Are You Really Surprised?

I have to admit, in my jaded state, not much shocks me these days. No, I'm not made of stone, but I think I'm built so that if jarring news does come my way, it's almost as if I have calculated the possibility of such events occurring, and stowed it away for the potential eventuality that they may come to pass. Of course, being in this unfortunate state I also get annoyed when people don't see certain things coming -- almost as a way to convince myself that I knew it all the time. Take for instance the recent unfortunate case of Congressman Rick Renzi, a Republican from Arizona, who has been indicted for a crooked land deal involving a parcel in Kingman, a delightful place not too far from the Grand Canyon that happens to have the nearest Cracker Barrel to Los Angeles. Apparently the fulcrum for the scheme was Renzi's support for land-exchange legislation making its way through the House. To top it off, Renzi has also allegedly embezzled funds from his family-owned insurance company. In a story with an age-old plot, are we really surprised that another questionable land deal has been committed by a public official?

In another case of "Are You Really Surprised?", land located near the famous Hollywood sign, and once owned by Howard Hughes, who planned to build a hideaway for his then-babe Ginger Rogers, is on the market. Prime lots for residential construction are located on the ridge to the west of the sign, and are available for the taking. One city councilman is seeking to preserve the pristine parcel. "That mountain should not be cluttered. . . . It's good for the psyche of Los Angeles." But considering the sign was originally constructed to tout a nearby housing development, is it really shocking that it may be slightly upstaged by the use it was intended to promote? The whole thing drips with irony -- and, inevitability.

How about the recent news that Long Island Rail Road ridership has reached a high not seen in nearly sixty years. Eighty nine million riders braved the commuter rail line leading to New York City in 2007, a figure which hasn't been reached since 1949, when over 91 million fannies filled the seats, and stood in the aisles. Of course, the LIRR saw the opportunity to toot its own horn. "Our research shows customer satisfaction is directly tied to on-time performance, and the LIRR is continuing to deliver in that important category," argued the president of the railroad. Of course, the more obvious answers lie in the growing desire to reduce one's reliance on the automobile, something the suburban area has found out sixty years too late. Of course it took this long to realize how brutal a long driving commute can be, but hey, I'm not going to say I told you so. In that vein, a recent New York Times article reported on the seemingly obvious fact that suburbanites have to do more to address the issue of carbon emissions, particularly since they are such a big part of the problem. (I can't exactly hide from shame, as I drive to work out to the suburbs from the city). Places like Levittown, the quintessential post-World War II suburb, are rising to the call, committing officially to meet the carbon emission standards set forth in the seminal Kyoto Protocol. This piece may be a bit surprising.

And finally, how about that crazed gunman who shot his way through the Kirkwood, Missouri, City Council meeting a few weeks back. No, I'm not going to be so callous as to say that they should have known, but anyone who finds themselves at local government meetings on a regular basis, as I count myself as one, it is not surprising how the anger can bubble up and explode with such a tragedy as occurred in that St. Louis suburb. Local government choices, including land use decisions, rile the ire of citizens every day. In every municipality around the country, you could probably point to "the guy who always shows up to the meetings" and wonder what gets him or her angry enough to come all the time. It's very simple, and not surprising, to point to issues that affect these folks on a fundamental level, and force them into desperation.

Free Stuff!

Walking back from the gym over the weekend, I came across an odd sight on the side of the sidewalk. Hanging from the iron fence guarding a brownstone were various articles of clothing, suspended from hangars originating from a local dry cleaners, as if to lend the impression of cleanliness to the offerings. Boxes sat underneath the clothes, filled with books and other knickknacks. I've seen this sort of display before out in the neighborhood, but what changed it for me was the modest, handwritten sign accompanying the wares that read "Free Stuff!" I suppose that made things more appealing for my neighbors, as I watched them scavenge through the goods for that gem amongst the roughness. I wanted to look, but in the back of my mind, I imagined the impromptu sidewalk sale could have been for all sorts of reasons. My favorite was imagining it as a spurned lover trying to get back at the one who rejected him or her. In any event, I kept walking.

But another tidbit of interest struck my fancy that brought me back to the wares on the street -- at least in my thoughts. Back in December, Sao Paulo, Brazil, in response to perennial offenders of their restrictions, and in an effort to combat "visual pollution," imposed a ban on all outdoor advertising throughout the city. Not only would billboards and signs have to come down, but all forms of public advertising, including paper flyers and streamers fluttering from planes, were eliminated from the 11-million strong city. Living in a place where Jameson's can splash ads for their Irish whiskey across the insides of subway cars ridden by schoolchildren, I was astonished to learn the extreme steps the Brazilian metropolis has taken to relieve the populace from information overload. Having spent hours of my life reshaping and haggling over every imaginable aspect of commercial signage for projects on my file list, I can almost appreciate the simplicity in Sao Paulo's efforts.

But putting aside the First Amendment issues, particularly since Sao Paulo is not subject to the U.S. Constitution, the question becomes who controls the public domain? Sure, billboards have been the bane of many a municipality's existence, particularly those that have highways passing through them. Zoning ordinances commonly attempt to keep them out. But what about those places that have turned advertising into inherent parts of their identity? In New York, Times Square has turned the cacophony of sight and sound that is eyesore advertising into an art. The Pepsi-Cola sign in Long Island City became a historic landmark. For those fans of The Sopranos out there, how could Tony Soprano drive through Jersey without passing by the "Drive Safely" signs posted on the Citco oil tanks along the New Jersey Turnpike, or Pizzaland once he makes it to the local streets. And what about my former home, where the Hollywood sign started as an ad for a housing development. Don't these icons have a place in our places?

I can certainly understand the source of Sao Paulo's frustration. Commercial enterprises have long sought to stretch the bounds of decency in order to gain attention for their goods and services. Fast-food restaurants rely on huge signage to draw in the impulse buyers who make up a large percentage of their customers. Even the City of San Francisco went too far last year when it tried to scent its bus stops with the warm goodness of cookies to push milk. But the absence of all signage and advertisements would in a way denude the very things that define a community, not to mention make it kind of difficult to pick out where you're trying to head when you don't know exactly where you are. Sao Paulo's honorable plan will most likely end once the litany of lawsuits work their way through the Brazilian legal system. But once the dust settles, it sure is interesting to think about a world without the daily bombardment of our commercial world. Would it be kinder and gentler? Probably, but then how would we know when someone's giving away free stuff?