks Longform):

“The copy boys had to go at night to Times Square to wait for the arrival of the late-evening tabloids, which we’d deliver to the editors so that they could see what the other newspapers were reporting. While I was waiting in Times Square one night I became transfixed by that electronic news ticker scrolling around three of the sides of the old New York Times building. Fifteen thousand lightbulbs spelling out that day’s headlines, in five-foot-high letters. I wondered, How do they do that?

"Fifteen thousand lightbulbs spelling out that day’s headlines, in five-foot-high letters. I wondered, How do they do that?"

After I delivered the papers I had some free time, so I went back to the old Times building and I climbed the stairs until I found a door open on the fourth floor. Behind it was a man standing on a ladder, holding what looked like an accordion. I said, Excuse me, I’m a copy boy, and I was just wondering, what are you doing? He said, I’m doing the headlines. I asked him how he did it. He said, They call me and read me the headlines, and I type them into this device here, and it makes the bulbs light up in the right way. He said he’d been working there for twenty-five years. I asked him what his first big headline was, and he said, Oh, election night, 1928. HERBERT HOOVER BEATS AL SMITH. I asked him if I could come back with a notepad and interview him about his career and some of the famous headlines he’d written, and he agreed.

One of the good things about being a copy boy was that you got to know a lot of people on the staff. Especially if you were polite. I had good manners, thanks to growing up in the store—a reverential attitude toward the customer. So I approached Meyer Berger, one of the famous reporters on the paper at the time and a wonderful, generous man. He said I could write up the piece on his typewriter and show it to him. I did, and he liked it. He showed it to his editor, and soon it was published, without a byline, on the editorial page.”

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Even the guts of Paris look beautiful. (Thanks Open Culture.)

"I am a wanting a used designer handbag for my girlfriend for Valentine's Day."

I could use your help please read Looking for a Designer Handbag for my GF

I could use your help

I am a Wanting a used Designer Handbag for my girlfriend for Valentines day PLEASE HELP last year she hated my Gift she said it looked like I bought it at a garage sale could you please kindly respond for more details I reside in newyork Thanks again for your help

"There will be plenty for R2 to do while waiting for its lower extremities." (Imaghe by NASA.)

The specimen pictured on your left is Robonaut 2 (or R2 for short), the first human-like robot that NASA will send into space. In February, R2 joins the International Space Station to aid in conducting scientific projects. The robot’s legs aren’t ready yet, so it’s launching ahead of them and they will be sent up and attached in space when they’re ready. The same thing happened with Buzz Aldrin, who was merely a torso when he first went to the moon. His limbs and genitals were shipped separately. An excerpt from a NASA news release:

“NASA’s Robonaut 2 is primed and ready for launch aboard space shuttle Discovery in February. R2 is so ready, in fact, that it’s going up ahead of its legs, which will follow on a later launch.

‘The robot’s legs aren’t ready yet,’ says Rob Ambrose of NASA’s Johnson Space Center. ‘We’re still testing them. But there will be plenty for R2 to do while waiting for its lower extremities.’

R2 will be the first humanoid robot to travel and work in space, so it’ll be training for some big responsibilities.

‘This robot will eventually become the space station crew’s right-hand ‘it.” (Ambrose says R2 is neither male nor female.)

Thanks to the legs and a few other upgrades, ‘it’ has a bright future. In fact the ultimate goal is for R2 to help the astronauts with EVAs. But first, like a student in school, the robot must progress stepwise as new features – like legs — are added and it acquires new abilities.”

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Guangzhou is one of the cities included in the Pearl River project. (Image by Myouzke.)

Yglesias has a post about the latest Chinese mass development, a megacity along Pearl River which will link many of its urban manufacturing areas with a dizzying array of infrastructure projects. The post also decries the lack of regional planning in the United States, while completely ignoring the land grabs and uprooting of reluctant people necessary to make such sweeping changes. Also: Some Chinese megalopolises, like Ordos, become insta-ghost towns. But here’s the Yglesias screed:

“I would say the key merit of this plan isn’t just the possibility for more coherent regional planning (it might work out well, or the planning might be out of touch and inept) so much as it is the deliberate desire to keep filling in China’s most prosperous, highest-productivity area. And it’s quite reasonable to expect people to continue flowing away from the poor countryside to opportunity in richer areas, and specifically this area which is quite prosperous by Chinese standards. Rich, productive urban areas are, after all, where the best opportunities lie and it’s sensible for the Chinese to be planning for the infrastructure needs of a future in which more people flock to them.

The tragedy is that we’ve largely stopped doing this in the United States. Of course people still flock to the Boston-Washington corridor, the Bay Area, etc. But we don’t adopt the kind of infrastructure and zoning policies that would facilitate those areas becoming substantial denser. Consequently, instead of having the fastest net population growth in the richest metropolitan areas (or states) we have people flocking to Houston and Phoenix in search of cheap housing.”

