Alabama’s new immigration law aims to make life so difficult for illegal immigrants that they will “self-deport.” And in a way it’s working. Immigrants are fleeing Alabama…but not just the undocumented ones. This and other stories of people living with the unintended consequences of their decisions.
As part of a resort development, the first prize proposal for Sanya Block 5 by NL Architects consists of 8 blocks of 6 stories on top of a ground floor with restaurants, bars and retail. Located in the Hainan Province and the southernmost city in China, Sanya is well known for its tropical climate and popular tourist destination. More images and architects’ description after the break.
Courtesy of NL Architects
The blocks are placed on a public deck, a new ground level that covers the basement with parking spaces and service. Each block is build up from 15 individual units. Four hotels will be build that consist of two mirrored blocks each. One block is facing the street life and the other has a view over the surrounding landscape.
Courtesy of NL Architects
The two units are connected by an intricate 3D ‘maze’. From the elevator core a refined network branches out, replacing an obligatory gallery. This spectacular ‘infrastructure’ forms a super-sized sculpture that ‘stitches’ the blocks together. The hotel rooms have a unique organization. The units are organized over two levels. This creates exceptional potential: a double height space can now be introduced, providing a spacious ambiance.
Courtesy of NL Architects
The double height of the duplex room is extended to the outside: a wonderful balcony comes into being, intimate but spacious. The balcony serves as an out-door living room. We image there will be an open-air kitchen. And a hot-tub with shower that will be placed flush with the terrace.
Courtesy of NL Architects
The hotels feature a large triangular ‘flowerpot’ for each room. Together they create a rhythmic, dynamic pattern. The lush greenery aspires to increase privacy, provide shade and cooling and will create a natural atmosphere. Perhaps even a micro ecology.
Architects: NL Architects
Location: Sanya, China
Team: Pieter Bannenberg, Walter van Dijk, Kamiel Klaasse, Gen Yamamoto, Bobby de Graaf; Zhongnan Lao, Pauline Rabjeau (2nd design phase), Yajing Huang, Ana Gavilanes, Antariksh Tandon (1st design phase)
Client: Vanke Real Estate Development Co., Ltd. Hainan
Project: Sanya – Block 5: International Recreational, Leisure and Health Resort Phase III, building Block 5 (5A, 5B, 5C, 5D) Status: Competition 2011 (1st prize)
You’d think that this would’ve been done by now, but this simple mashup does exactly what the title says. Just connect your Twitter account and the people you follow popup, with some simple clustering so that people don’t get all smushed together in one location.
BERG, a design company based in London, made these horizonless maps of Manhattan. There are two maps, one looking uptown from 3rd and 7th, and the other downtown from 3rd and 35th.
Says the designers:
Imagine a person standing at a street corner. The projection begins with a three-dimensional representation of the immediate environment. Close buildings are represented normally, and the viewer himself is shown in the third person, exactly where she stands.
As the model bends from sideways to top-down in a smooth join, more distant parts of the city are revealed in plan view. The projection connects the viewer’s local environment to remote destinations normally out of sight.
Want! Pretty amazing design. Very curious how they made it.
Link to the site. Unfortunately, it looks like they’re not currently taking orders.
Are there any dental hygienists in the house? Because I have a question. Are we sure that in The Year Two Thousand And Twelve there is no better way to give someone a tooth-cleaning than with a little pointy scraper? There is no hypersonic ultrathin propulsion thingy that can do the job as well as an Eastern European lady with a sterile crochet hook? It certainly seems we should have better technology by now. It also certainly seems that we should not be subjected to John Cougar Mellencamp while undergoing the pointy scraping, but that is another matter.
ELEVATORS (ME AND YOU)
The elevators at my office have been broken this week in a very strange way that meant you could not go down from our floor. Signs advised people to take the stairs or go a floor up in order to go down, and that last piece of advice annoyed me in two ways—first, it had me singing Coolio pretty much all day (get your woman on the floor, gotta get up to get down) and second, the fact that some people actually did get up to get down. That made my brain ache because it is INEFFICIENT. I used to get similarly irked to see people walk to the previous stop to get on the bus earlier. I know, it is not up to me to Taylorize the whole world or distribute productivity apps on the street. Sometimes I forget though.
I WILL RESCUE YOU
Next month, I start being a Girls on the Run coach. I went to training last week, which was about being supportive and encouraging and so on, and NOT about how to run as fast as possible, as Nora thought. When I was getting ready to leave she asked me all kinds of leading questions about my fastest mile and if I felt ready. Eventually I had to say that I was not getting time-trial-tested, for heaven’s sake, I was going to watch a PowerPoint presentation and learn some group-management skills. I think she and I will both enjoy Girls on the Run, and the curriculum is good stuff overall, but I hope Nora is not disappointed that it is more like “Girl Scouts With Exercise” than the hybrid of CrossFit/Warrior Dash/Special Forces boot camp that is the extracurricular activity of her dreams.
Getting CPR certified was one of the coaching requirements. I think I have done this about three times in my life now, because I never remember to recertify before the card expires. My favorite bits are the flat spots on the back of the baby dummies’ heads (that’s some serious craniosynostosis you got there, baby) and the yelling HEY ARE YOU OKAY for the adults. I love that part. Hey are you okay. I mean besides the no arms no legs just a torso problem. And the weird plastic dental-dam thing hanging out of your mouth hole.
