Tweenbots

I love this project.  1)  The robot is adorable. 2) New Yorkers are awesome.

Tweenbots are human-dependent robots that navigate the city with the help of pedestrians they encounter. Rolling at a constant speed, in a straight line, Tweenbots have a destination displayed on a flag, and rely on people they meet to read this flag and to aim them in the right direction to reach their goal.

Given their extreme vulnerability, the vastness of city space, the dangers posed by traffic, suspicion of terrorism, and the possibility that no one would be interested in helping a lost little robot, I initially conceived the Tweenbots as disposable creatures which were more likely to struggle and die in the city than to reach their destination. Because I built them with minimal technology, I had no way of tracking the Tweenbot's progress, and so I set out on the first test with a video camera hidden in my purse. I placed the Tweenbot down on the sidewalk, and walked far enough away that I would not be observed as the Tweenbot--a smiling 10-inch tall cardboard missionary--bumped along towards his inevitable fate.

The results were unexpected. Over the course of the following months, throughout numerous missions, the Tweenbots were successful in rolling from their start point to their far-away destination assisted only by strangers. Every time the robot got caught under a park bench, ground futilely against a curb, or became trapped in a pothole, some passerby would always rescue it and send it toward its goal. Never once was a Tweenbot lost or damaged. Often, people would ignore the instructions to aim the Tweenbot in the "right" direction, if that direction meant sending the robot into a perilous situation. One man turned the robot back in the direction from which it had just come, saying out loud to the Tweenbot, "You can't go that way, it's toward the road."

Masstransiscope

I can't remember when I first noticed this, but has been one of those little thinks that makes being in New York such a happy thing.

The Masstransiscope on the Q/B line.


(via Kate Likes You)

Minimalist LEGO New York

From Chris Niemann's Abstract City blog (NYTimes).  Click for many more.

(via PapaSix)

Change

They switched the panhandler at my subway entrance. I wish they'd asked me. Don't we get to vote on this sort of thing? I'm furious.

I liked the old one. I spent months developing a rhythm and a relationship with him. Sometimes I'd give him money, sometimes not. It was cool. When I did I received a nice smile and maybe a "God Bless." When I didn't, he'd swear at me under his breath. We knew what the expect from each other. Now I have to start all over with this new guy.

The old one had an eye patch and weird teeth. He reminded my of a pirate. This new guy just appears to be over weight. What sort of eccentric character is that? And I don't like the way he asks for money. It's just a repetitive sing-songy "Please, can you help me out? Please. Please, can you help me out?" It's whiny and cliché. I mean, it sounds like begging. Eye Patch had a deep earthy voice, a baritone, and an ever shifty patter of blessings, observations and occasional swearing. He also tailored his pitch to each of us. His perceptiveness zeroed in on each of are quirks and personalities and he called it like he saw it. He always called me "Skinny White Boy" which is so dead on.

This new guy just seems to be going through the motions. I just don't know what the city is coming to.

(Honestly, I hope Eye Patch is okay.)

Critical Mass

I've had a small amount of experience with doing large scale un-permited events in NYC (most via the Idiotarod). It is a careful line to walk. The vast majority of organizers do everything they can to keep things safe. It is such rarity when things for wrong.

The NYPD, for whatever reasons, really dislike these events. Critical Mass in particular. I honestly don't quite get it.

From last Friday...


Here is The Gothamist's write up.
Here is a weird opinion piece from The Post.
The NYTime.

I am just linking right now because I am furious this second and can't write about. Need to process my thoughts.

(via Gothamist)

Bubble

When I first moved to NYC I was shocked by how many couples you see making out in the street, in bars, on subways. Just so much public displays of affection! Why didn't these people find somewhere private?

Of course because there really isn't somewhere private. This isn't Los Angeles where you can go make-out in your car. This isn't Minneapolis where... well, where there just isn't that much displays of affection. (I kid, Minneapolis! ... sort of.) Personal private spaces just don't exist outside of folks apartments... and often not outside of one's room. Yes, everyone could hold off until they got to their apartments before they kissed, but then you are suddenly in a place where you have the option to do more than just kiss... and sometimes you just want to kiss and not go beyond. At that moment at least.

We spend a lo of time creating personal bubbles in NYC, private zones where the rest of the your is not allowed to intrude. It is entirely imaginary but it is how we survive ALWAYS being surround by other humans. That whole ignore-the-outside-chaos-while-on-the-subway thing. It's healthy (in moderation, of course).