After watching John Samson’s infamous, trippy 1977 documentary, “Dress for Pleasure,” which profiles leather, rubber and vinyl fetishists, I don’t really have any better idea why some people gain sexual gratification from dressing in these materials. But it’s still a powerful movie that’s hard to look away from. It also gives a glimpse into Malcolm McLaren’s SEX clothing shop in London and serves as a pretty great fashion documentary of the type of punk wear that his partner Vivienne Westwood later brought to the mainstream. I would point out that several bare breasts make this film NSFW, but if you’re watching fetish documentaries at your desk, you obviously stopped caring long ago. (Thanks to The Documentarian.)

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From second-degree burns to completely healed in 96 hours.

"Cash only." (Image by Richiek.)

Baseball Team – $750 (Flushing)

For sale: one baseball team, one highly financed stadium, one cable program and one owner’s idiot son for sale. Team is about 50 years old and in poor condition. Cash only.

"I closed the window and sat there on the edge of the bed holding my club, thinking somebody fucking crazy from the lobby was going to come up." (Photo by David Shankbone.)

Before he was reborn, Mickey Rourke was a huge mess and before that a huge star. Before all of it, he lived in New York on no money during a time when the city had begun offering only the coldest shoulder possible to starving artists. In an interview in the February 1987 issue of Playboy, Rourke, then in the first great flowering of his career, recalled his hard-knock life as a young actor in NYC. A few excerpts follow.

••••••••••

“Down the hall, a little guy was opening the grille, peeking in; you couldn’t even jerk off in private. It was one of those welfare hotels with nut jobs walking up and down, you know, fucking crazies and killers and guys who were truck drivers who thought they were women. The first night, there was this loud fucking music coming up from somewhere, man. And I kept hearing these voices and shit from downstairs. I closed the window and sat there on the edge of the bed holding my club, thinking somebody fucking crazy from the lobby was going to come up and bust into the room. ‘Cause at the time, you know, I had left a lifestyle where I was a little wary of that kind of shit. The slightest sound at the door or whatever and I was jumpy. And there were a lot of strange sounds at that joint, believe me. I put a fucking chair next to the door with a can propped right on the edge, and another can on the window ledge. Anybody tries to break in, you know, I’m gonna hear it.”

••••••••••

“When I moved to the Marlton Hotel, I remember I was walking down the street, man, and I saw these dudes down on Christopher Street, and they were all wearing motorcycle jackets. With all the leather, all dressed in black, the whole thing. They kept looking at me, and I’m thinking, Fuck, man, where can I go? What fucking gang is that? None of my boys were with me. This wasn’t Miami. I kept thinking, What the fuck is this guy looking at me like that for, man? ‘Cause you didn’t eyeball somebody back home in Miami unless you wanted to get down, you know—unless you were ready to fight. What I didn’t realize was that they were sissies, all dressed up in leather.”

••••••••••

“It was funny, in a way. In the wintertime, I was really, really lonely. And I used to work down by the water, moving furniture in this warehouse where Lee Marvin, Steve McQueen, Gene Hackman and a bunch of other guys had all worked, too. The guy who ran it was an old actor or something and used to tell me stories about them. Anyway, I used to walk home during the night, and I was so fucking lonely, you know, I’d pretend I had a girlfriend waiting for me in my room, waiting to have a cup of coffee with me or go to the movies. As I walked home, I was still daydreaming. Same way I daydreamed in school. I’d say to myself, ‘Oh, now I’m going home; she’ll be waiting for me.’ Because I couldn’t talk to girls. It’s easier now. They come running.”

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Scott Brusaw’s solar-powered glass-based roadways trap the sun’s power and melt snow. (Thanks Bioscholar.)

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“See a baby doll take a bubble bath in a coffee can,” says the announcer of this trailer for Attack of the Puppet People. I can’t say it was on the agenda, but sure, why not, I’ll have a look.

Architect Gunnar Birkerts, Sven's father, designed the Corning Museum of Glass in Corning, NY.

Mule Variations has a new interview with Sven Birkerts and it touches on the author’s prophetic 1994 work, The Gutenberg Elegies, which examined the fate of reading in the age of Internet. An excerpt:

“Mule Variations: In 1994, in the days before widespread use of the Internet or cell phones, you wrote inThe Gutenberg Elegies, ‘We will all spend more and more of our time in cyberspace producing, sending, receiving, and responding, and necessarily less time interacting in a ‘hands on’ way with the old material order.  Similarly, we will establish a wide lateral interaction, dealing via screen with more and more people at the same time our face-to-face encounters diminish.  It will be harder and harder – we know this already – to step free of our mediating devices.’  At the time, this observation was far from readily apparent to the public at large.  Now that it has played out as you predicted, do you ever feel like The Gutenberg Elegies was too far ahead of its time?  That if you had published it, say, five years later in 1999 more people would have understood what you were talking about?