I think I promised to wrap up the Bloomington-Normal blog reading thing but there is not too much to wrap up. Nobody died, threw up, or screamed in terror and fled the room, holding their hands over their delicate college-student ears, when I took the stage. Or platform. Or whatever the hell it was. There was some crazy professional theater lighting though, so I think it counts as a stage. I felt a bit like a rock star. A very short, middle-aged, foul-mouthed rock star. A rock star who responsibly drank red wine at a post-reading reception, foreswore any college-girl bathroom makeout (responsible!), and was responsibly driven back to her Hampton Inn enclave at a responsible time of the night. I put the espon in responsible, man. Or something like that.
THE THING I HAVE NOT SHUT UP ABOUT FOR WEEKS
Oh my god, therapy penguin! How sick do you have to be? I feel an attack of some sort coming on. Roast Beef, help me! (Is the name a web comic shout-out? I wonder.)
Wedged between two tall buildings and invisible from the main road, the narrow Nishizawa building insists on maintaining its confidentiality via an array of plants and flower vases that screens it from the gaze of passers-by. It might easily be mistaken for some sort of mysterious vertical garden.
I am tired of the loud Brown Line panhandler with the massively long story. He is a fairly young dude with enormous hip-hop clothes and a backpack, and he shows up yelling about how his life is so messed up, he wants to kill himself, his dad is an asshole alcoholic who punched him in the face and kicked him out of the house, and all he needs is seventeen dollars for a bus ticket to Rockford, so if you could help him out blah blah blah.
Let me say that I have no doubt all of the above is true. This guy may have burn marks all over his hands from the crack or meth pipe, may be strung out as hell with eyes like glassy aquarium rocks, and may have oddly regular habits for someone who is supposedly in a desperate situation and only wants to get out of town—but drug addiction and a terrible family life go together like heroin and bent teaspoons.
This is my main complaint: I have seen this guy so many times, at approximately the same time in the afternoon. I have witnessed good-hearted suckers hand him as much as ten dollars at a time. He really should have his seventeen dollars by now. To be believable, he needs to switch up the story, switch trains, or switch times of day. Or at least he needs to not forget key details of the story, which is what happened yesterday when he on the train once again with the blah punching dad blah blah saddest dude in the world trying to get seventeen dollars for a bus ticket to Joliet and suddenly I perked up.
“I thought it was Rockford,” I said, in a polite, but loud and clear, way.
Of course, you can’t be a long-term drug addict without learning to lie like a champ, so Mr. Burny-Hands Chemical-Stank is very smooth and says, “Oh, my aunt, she’s moving and I can’t stay with her, so I’m gonna try to stay with my cousin” and that is like just the beginning of his explanation, it went on and on. I am sorry I ever engaged with you, Loudmouth Tweaker Man! Hush now!
RATIONAL OBJECTIVE HATEFUCK
I got really bored during a meeting and had a nonsexual fantasy about going back in time and having sex with a young Alan Greenspan. Wait, hear me out. Where are you going?
Young Alan Greenspan was one of those ridiculous Ayn Rand devotees. The market will figure it out! We don’t need to regulate things like FRAUD! The ubermensch shall prevail! I guess old Alan Greenspan is the same way, unless the market meltdown taught him anything, and I am not sure of that.
Back to the sexy time machine. I could jump in, set that dial for just before the Ford administration, and seduce Alan Greenspan. But instead of the creepy-ass Rand-style sex from her novels, where The Only Smart Man In A Room Full Of Idiots has borderline non-consensual sex with the Brilliant Slim Woman In A Devastatingly Simple Evening Gown, we’d do it all cuddly-playful style, with lots of rolling around and sappy utterances and gazing into each other’s eyes. Maybe that would have snapped him out of his stupid cult philosophy, changed his thinking on the role of government in economic affairs, and things would be different now.
Sorry. I am full of weird ideas lately. I blame the approaching full moon for my crazy brain and inappropriate outbursts. Just last night I saw a man on television wearing an awful abortion of a garment, it was like one of those Navajo blankets but fashioned into a white-guy shirt, and he had a turtleneck underneath which did not improve the look. I was all alone but still said, out loud, “What the hell kind of shirt is that?” and “GO AWAY, SHIRT!” rather than do anything rational like change the channel or just, you know, deal with it.
The frightening greasy burger joint near my office, which is not officially called The E. Coli Grill but should be, has many over-hyphenated signs in the window. TRY-OUR GYRO MELT. BURGER-FRIES AND SOFT-DRINK $5.99. Is the misused hyphen the new misused apostrophe?
During my stay in Sheridan Federal Prison, I had the honor of walking through fire with some of the most genuinely amazing men I’ve ever known. This drawing, one of the first I started and the last I finished, is a collection of their faces. It started as a study of three of them and then I’d meet another, and then another. One by one, through my entire sentence, they’d get their face scribbled on the wall. It would end up being my favorite piece, a pay of homage to the comrades that got me through…
Last Summer, Alabama passed HB56, the most sweeping immigration bill in the country. It’s an example of a strategy called “attrition through enforcement” or, more colloquially, “self-deportation” — making life so hard on undocumented immigrants that they choose to leave the country. But as reporter Jack Hitt found, the new law has had lots of other unintended consequences.