There are are special moments when you create a bubble with someone else. Suddenly you find yourself in a very private and intense space with one other person in the middle of the masses of New York. Everything else just melts away and and it is just you and them, deep in conversation or eyes or whatever. I think New Yorkers are particularly good at this skill and it is no surprise that they can slip into the intimate right then and there.

It used to shock me. Now I see a couple kissing under a street light, in front of a stoop, on the subway, I find it sweet. Yes, sweet.

"Remember when New York was New York?"

Before I start let me be clear that I love stories of New York. I love the city's history and the impact it has had on America (heck, the world's) collective consciousness. I love hearing about what was where and what happened and what it was like. I am (in general) against ripping down old buildings and replacing them with monstrosities of reflecting glass.

But there is a type of New Yorker that annoys the hell out of me. When I hear them talk, I grind my teeth and want to slap them silly.

New Yorkers who start every thing with "Remember when..." and end it with "...it's horrible now." They tend to be older (but not always) and are so rooted in memory and nostalgia that (1) anything after a certain point in time just isn't "New York" and (2) seem to have erased anything bad from their brain cells. They ramble nonstop on the fine details of the past, swimming (or drowning) in what they view as some sort of New York Golden Age. No detail is too small to recount as if layering on remembrance upon remembrance will some how convince the listener that, yes, everything has gone to hell now.

The stereotype of this is the New Yorker who refuses to get over the fact that the Dodgers moved to Los Angeles. This is the reason I hate* Jonathan Schwartz of WNYC radio. I love the music he plays but when he starts talking, I start to throw things. Once he had a monologue that went something like this:
"The trumpet player on that jazz ditty was Joseph Finkle. There was a shortstop of the Dodgers... the Brooklyn Dodgers, not the fake Dodgers, those were the good Dodgers, back when baseball was baseball and America was America... there was a shortstop for the real Dodgers of the name Joseph Finkle. That was a grand time. I remember going to Ebbets Field... that was a true baseball stadium when they knew what baseball was and how to build stadiums and popcorn used to taste like real popcorn. I remember the peanuts. They tasted better back then..." (This went on for three minutes until...) "Oh, wait. The shortstop was named Joseph Franklin. Well, here's a song from 1951, when music was actually music."

You might think I'm exaggerated but I'm not. Okay, a tiny bit.

I shouldn't let this bother me but I always have problems with people who don't realize that the world changes. Things change, people change, cities change. There is bad now, there was bad then. No "progress" is not the end all and be all, but change is a part of life. This is not a hard concept to grasp. I run into this issue about lots of things, not just New York. Books, TV, movies, improv, government, relationships, people, etc, etc.. Often it is clear their memory is just faulty. I would never want to taint that memory. What you experienced in your youth has a special place. My memory of seeing Star Wars when it first came out FAR exceeds the actual quality of that movie. My recollection my first kiss with Amy Nation must be far greater that the actual fact. But realizing that memories are their own thing is important.

What set me off on this today? I was sitting in Park Slope, drinking an ice coffee and doing the Sudoku in today's Metro, when the conversation between two well dressed men n their sixties at the table next to be drift into my ears. Here are some bits and pieces:

•"Do you remember Macy's? When it was a full block and had wooden escalators? That was a store! I once went there to buy caviar. You can't do that now, I'm sure. And the main floor used to be larger. When my mom took me there is was something special, not like it is now. They used to have restaurants."
•"I don't know about these natural gas buses. Trolleys! Why did they ever get rid of trolleys? They were fast cross town than any bus is now. Some places still have trolleys. They call then 'light rail' now."
•"Do you remember when the avenues were two-way? Oh, yes. They ruined the avenues when they became one-way. Especially 5th Avenue. The balance is all off. There is too much traffic now. Too many cars. Yes, they ruined it by making it one-way."
•"Stores have these big gates on them. Why is that? All these gates and bars. It's like the Holocaust."
•"See that car? [points to a VW passing by] They just don't make American cars like they used to. It's so ugly. The curves are all wrong."
Later...
•"Did you try that stuff yet? No, I've been to busy to get high. It's really good. Just take a small hit tonight. I think I will."


*I only hate two people in the world. Jonathan Schwartz and I guy I used to work with four years ago who, though his own stupidity, almost killed me on three or four occasions.

