Saturday, February 10, 2007

Tagged, and I'm it!

The Wandering Author (my apologies, good sir, for not including a link to your blog here, as I've yet to figure that particular tool out) has tagged me with a meme asking for a blogging post on six weird habits or things one has. Well, let's see what I can share without getting into TMI....

  1. I never say "I'm sorry". Check that; I only say "I'm sorry" when I hear of news that someone has died or has a terminal disease. I once read a book on communication that discussed in part how meaningless that phrase has become. People use the phrase all the time for everything from apologizing when bumping into someone in a crowded store to asking for someone to repeat something you didn't hear to just hearing any kind of not-great news. When I hurt someone's feelings or make a faux pas, I apologize by saying "Please forgive me..." or "I so regret...". When I can't hear what someone said, I simply ask them if they'd mind repeating themselves since I couldn't hear well. If I hear anything that's run of the mill bad news, I empathize and ask if I can help. But in most cases, "I'm sorry" no longer works for me.
  2. I cannot stifle my sense of humor. It might not always come out on WAD, but I was for a time here in Denver a would-be stand-up comic and a performing member of an improv comedy troupe. I actually did some shows with the troupe, but I was only able to do ten minutes of material for my stand-up workshop classmates. Our teacher informed us that while you might get paid $50 for a 10-minute spot on stage, that only works out to about fitty cents an hour when you add up the time you spent writing those jokes. At the time, I already had an energy -intensive job that paid beans: it's called architecture. Having this habit means that Guy and I will pop off joke lines to each other in the middle of a fight. I interject one-liners into serious meetings without blinking. I even told jokes after my dad's funeral.
  3. Speaking of Dad, I still have the gloves and watch he was wearing when he died ten years ago. It's a Timex, and the last I checked, it was still running on Eastern Standard Time.
  4. I also own a leather bullwhip. I originally bought it to go with a dominatrix costume I wore one Halloween in grad school, but I've kept it around since then. Not sure why. I suppose I should have brought it to all the budget meetings we had on Wheatlands Hospital. Between the whip and my vinyl corset and pants, maybe we could have kept the skylights in....
  5. According to Guy, I jiggle/zigzag my jaw slightly in conversation. I don't even know I'm doing it. Guy says my teeth click slightly and my jaw just goes leftrightleft really quickly. I'll do it, and he'll point at my head and exclaim, "There it was again!" and I still don't remember doing it even though I just did it.
  6. If my hair has any length on it, I pick out a lock of hair and twirl and twist it incessantly. People ask me if I do it when I'm nervous, or thinking, or whatever. While my anxiety levels may increase how much I do it, I do it all the time. It's not so much that I twirl it if I'm sad or happy or angry. I've concluded that I do it when I'm awake.

I don't know that I have 6 friends online to tag for this, especially since WA already tagged Miss Kitty over at Educated and Poor. Other people that I would tag don't have blogs. So, I suppose I'd like to have people comment on my blog and share one odd thing about themselves. Anyone?

Trouble with a T, and that rhymes with P, and that stands for Pool

I've mentioned before how I love to run. I'm a running and walking fool. Every babysitter, nanny, and relative that ever took care of me has two recollections about me: I loved books, and I loved to run. Even when I've obviously pulled some muscle, agitated a ligament, twisted a joint, or just flat-out wounded one or both legs, I'll still at least go for a fast walk. Guy makes fun of me by putting his hands on his hips all sassy-like and saying in a high shrill voice, "My name's Mile High Pixie, and my leg hurts, so I'm gonna go for a run!" (My voice isn't as high as he makes it. He makes me sounds like the bus driver with the bird in her hair on South Park. However, my voice is as loud as hers.)

