Rick Caruso’s outdoor malls are a cleaned-up facsimile of city life.
By Tina Daunt, Times Staff Writer
December 1, 2004
Multimillionare developer Rick Caruso is walking past the shops on Royal Street in the heart of the French Quarter, surveying the streetscape with all its architectural elegance and decay.
Little escapes the notice of the Los Angeles businessman: the ornately carved crown moldings, the wrought iron balconies, sizzling gas lanterns, cypress shutters, cracked sidewalks, leaning walls, bare wires. The place is beautiful but worn out. To Caruso, it looks like a dump.
“They certainly haven’t spent any money on maintenance,” he says. “I don’t see any reason to ever come back here again.”
Former Los Angeles Mayor Richard Riordan opposed Caruso’s effort to remove Parks as chief, but says he admires the developer’s business sense.
“His father is a wealthy man, so he came to it the easy way,” Riordan says. “But he never let that make him lazy.
“I think he’s ready to take over Los Angeles.”
The text of this story was taken down at the request of the LA Times (May 14, 2008). The timing of this request to remove the text is probably related to the recent opening of Caruso’s Americana mall in Glendale, which was lavishly and flatteringly covered by the LA Times.
The story which was taken down was an interesting portrait of Caruso as a born-wealthy Republican fundraiser with an avowed hatred for the disorder of living cities. It’s an interesting picture, especially given the rumors of his possible run for LA mayor. Sadly, the original link to the story on the Times website is now broken. However the full text of this article seems to be available for purchase for just $3.95.
Four bucks may seem like a lot just to read a short biographical article from 2004. But clearly the Tribune-owned LA Times knows how to run a profitable business, so rather than question their economic decisions, let us simply wish them the best.
PR Meets Psy-Ops in War on Terror
The use of misleading information as a military tool sparks debate in the Pentagon. Critics say the practice puts credibility at stake.
By Mark Mazzetti
Times Staff Writer
December 1, 2004
The New York Times
November 23, 2004
The Face of Nature Changes as Art and Science Evolve
By CARL ZIMMER
Artists and scientists, so the story goes, glare at each other across a cultural divide. The scientist coldly hacks nature into pieces. The artist is unwilling to do the hard work necessary to understand how the world works.
This story is mostly fiction, as the work of the printmaker Joseph Scheer makes abundantly clear.
An obligatory first post…
Thanks for the memories:
“He just fucks California,” says one Enron employee. “He steals money from California to the tune of about a million.”
“Will you rephrase that?” asks a second employee.
“OK, he, um, he arbitrages the California market to the tune of a million bucks or two a day,” replies the first
Behold the power of the market:
“Just cut ’em off. They’re so fucked. They should just bring back fucking horses and carriages, fucking lamps, fucking kerosene lamps.”
And the doomed contemplate their fuckitude…
Finally, the silly accusation of an “imminent threat” gets debunked in the eloquent terms it deserves:
Sec. RUMSFELD: Well, I’ve–I’ve tried to be precise, and I’ve tried to be accurate. I’m s–suppose I’ve…
Mr. FRIEDMAN: `No terrorist state poses a greater or more immediate threat to the security of our people and the stability of the world and the regime of Saddam Hussein in Iraq.’
Sec. RUMSFELD: Mm-hmm. [pause] It–my view of–of the situation was that he–he had–we–we believe, the best intelligence that we had and other countries had and that–that we believed and we still do not know–we will know.
What will they do as they fold up into an angry fetal ball?
Oh sweet sweet taste of organophosphate. Manganese starts looking hot to twisted amino. Finally — after a few drinks in front of the fire, a slathering of amyloid plaques, the delicious bondage of perverse tangles — copulus ensues. A rouge is born!
“The incubation period is of the order of 10-15 years…”
It finally sunk in: Glenn Reynolds is just not a very important person.
This whole “blog” thing, at least among people who are deeply involved in something they like to call “blogs,” is largely about re-enforcement of one’s worldview.
I think they’re trying to take my guns away – click here!
I think we’re sliding inexorably into a new corporate capitalist fascist empire — click here!
Even though we are sliding inexorably into corporate fascist empire, the clicking and five sentence ranting ends up being fairly unproductive and hugely distracting. Especially for me, since I have this problem with what I’ll refer to in shorthand as dollhouses. Microcosms where the details can be managed, where the entire system is small enough to be comprehensible, a complex and chaotic world in a manageable scale. Things like Matchbox cars, Dungeons and Dragons, SimCity…
it’s a powerful addiction. I remember almost nothing from junior high except the weapons possessed by my fighter-thief dwarf character. I’ve lost entire weeks trying to get my rows of pixels to solve their traffic problems. And I’ve tried to digest every shifting flux in the now overabundant flow of news.
So now re-ordering my microcosms such that they better reflect things that are interesting and alive, rather than a reflection of the pixelated plumbing systems of another game world.
James Lileks decided to vent his anger over the dead American soldiers in Iraq not by crying out for the kind of state funeral that Italy had for it’s war dead.
there’s a picture on the front page of my local paper today: third Minnesotan killed in Iraq. He died doing what you never had the stones to do: pick up a rifle and face the Ba’athists. You owe him.
Actually, you owe him, mutherfucker.
After saluting flags at gas stations for the last year, while writing proud and beautiful words about Evil and Them. After praising our administration for sending our soldiers to defend our country, then winking when there was nothing to defend us from. After talking about Noble Causes while teenagers get moved around and blown apart with as much attention as plastic army toys, which is as close as their leaders ever got to war.
Now when these very real solders are dying in a very real guerrilla war with no end in sight, attempting to rebuild a destroyed nation for a people who increasingly hate them for the destruction and the invasion… now you bravely blame a man who’s relatives and friends were killed by Saddam’s men. A person who actually has to deal with the mounting pile of shit being left by a botched occupation. How witty!
You even dare to stand on the bodies of the dead men you wanted to send to their deaths while cursing an Iraqi for pointing out the epic scope of the disaster in his country. But there’s a lot more than the three dead you use as your podium.
And among those American soldiers you just noticed, there’s also more than a hundred amputees out of about 8,000 wounded. Give or take. More every day. Hey, what does it matter when there’s a Noble Cause at hand? Something so worthy that you could say it proudly to the face of an armless man. Something so glorious that it’s truly worth all the maiming and death. Something at the very core of our American values and way of life. Something like… preventing NATO or the UN from having a political role in the occupation.
You owe them all, coward.
From Robert Carswell’s Pathological Anatomy, Illustrations of the Elementary Forms of Disease. On display at the University of Glasgow’s Special Collections Library.
[bless you, solipsistic gazette]
A fragment from the Hellish Horde episode of Freddy Mock Man, a junior high comic from 1986.