Apology By Default

Can we just assume that we are sorry? The subway and platforms are packed with people. Everyone is pushing up against everyone. If we each said "I'm sorry" every time we had some incidental physical contact, the air would be a cacophonous chorus of apologies. So don't give me that look. Besides, you have your legs stick out into the car and are lugging around a bag the size of a medium sized refrigerator. And are fat. Yeah, yeah. I shouldn't be all high and mighty about the fact that I occupy the volume of a bendy-straw. But when I sit I only use 7/8th of a seat... and even then I make an effort to collapse into as small a space as possible. I'm not saying it's your fault you have to use two turnstiles to even get into the subway, but at least try to share. And if not that, don't get upset when I am dragged into your gravitation pull and my shoe brushes up against your shoe.

I heart GypsyMaps

I've been waiting FOREVER for GoogleMaps to add subway/walking directions.
GypsyMaps got there first. And it is fantastic!

No bus routes yet, but they are supposed to be coming mid-year. Maybe I will finally figure out the NYC bus system.

My Day At The Races, Part 1: Anticipation, Memories, and Cats and Mice

My sleep Friday night is erratic and troubled. I know it is the tension of The Idiotarod coming. Previous years being on Team COBRA was like the night before Christmas. This year it was like the night before Christmas... except that we were Santa. All know there are hundreds and hundreds of people counting on us. But by Saturday morning there is little left to do but to let the events play out. We had made all of our plans to the best of our abilities and just prayed that it would happen and that it would be fun. But 99% of the fun has nothing to do with the organizers. We are like the builders of a sandbox. It is there to play in, but we need the kids to come in play and THEY are what makes it fun. In fact, they bring the sand. We just have to make sure we haven't left any holes. Or left any turds in the box. (Okay, this now wins for tortured metaphor of the week.)

In the morning there is a flurry of phone calls as we schedule rides and what not. I spend some time cleaning up from Friday nights party and run out to the stationary store for last minute supplies. I try to eat, but my nerves are so bad that nothing tastes good except coffee... which I just know is going to react badly in my stomach later.

JD has stated he is picking me up at noon. At eleven I shower and then get dressed. I have, in a fit of hubris or something, decided to wear my best suit. I don't know why I thought I wouldn't get hit with food or vileness. I just love the idea of it. My job for the day is the collector of the judges decisions. My plan is to do as little judging as possible, just moderate. I though I should look stuff, accountantly, and the suit is dark with a vest. It also always makes me feel cool when I wear it. And having a bit of attitude will help during the day.

When I get it on, I check myself out. I wear good shoes, but I decide against dress socks and go with the smart wool socks instead. Friday was brutally cold, and even though Saturday is supposed to be warmer, it is still cold. I have bought a $3 pair of gold wire-rimmed, non-prescription glasses, and I slip them on to complete the look. I have to say, I loved it. I had certain seriousness and weight that I normally would have a hard time pulling off. Cheap black gloves and I am ready to go.

I gather all of my materials in my Tivo courier bag. An attache case handcuffed to me wrist would be better, but I wasn't about to spend big bucks for a tiny bit. The courier bag still works. I also through my COBRA jumpsuit (with freshly ironed on gold stars indicating my Committee Membership) and my COBRA knit cap into a pink shaping bag left over from a recent baby shower. It has bunnies on it (the bag, not the jumpsuit) and the idea that I look like I may be going to a fancy Baptism or Bris makes me giggle. It is the theater I love. And for me theater is in the details.

JD is of course running late because MrR has had his phone break in the night. MrR has the vast amount of the contacts for the day. I mean, we have planned enough and decentralized enough that the day should just happened no matter what individuals drop out. But if something goes horribly wrong, we all know that we would look to MrR to see what he says. He is very much the spirit and driving force of the day. If anyone deserves ownership, it is him, regardless of what he might say. So he had to print out his contact list and use MrsR's cel phone for the day. They don't get to my house until 12:30.

I am in the car with JD, MrR and MrsR. We realize that it is just the four runners from the first year of the Idiotarod. The only one missing is Williamsburg. (What ever happened to Williamsburg?) It is a poetic moment. The four of us, driving towards the start of COBRA's Idiotarod. It had just been 3 years since that first year, the year Hackett blew up his face.

I remember back to us sitting in front of one of the checkpoints that first year. We notice that a team that arrived after us has left before us. MrsR goes to and investigates and discovers that they bribed the judges! It is a revelation to us. Immediately you can see the gears turn in all of our heads. Especially MrR. You can just see him get that mischievous grin, that grin that says,"Oh... we can cheat... oh, how that changes everything...." I don't know if we used the word sabotage that day, but its meaning was in our heads. Sabotage would become our mantra, our modus operandi. And it was back at the moment.