Sven Birkerts: I think it came out at a time when the people who tend to think about these things were thinking about them, even though it hadn’t entered the wider public consciousness.  I think it was a wonderfully opportune time to start the debate.  And it was very coincidental, the publication of that book, because it came out at the very same time as Being Digital by Nicholas Negroponte, who runs the MIT media labs.  And his was this raving, ‘Here’s the new world!  All solutions are in hand!  We’re all digital!’  And so the books were reviewed over and over and over again together.  And he and I did a couple things where we’d go on talk shows together.  To me, it said we’d come to a moment where it could be talked about.  What’s interesting to me now is that the wave’s falling back a little.  Some of the people were so gung ho about it, for instance Jaron Lanier who published a book this year.  Here’s this wild-haired Silicon Valley computer visionary suddenly starting to find the problems with the current situation.  He’s coming back from his raving enthusiasm.  He saw where the digits were going, but he didn’t see what would happen when the digits got tied up with the economy, etc.”

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Julie and child, 1983. (Image by Darcy Padilla.)

Photographer Darcy Padilla’s amazing 18-year photo series, The Julie Project, follows a deeply troubled woman named Julie Baird through her life, beginning in 1993 in a flophouse in San Francisco. It’s heartbreaking and important work, though it’s not for the faint of heart. An excerpt below from the story’s introduction (Thanks to Kottke and Dooce):

“I first met Julie on February 28, 1993. Julie, 18, stood in the lobby of the Ambassador Hotel, barefoot, pants unzipped, and an 8 day-old infant in her arms. She lived in San Francisco’s SRO district, a neighborhood of soup kitchens and cheap rooms. Her room was piled with clothes, overfull ashtrays and trash. She lived with Jack, father of her first baby Rachael, and who had given her AIDS. She left him months later to stop using drugs.

Her first memory of her mother is getting drunk with her at 6 and then being sexually abused by her stepfather. She ran away at 14 and became drug addict at 15. Living in alleys, crack dens, and bunked with more dirty old men than she cared to count.

For the last 18 years I have photographed Julie Baird’s complex story of multiple homes, AIDS, drug abuse, abusive relationships, poverty, births, deaths, loss and reunion. Following Julie from the backstreets of San Francisco to the backwoods of Alaska.”

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According to the Virtual Dime Museum, J.B. Johnson entertained East River bathers in 1874 by smoking a cigar and drinking milk underwater. (Image by Underwood & Underwood.)

The only place in America where it’s not currently snowing is Arizona, and you can’t live in that state because even babies there carry handguns. But at least we can think about the warmer weather that will hopefully, mercifully, eventually arrive. While it’s almost unimaginable for anyone in 2011 to equate summertime fun with swimming in the dirty, murky East River, there was a time when overheated working-class locals used it as a watering hole.

In 1870, a bathhouse was built along the East River to serve the needs of the swimmers and to set up competitive races. According to the Virtual Dime Museum, the bathhouse was condemned in 1912 because city officials were alarmed by how polluted the waters had become. That didn’t stop folks on view in this 1921 photo from taking a dip, but the building of public pools eventually ended the practice. Even during the relatively cleaner pre-1900 days, you never really knew what you would find in the East River. A brief article from the August 15, 1897 Brooklyn Daily Eagle makes that clear:

“A GRUESOME HOAX. Henry Buck of the 174 Vernon avenue, and Herman Seelig of 41 Ninth street, while in swimming in the East River at the foot of Nott avenue, this afternoon, saw a bundle floating in the water under the dock and notified the police. Examination showed that the bundle contained the remains of some animal.

Dr. P.J. McKeown of 145 Fifth street and Dr. P.H. Bumater of 143 Fifth street both looked at the remains and said that the bones were too large to be those of a human being. The end of one bone looked like the double joint in the foreleg of a cow, while another bone looked like the hip bone of a cow sawed lengthwise. Coroner Strong, who was summoned, said the thing was doubtless a hoax.”

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"Can't afford to pay out the nose."

Help me get married! (NYC)

Hey. I know this is probably inappropriate and there’s probably some stigma that goes along with it, but I am looking for an engagement ring. The thing is, I’m a student and can’t afford to pay out the nose for one. So if you have one that you’re not using for whatever reason (cold feet, jilted lover, just feel like being charitable) and feel like parting with it and making a little money on the side, you’d be doing me a great favor! I figure there’s enough stories of broken engagements out there that someone must have a ring that they’re willing to part with, especially if it means bringing happiness to someone else. If you have one, please send me some info on it and what you would like for it.

Only 54 miles per hour but still pretty cool. (Thanks Open Culture.)

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