It's all Greek to me, Howard; calendar wars; various minutia

Howard Roark did not attend Columbia. If he had, it would have turned his red hair white. (By the way, I just read a Wikipedia piece that claimed that Atlas Shrugged was Rand’s “other great novel,” which just goes to show that Alan Greenspan is keeping busy in his retirement editing Wikipedia entries.)

Although I lived in the city for a decade once upon a time, I never visited the Gem of Harlem campus, despite having occasionally hung out with friends who lived in the neighborhood. I don’t know what I would have thought then, but if you haven’t been there, it is absolutely a “college campus” in postmodernist quotes. There’s this big open quad surrounded by buildings, the most imposing being the Low Library. Now, even if you’ve never seen the Low Library before, you have seen the Low Library. It is a classic, uh, Classic Revival. It is the Pantheon with upgrades (i.e., wings, plus there was a sale on columns that week). It is Palladian to its smallest atom. It is Monticello in rock. And it dominates the visual expanse. It reminds me more than anything of the art direction of 1960’s “Time Machine” film. And not to put too fine a point on it, but across the quad it faces a columnar pile that is more Parthenon than Pantheon. Between the two I expected Zeus (or Jupiter) to come down any minute and start molesting the pigeons. The official documentation of the Low calls it a blend of Parth and Panth, and so, I guess, it is. Certainly there’s no question what the designer was up to at the time.

There’s nothing wrong with Classic Revival, of course. Washington, D.C., is a perfect example of the style in action. And I use the word action advisedly. Classic Revival runs on the assumption that buildings that look like Ancient Greece and Ancient Rome will impart to the landscape and to what it conducted within a suitable dignified stateliness. Classic Revival says the Golden Age of Pericles and the power of the mighty Caesars. It mashes up all sorts of concepts of wisdom and strength of state into a simulacrum soup that tastes just like government. Hence the Capitol building and the Supreme Court building and the presidential mansion. And the Jefferson and Lincoln memorials. And just about every other building surrounding the mall. If you didn’t know where you were, you would have little difficulty figuring it out.

So when you look at Low, you think, obviously, Classic Revival, and you have all those thoughts about power and wisdom. Except that Classic Revival was about a hundred years earlier than the building of the Low. To that extent, if may be the first harbinger of postmodernism, predating modernism. What Howard Roark complains about (at least in the film; I, for one, find Rand’s writing to be, shall we say, loopy) is that everybody wants him to design buildings that have columns and look like Greek palaces, and of course Roark, individualist genius that he is, wants to go off and invent modernism and free love. In other words, the Low is a total anachronism, what Disney imagineers would design if you told them you needed a university campus. I make no value judgment of this—you can like or dislike Classic as you are so inclined—but I find it interesting. (And as a total aside, I will go to my grave thinking that the “Fountainhead” film would make an award-winning HI piece.)

On the other hand, our tab room was located in Lerner, which is very modern. Bernard Tschumi, the designer, is big on glass, and the whole place is bright and open and, frankly, terrifying. There are ramps switching back and forth up about 5 stories, and if you can negotiate these ramps, which border a tall open area from floor to ceiling, without a sense of vertigo, you have a stronger pudding in your belly than I. I took about one step down on the fifth floor and went screaming back into the stairwell. I have to admit, though, that the problem of open interior space is true of any building. The concept is great. I love the idea that a building isn’t just a block of rooms, especially if the building is in any way tall. Empty space in a building is somewhat exhilarating, which is why there is as much empty space as possible in cathedrals. But in cathedrals, we ponder that space from below. In modern buildings, we ponder that space from all perspectives. We take those elevators up your average Marriott and hold close to the walls as we pass from room to room. We don’t go anywhere near the rails unless we are absolutely fearless. We assume, incorrectly, that people are constantly falling off into the central well. I think the problem is the mix of glass and bright metals, which makes everything feel ephemeral and uncertain, compared to the rock of a cathedral—never underestimate the meaning of materials. I have certainly climbed up plenty of cathedral spires and back entrances and whatnot and never felt particularly insecure. But give me a glass expanse, and I’m in trouble, while nevertheless loving the idea of open interior space. Is this just me, or is this inherent to modern architecture? I don’t know.

Anyhow, the press on the Gem tournament has been almost completely positive. Who knew they had flex prep?! Anthony B went so far as to say it was a lot better than every other so-called bid tournament in the northeast, high praise indeed. (Who invited him, anyhow? I knew I should have dropped him that year at TOC!) From the debaters’ perspective, of course, now that I think about it, they had easy up and down times, since the two divisions alternated in the same rooms, which is always nice. Judges and debaters alike love a good couple of hours off between rounds. Too bad there were no hours off in tab. Then again, although I did lose a pair of gloves in a cab thanks to total discombobulated exhaustion, the Gem folks graciously gave me a gift of a new pair that was, honestly, a lot nicer than the pair I lost. Next year I’m going to lose Little Elvis and see if they buy me a new MacBook Air…

One of the minor events of Gem was the insertion of a ream of brochures into the packets, including a one-sheet for UPenn, scheduled for 10/25, the Manchester-Under-the-Sea weekend, aka the Regis CFL weekend. Whatever. As I remarked yesterday, it turns out that 10/25 is the Big Jake weekend, as I was reminded when I went to update my schedule online. This started, as you might imagine, some discussion between O’C and me about shoes and ships and sealing wax, and I’m not quite sure what the upshot will be. Is UPenn on the Jake or the Manch weekend? I gather their goal was the latter. In any case, next year’s calendar, like this year’s, is askew and hard to figure. Bump, for instance, went wildly off from where I expected it to land. And as is well known among the VCA, I’m not a big fan of dueling tournaments. On the other hand, I like the idea of complementary tournaments serving different aspects of the community at the same time, to wit most recently, the nice fit of Columbia and Emory, or the classic Manchester and local CFL, or Princeton and local MHL, etc. Something for everybody, in other words. Contrary to popular (AKA digressive) opinion, the world as a whole is only marginally interested in TOC bids and TOC-bid tournaments. But while two tournaments sharing a weekend can be a nice fit, three on a match means one soldier buys the farm. Which is why one needs to wear armor to those meetings where we try to lay out a schedule. I’m thinking that this year we’ll attempt this folly at Districts, or at least a first stab at it (primarily because I’m thinking of moving Districts next year, but more on that some other time). I’ll keep you posted.

Finally, I expect to either finish up the Goy of Districts or set up the new MHL printer tonight, followed the subsequent night by the other one, plus I need to set up the Newark MHL. Newark’s invitational is at good old East Side this year, which has as its chief virtue its location, i.e., on Van Buren. The streets in that part of Newark are all presidents, in order. If you know your history, you know where you’re going. I like that in a city. In Manhattan, if you know your numbers, you know where you’re going (most of the time). In my neck of the woods, the same streets often have two different names, or one name spelled two different ways, and your knowledge of the names of the women in the original contractor’s family is your best bet in finding your way around (turn left on Audrey, turn right on Louise and then go to the corner of Lorraine). Or maybe they were his fantasies. Whatever.