Art Lebedev Studio’s tape says “Caution, Sticky Tape” in Cyrillic.
SH HQ received a new iron by mail the other day, and man, did it come with a doozy of warnings and cautions… not to mention it’s “3-Way Auto Shut-off” feature, which sounds like something suburban fathers wish they could install to protect their daughters, before freshman year starts at NYU.
….but just doesn’t work out, unfortunately, even with the animation. (Via nytimes.com) Something in my veins bloodier than blood sent a real winner, on the other hand, observed in situ at La Colombe in NoHo.
but a nice one, all the same. (via Amazon) SH has been seeking a vegetable-tanned, otherwise raw, plain-ass leather belt for a long time, and this might be it. Is it foolish to ask if that hardware come in silver?
Spotted at Hanson Place in Fort Greene, this poster is handsome enough, but SH isn’t sure who it’s for, exactly… highrise construction workers know safety equipment can save their lives. Even if they wanted to be cavalier about restraining harness and hard hats, they couldn’t, because they’d lose their jobs if they didn’t suit up properly. Accidents are often investigated, when they happen on the job, and it messes with the developer’s liability insurance if the proper gear wasn’t in place when something went wrong. ”Build safe/live safe” is a pretty broad exhortation, too. This is PR safety-mindedness: some legal-eagle on the Bloomberg payroll trying to make us appreciate all the ways our fair city considers us, and endeavors to keep us from harm.
SH enjoyed a lovely trip to Costa Rica last week, but, as is pretty typical of equatorial climes, there wasn’t much warning signage to be seen. Lack of OSHA/Consumer Product Safety can actually make a place more relaxing, depending on your point of view. Single lane bridge ahead? Just throw a yield sign up on one side, let people work it out. The national approach to guardrails, handrails, footlights, and safety gear on utilities workers was similarly laissez-faire.
There was one fascinating instance, however, at the hotel. Given the context, there’s really no mistaking what’s going on in the upper left corner, here:
For SH’s money, however, that looks like nothing so much as Paul Revere in oversized boots swinging a portable oxygen cylinder at a flame-colored angel’s wing. With a big ol’ model rocket, in his other hand. But maybe we’re wrong.
These pictures represent the danger of derision, or perhaps a cautionary tale of a creative director drunk on power: who’s supposed to be fooled, by those candy wrappers on the counter? Tumblers of gin on the rocks and Kit Kats for breakfast? A midafternoon pick-me-up? What’s supposed to be going on here? Why are the doughnuts and chocolates being “eaten” directly on the island? Is that what “casual” means to anyone, anywhere? A stab at kitsch, perhaps? A little declassé snack time, to take the edge off of the five-figure light fixtures this place is fairly haunted by? There’s a time-honored tradition, in shelter porn photography, of a little calculated messiness to humanize an interior that would otherwise too strongly resemble a museum gift shop. It’s often a few pieces of color-coordinated citrus, lovingly placed at random along the length of a sixteen-foot-long farmhouse table, or a miniature hayrick of freshly-cut azaleas, ready to be ikebana’d within an inch of their very lives–but this photo shoot jumps the shark. The images are of a Spanish interior designer’s house, and SH feels pandered to.