Back from London
Consistent with my belief that the louder your sirens are the more important you must be, the traffic cops at SFO must be pretty darn important!
"Repeat until globalized."Virgin is one of those companies I always forget when discussing megabands. The fact that their uniform includes a lipstick color that matches both the fasteners on the tray tables and the graphics on their tickets is quite a triumph of consistency.
Vachement: "Cowly."
Notes for 4/2/01: G-Leg, Wagamama, Harrods is so classy.
Had the most expensive donut ever (weighing in at the equiv. of $6.75) at Spoons +, the very Starck restaurant at Schrager's Sanderson. Spoon, for the record, is a failed restaurant. The menu is divided into three columns: one for the main part of the dish, and two for sauces. You create a dish by picking an item from each column. This sort of choice forces the individual elements to be prepared in such a vacuum from each other that they never quite attain the cohesion which one would like. The Sanderson's bar, however, is insane.
Come to think of it, London was an interesting survey in Hotels. The Sanderson sits at one end occupying the lush corner, the Metropolitan claims the middle with its praticality, and the Hempel sits exactly opposite the Sanderson as one of the most spare environments I've ever stepped in to.
The day I switched from the Met to the Hempel there was an obvious distinction between them. I asked the cab driver if they were in competetion and he shocked me by saying no, "the Hempel just takes it up a few nothces in terms of being sparse." The Hempel's entry room is a 10'x10' square with a smaller square table in the exact center. Sitting on the table is an array of 30-50 pots, each with a stem of white orchids sticking up. The lounge is all white-- ALL WHITE-- and light is always diffused. The fireplace has a blue flame dancing about.
It wasn't until I had been there for a couple days that I realized that the Metropolitan and the Hempel truly aren't in competetion. The Hempel is serene, perhaps overly so. It's the sort of place one should visit if they're looking to retreat, to write, to meditate. By reducing the physical surroundings to as little (there aren't even door handles in the hallway) as possible they have created the sort of place that forces you to just think. On the other hand, the Metropolitan inspires activity. It's quite comfortable but the environment is such that getting out is much more encouraged. Simple things like the shorter distance from the elevator to the front door, the over-willingness to hail a cab for guests, and the abundance of suggestions for places to go all consipred to make this the case.
Boxfresh = nice clothes + nice logo + bad website.
Kathy Prendergast's "Lost Map," Yukinori Yanagi's "Pacific" ant farms, Richard Deacon's Show and Tell, Tony Oursler's "Most Beautiful Thing I've Ever Seen" (though it was nothing compared to seeing a room full of his stuff at the Hirschorn, a video of Hussein Chalayan's clothing by Marcus Tomlinson, Duchamp's "Box in a Valise," Susan Hiller's boxes, Simon Patterson's "The Great Bear," and Andreas Gursky's beautiful color prints all courtesy of the Tate Modern, who's logo looks suspiciously like some of the work BMD did for NAI.
Also: Larry Sultan's photographic interrogation of the Porn Set at White Cube, a poorly lit exhibit of Robin & Lucienne Day's work at the Barbican, and Hirst's pillbox patterns at Pharmacy. Unrelated: my love of Armin Linke and Me Company continues to grow.
Shopping at the Conran, books at Magma's tiny shop (where I found an equally tiny version of Tank magazine), zipping through Selfridges, and the joys of Muji.
I ordered beef on accident and didn't notice until my dining companions looked at me weird. Oops. Laura gracefully showed us to what's rumored to be the best duck and the best fish & chips in all of London. They were seperate restaurants, for the record.
Phil and Matt rolled out the Haddock welcome mat at Dish Dash where we talked school, architecture, the politics of "up here down there," and helicopter check-in.
The most disconcerting part of the trip was a lack of jetlag. It's convenient but unsettling to fall asleep in San Francisco and wake up six thousand miles away. I walked off the plane wide awake, went to bed at a normal time, and woke up the next day on schedule. The flight back was very similar. I arrived fine and had no problem waking up this morning. It's not supposed to be that easy.
This was capped with a taxi ride to Sand Hill on a sunny afternoon: the brightest blues and greens all rushing by.
--Posted 04/06/01 06:27PM