Last summer, after moths of aching joints and muscles earned while trying to run away the stress of Wheatlands, Guy suggested I start swimming in the pool in our condo building. I fought the suggestion for a long time, but once I started using the pool, I realized he'd been right all along. (He'll really enjoy reading that, I'm sure.) The pool in our condo is actually on the top floor of our 15-story building and is surrounded by a stucco wall on one side and glass walls on the other three sides. The water is heated in the winter, and there's a canvas roof the building manager pulls over it when it rains in the summer or is really cold in the winter. During the summer at 6am, though, when I work out, it was just me and the dawn breaking over east Denver and the occasional traffic chopper flying overhead. I found that I could get an amazing cardiovascular and strength workout and not be unbelievably sore all day after 45 minutes of activity. It also helped trim the last few pounds off me, and I looked and felt great. However, once the weather got cold again in the fall, I had to return to running. No biggie, right?

Well...yes and no. I wounded myself yet again in early January, and I couldn't even go back to swimming because the pool roof had been damaged, leaving the pool uncovered and chilly. To keep the heat in, the manager would put down a plastic sheet on the pool's surface. There are instructions on the glass door leading to our rooftop pool saying that only the manager is allowed to remove the pool cover to prevent damage.

Just this past Wednesday, I came up to the gym to clock a little time on the new elliptical machine (yay low impact!), and I realized that the pool roof had been repaired and was stretched over the pool. Big yay: while it's 25 outside at 6am in Denver right now, the roof and glass walls kept in enough heat rising off the heated pool to make it about 45 or 50 in the pool area with no wind...and the pool felt soooo warrrrrrrmmmmm.... I thought, "That's it; I'm swimming on Friday!"

So, yesterday, I came upstairs in my robe and bathing suit...and the roof is off. Er? Huh? Perhaps they were predicting snow for Friday and didn't want to risk damaging the roof again, but I didn't recall.... Well, I was already there, so off goes the robe, and let me say that 25 degree air at 5:30am in Denver is a tad uncomfy. But the pool was soooooo waarrrrrrrmmmm and the swim felt great. It felt so great that I decided to do it again this morning....

And the roof was off...and the plastic cover was down. And residents aren't allowed to remove it. And I was really looking forward to getting a swim in. And here I am in my robe with a Nalgene bottle of water and a towel over my shoulder and...oh, forget it. I stomped back downstairs and was surprisingly pissed about it for a long time. And obviously, I still am.

I'm pissed about it because I'm trying to take care of myself while also staying active, and swimming best does that. I think I'm even more pissed about it because of the randomness of the roof/no roof/plastic cover pattern. Why is it covered now? Is it because there's only part time help on the weekends and they don't want to be caught unawares in case it snows on Sunday, which it kinda sorta might? The building manager lives in our building, for crying out loud. Is it that big of a deal to come upstairs in the elevator and put the cover on and pull the canvas roof back? I fear that I suddenly sound like one of those hideous residents at Wide Lawns that poor Subservient Worker has to deal with, but I'm just frustrated. If I understood what the reasoning was behind the decision to cover or not to cover, I could better decide whether to lay out a bathing suit or running shoes for the next morning and not get my hopes up unreasonably.

Some days, working out is the only thing that goes well for me. A shipment of drywall is delayed out of Lincoln and Wheatlands gets behind schedule, Wanda does something crazy with the Pomme de Terre sheets, DA loses power and no one can work, we get lousy service at our favorite brunch spot when we go in to celebrate getting the bathroom painted...whatever. At least I ran 4.75 miles in 50 minutes today. My body still works. I've lost 25 pounds, even if it took me a little more than four years to do it. My blood pressure is normal again for the first time since 2001. Some days, that run, that yoga asana sequence, that set of bench presses is the only thing that goes right. And when not even that goes right, it makes me a cranky little Pixie. And then what? I ask you, O Lord of the Plastic Thingy Covering My Beloved Rooftop Pool, then what?

PS: I know I owe y'all a Detail of the Week. I'll double up next week.