As we get closer to the starting line we get a phone call. Our advance person at the REAL strtaing line is reporting that there are already police there. (Note: Some believe that we changed the starting location at the last minute. Untrue. For weeks we had been planning to publish a decoy start line. I mean, come on! This is COBRA! Do your really think we would publish the starting line 24 hours before the race?) Just three beat cops, but they are already there. It is not even 1:00pm yet! We wonder how they could have known but since some idiot had posted the address in the forums the night before, it wasn't a huge surprise. (Another note: If we call you secretly, don't you think that means we are trying to keep it secret? You're an idiot.) But we also think it is funny. There is the part of the whole day, the cat and mouse we know we are playing, that we all love. While we would be ecstatic if the police just stood back and watched, we know that would never happen.

We also know that if you send 1000 people into one area, there is no real way to stop it. We wouldn't be able to stop it if we tried. Events like the Idiotarod are a testament to the power of individuals when they get together. It doesn't just have to be for social change. It can be for art. I am not calling The Idiotarod art. No, yes, I am. It is art. But more on that later.

We are sent into a bit of a tizzy however. We start brainstorming alternate plans for the race. We start think about who we need to call, what plans we can shift, how we might need to adjust. And that is part of the fun of these sort of events and part of the insane magic that is COBRA. I have no idea what the planning was in previous year (and we where certainly helped by them having done such amazing jobs in the past), but COBRA as amazingly democratic. No, democratic is wrong. Organic. It was ideas tossed in the ring, without ego. Sometimes ideas where accepted, sometimes not. But usually yes. And someone would take charge of it and start researching it and make it happen. Or not. There were no fights internally in COBRA (or at least not that I know). Ideas just formed, mutated and appeared, often empty of ownership.

And that carried on to the last day as we discussed about what to do about the police. It wasn't even a debate... it just happened. As a unit we adjusted, shifted. To be overly dramatic and slightly creepy, we were like old lovers, asleep in bed. We just shifted with the other, no thought.

(NEXT: ENGINE #9 and MY SPECIAL TIME ALONE AT THE FINISH LINE.)

Cleansing Snow

Yesterday was spent at Thank You, Robot practice, lunch with the boys, and then a great dinner with all of Thank You, Robot. It was just a damn pleasant finish to an mindblowingly kick-ass weekend.

There were some things about The Idiotarod that bummed me a touch (counting but not limited to: The JACKASS attiude of a lot of the racers, the slight smell of Crisco and fish still on my flesh, the loss of the cheese balls, the NYPD illogicaly shutting down the afterparty before it started, the dip-shit who I tackled as he started spray painting the park). There is also that post-event depression. All of that work and then it is over. Gone. Ephemerial except for the Flickr pictures and the smell. But Sunday but my mind on my future plans

As I come up out of the subway at Grand Army Plaza, I am greeted with flurries of snow. And it is sticking! Everything has taken on that special fresh snow quiet. The dirt of NY is painted with a fresh coat of white and it all seems so clean. The snowflakes kiss me and I kiss back and I am just filled with joy and calm.

Falling snow always makes me think clearer. I know what I want from the present and the future, and I know that I know what I want. But this weekend I forgot to say that. The snow told me that I could. That it is okay to speak up. Time is too short not to.

I am making plans and living in the moment, which is the balance I have ALWAYS have a hard time with. But not right now. And I have too much great stuff on my plate to worry about the potential that the Mystery Dish may be the best thing ever.. especially when the kitchen is still checking to see if there is any left. (Most tortured metaphor of the week.)

I spent a large portion on the morning trying to get the race results out, so I still haven't had time to write down my thoughts of the Greatest Race in the History of the World. Soon. Tonight. I promise.

Barbarically Brilliant Spectacle

The Idiotarod is always hard to explain to people. They tend to get way too caught up on the "race" part. Flavorpill NYC has decent discription.

If Alaska's Iditarod is a competition of endurance, then NYC's annual Idiotarod is a competition of lunacy, if not idiocy. Replacing dog sleds with shopping carts, frozen wilderness with city pavement, and physical stamina with high alcohol tolerance, this is a barbarically brilliant spectacle to both see and experience. Teams of five costumed, cart-bound participants must reach checkpoints throughout Brooklyn and Manhattan while avoiding officially sanctioned sabotage and the occasional cop. Part Halloween parade and part roving, drunken food-fight, the Idiotarod questions the integrity of natural selection with shameless delight. If Darwin could only see us now.

