ache-itecture

Among the many reasons I hate NYU used to be its love for profligate architecture, as evidenced by the recurrence of unused atrium spaces (c.f. Coles and Bobst). Bobst in particular, what with those NHL-reminiscent, suicide-deterring plastic walls around the catwalks, the suicide-encouraging tesselated tiles, the suicide-encouraging panopticon, and - most of all - the goddamn waste-of-space atrium. Think of the premium on downtown real estate, probably something like $500,000,000,000 per square foot. And here is an empty space within a building that could probably fit an entire building. I'd guess that 60% of the available space inside Bobst goes unused except to echo the erratic date-stamping from the circulation desk.

And this used to bother me quite a bit, especially when I think about NYU's predatory relationship with real estate in the Village and NYU's population of alienated undergrads whose desires to commit suicide are not met with preventive care but, literally, cheap plastic barricades - this institutional monster!

But now, having spent the greater part of the last three weekends sitting on the seventh floor of Bobby Lee, west side, watching the Roca twins from Cooper Union pacing the 6th floor catwalk with nearly identical pomade-meringued hair, seeing my studious misery mirrored in the poor posture and sunken eyes of all of the students hunched over carrels on the 2nd-9th floor, getting my blocked view of Silver, with cigarette breaks every six hours or so...it must be Stockholm syndrome! How I learned to love the atomic Bobst.

I'm half crazy, Daisy!