I would say some of us would rather that there was less food fight... or at least food that was less wet, but what are going to do?

Idiotarod - Jan 27th.

Remember The 4th Annual NYC Idiotarod is this Saturday.

Time is running out. Pre-registration only lasts until Thursday. Go to the site. Do it.

The lives of small fluffy critters count on it.

If, for some god awful reason, you are too lazy to run (shame on you!), the after party shall be an event to remember.

WHEN: Sat., Jan. 27th, doors open at 6pm.
WHERE: 21-03 44th Ave (corner of 21st Street), Long Island City, Queens, NY
HOW MUCH: $10 (free with race registration)
WHAT: $5 Booze, $4 Beers
Kickass bands! Peelander-Z, Golem, Robert Urban & R.U.B., Flaming Fire, The Impulse, Gowanus Corral.
Jaw dropping Burlesque! Blackie Deuce, Moxie Block & Meatfingers, Runaround Sue.
Amazing! Dirty Finger (Black Label), James Stacher (Black Label), Rench.
Live Video Mixers!
Award ceremony!

Seriously, kids. How can you miss this?

COBRA Brings CBS to its knees!

Wow! Just wow! It is amazing watch people take back the night. COBRA (Carts of Brooklyn Racing Association) took it straight to CBS. Around the country at CBS affiliates, COBRA members rallied their fellow shopping cart racers and demanded change.

There is an interview with a mysteriously named "Number Six" over at the Gothamist. He sounds like a very bright fellow. And over at Comedy Central Inside, Gary Sinse has apologize.
I believe this is "Number Six" reading COBRA's statement. He's handsome, too!

The time for silence has ended. For too long now corporate America has been assimilating our culture, twisting it, exploiting it, ignoring Truth in the favor of titillation. What I speak of is, of course, the noble art of shopping cart racing. And when I say corporate America, I am speaking of CSI:NY (or “CSI: New York,” as most people refer to it).

Tonight's episode of CSI:NY, entitled “Obsession,” is described in CBS's own words as follows:

“A man found dead in the snow with a price tag hanging from inside his stomach leads the CSIs to the annual Idiotarod race where young New Yorkers in creative costumes race decorated shopping carts from Brooklyn to Manhattan as if they were dog sleds.”

Notice the use of the name “Idiotarod.” We, members of the Carts of Brooklyn Racing Association (commonly referred to as COBRA), are the organizers of the 2007 Idiotarod. Let us first deal with the inaccuracies of that description of the event. One, not all racers are “young.” Racers come in all ages. The Idiotarod appeals to the human soul and we all agree that the human soul has no age. Two, more than just New Yorkers come to race. From across the country, or at least the tri-state area, racers come to New York (and spend money here, I will remind you) to experience the Experience. Three, there is no snow. COBRA believes there will never be snow again. And we would like to thank Al Gore for inventing global warming.

But more importantly, COBRA and shopping cart racers the world over, are distraught by the use of the name Idiotarod. COBRA was contacted by the producers of CSI:NY in November. They asked if they could use the name. We expressed a full willingness to work with them on a story. A story that would convey the excitement of the Idiotarod. That would convey the drama, the thrill, the pageantry, the magic that makes the Idiotarod such a special event. But we could not agree to the story presented to us, a story of stealing carts from the homeless... and of murder most foul. But the producers declined, stating that they had to start shooting in a week and there was no time to work with us. They stated they would not use the name.

And we see that they have used it. The irony in the title “Obsession” is not lost on us. This is just yet another example of the pattern of the media giants using the culture of shopping cart racing for their own nefarious gain. For too long we have sat back and watched them portray us as thieves and murders. We have been exploited for too long. We will no longer stand by silently while they continue this derogatory and negative agenda against us. Shopping cart racers are tired of hiding in the shadows. We are tired of being stereotyped. If our children continue to be bombarded by this, I dare say, hate, how can we expect them to grow up, to hold their heads high, and to say to their friends Bobby Joe Filbert and Sally Jane Kemper, “My parents are shopping cart racers, and I want to be one too”? Really, I ask you. What about the children?

I would like to make it clear this is not an attack on CBS. They have many fine programs. Personally, I always enjoyed Murder, She Wrote. I am a also a big fan of The Ghost Whisper. Jennifer Love Hewitt is dreamy.

Thank you.

Rumor is that CBS is replacing "Obsession" with a repeat tonight. They say it is because G. W. Bush is giving a speech about the war in Iraq. But I think we know the Truth. The people have spoken.

Idiotarod vs. CSI:NY

Apparently someone as started informing the press.
The Gothamist.

CSI:NY & The Idiotarod

So this week's episode of CSI:NY has this description on the CBS website:

"A man found dead in the snow with a price tag inside his stomach leads the CSIs to the annualIdiotarod race where young New Yorkers in creative costumes race decorated shopping carts from Brooklyn to Manhattan as if they were dog sleds."

Humph. I didn't know Idiotarod was in the common domain. (Although if you watch the preview, it appears they are using the name "Idoitrun" in the actual episode.) And why must the media continue to portray shopping cart racers as murders and thieves? For years, we have been bombarded by negative images. How do we expect our children to hold their heads high if this continues?

Let me add the conversation from November that COBRA had with CSI:NY's producers in regard to this. Link to the phone call.

And couldn't have been a Law & Order show? I like Law & Order.

Banned in NYC

From the NYPost.
Here it is (I don't know if some of these are actually banned or there was just an attempt to ban them.)

• Trans-fats.
• Aluminum baseball bats.
• The purchase of tobacco by 18- to 20-year-olds.
• Foie gras.
• Pedicabs in parks.
• New fast-food restaurants (but only in poor neighborhoods).
• Lobbyists from the floor of council chambers.
• Lobbying city agencies after working at the same agency.
• Vehicles in Central and Prospect parks.
• Cell phones in upscale restaurants.
• The sale of pork products made in a processing plant in Tar Heel, N.C., because of a unionization dispute.
• Mail-order pharmaceutical plans.
• Candy-flavored cigarettes.
• Gas-station operators adjusting prices more than once daily.
• Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey Circus.
• Wal-Mart.

I can't verify all of the things on this list (well, I probably could, but I'm lazy today). But my usual weekend of driving through Prosepct Park, snacking on pit bulls smothered in transfats and stuffed with foie gras and wrapped in some Tar Heel bacon, while smoking peppermint cigarettes and beating clowns with my alumium bat is now all shot to hell.

Pat Baer

I just thought I would pimp out Pat Baer's podcast about the New York comedy scene. it is like pulling up a cozy chair next to a fire with some funny people not tryingto be funny and just talking about the NYC world of comedy... and other stuff. It's like a cup of hot chocolate with mini marshmellows.

Fünde Razor: Come Rock for Sick Kids

Barcade in Brooklyn is having a charity event for Child's Play on Wednesday, December 6th.

No cover! From the site:

• Play Guitar Hero on a giant screen!
• Drink some of New England's finest beers! In cups!
• Play classic stand-up arcade games by the bushel!
• Win one of our dozens of ROFL RAFL prizes, including a... Okay, we're still working on this year's prizes.

I have still never been to Barcade but will go on Wednesday. Meet me there. I have never played Guitar Hero but come out and go head-to-head with me! It's for the sick kids!

Broken Angel Update

Christopher Wood posted this on my old post on the subject. I respost is comment here so that it is on the front page.

Update 11/28/06
The Wood family is very thankful for the support we have received in our attempt to rescue Broken Angel. However the building is far from saved and time is running out. Broken Angel is a legally built architectural sculpture, which my father would love to transform into a home for the arts. Broken Angel is viewed by thousands of people who come to see it every year. If this quirky and original structure disappears, Quincy and Downing streets will again become a forgotten corner of Brooklyn. My name is Christopher Wood; I am the son of the creators of Broken Angel. I have lived my entire life in Brooklyn. I have grown up and continue to be enmeshed in a world of art. I am a stone carver and photographer. I have restored many of New York’s cherished landmarks including the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Cloisters, Grace Church, the Tweed Court house, and currently the main branch of the New York City Public Library. I call on Brooklyn to support and help us restore Broken Angel. Please email or write your local politicians to show your support and help us block the demolition of Broken Angel. If you are a legal professional, we desperately need help fighting the Department of Buildings in court. Additionally those who are willing and able can purchase paintings by my father or my photographs of Broken Angel at Artez’n at 444 Atlantic Ave. Works of art for sale can also be obtained online at http://www.artezn.com/. I guarantee that a work of art bought this holiday season will retain its value better than a Play Station 3. Please help us and show the developers who want to turn Brooklyn into another skyline of giant buildings that we will not go gently into the shadows of greed and over development. I can be contacted at chriswood718@yahoo.com
Photos of Broken Angel
My restoration work
Broken Angel in the press:
Daily News
Seth Kushner
Brooklyn Papers
Gowanus Lounge
New York Times

If you can help, please.