Thursday, February 8, 2007

Designing for Disaster

Wandering Author asked in the last round of comments:

"It was your mention of fireproofing to keep the columns from deforming in a fire that got me thinking. I'm sure you've heard some of the questions surrounding the three building collapses on 9/11. Do you have an opinion you don't mind airing?"

Well, WA, I have some knowledge to drop here indeed. First, I will acknowledge the existence of the conspiracy theory that the World Trade Center Towers were "helped" down with strategically-placed detonation charges placed the weekend before 9/11 by a demolition crew partially owned by a member of the Bush family so that the U.S. could attck the Middle East. However, since good intel on this is unavailable to me and the rest of the world, I can only comment on the evidence we do have, which is that the Towers fell due to physics.


Now, let me begin with commentary provided by WAD's resident aviation expert, former Army helicopter mechanic and almost-chopper pilot, Sgt. J.P. Sarge, now CAD Manager at Design Associates:

At the time the buildings were erected, no one conceived of a situation where anyone would *intentionally* fly an airplane into the building, let alone with the sole purpose of destroying the building. They *were* designed to withstand the impact of a Boeing 707, the largest passenger jet of the time, but they hadn't considered the resultant events that would follow. An impact, in and of itself, is relatively insignificant. Nevertheless, they hadn't planned on someone *intentionally* flying into the building.

Accidents are accidents, but this was no accident. But how would an intentional strike differ in terms of physics from an accident? The hijackers purposely picked the largest planes they could get their hands on, and ensured they were *fully* loaded with fuel for a trans-continental flight. In an accident, the plane, *more than likely* is *not* aimed at the center of the building.


The likelihood of the mass of the aircraft reaching the core is less significant in an accident. Also, by the alignment of the air traffic control routes among the three major airports in the area, it's highly unlikely a plane would intentionally cross Manhattan Island. Controllers would notify the pilot to alter course to avoid the buildings. So, in an accident, it is far more likely for the plane to clip the building, rather than plow into it. In such a case, the structure of the buildings was more than sufficient to withstand the impact and resulting fire.

What doomed the buildings was the huge amounts of burning jet fuel streaming down the elevator shafts. In an accident, a collision with the building would be most likely to occur when the plane was landing, not taking off or during transitional flight, so the quantity of fuel on board would be significantly less than what these planes had available. The interesting thing is that in a building of similar height built today, that core would almost certainly be super-high-strength concrete. Enough of the plane's inertia would've been lost during transition though the shell that anything that reached the core wouldn't have penetrated the core. So a lot less of the plane would've made it to the core than with the twin towers.


If you were to compare the destruction of the building using, say, a cruise missile, although much smaller
in size, the missile is designed to penetrate the shell, and then detonate in the core.
The terrorists didn't have such technology available, so they had to choose something of sufficient mass to penetrate the shell *and* core, and since they had no explosives available, they had to choose something with a sufficient quantity of flammable materials to generate the intended result.
A Boeing 767, fully loaded for a trans-continental flight (obviously)met those requirements. The plane itself never acutally detonated, it disintegrated, in the process, releasing highly flammable liquids, which were ignited by heat generated by the engines, the friction of the impact with the building, and the severed electrical systems within the building. And much of the fuel was atomized on impact, creating a highly explosive mist within the building envelope. What didn't atomize ran down through the core, spreading the "accellerant" through enough floors to affect the structural integrity.


Now then, now that we have the physics of things that burn, let's talk about some other factors that I believe contributed to the fall of Towers 1 and 2. Let's talk about building codes, shall we? In general, building codes are a pretty recent development in the construction industry. (So is the Americans With Disabilities Act, but that's another post.)

Building codes came about in earnest in the U.S. after the massive fire in the MGM Grand Casino and Hotel in Las Vegas, NV in 1980. Of all of the fatalities, the vast majority of them were in the hotel tower due to smoke inhalation, not from actually being burned to death (though it was a spectacular fireball indeed--it cleared a distance of two football fields in less than eight seconds and burned gamblers to a perfect crisp with their hands still clutching the levers on their slot machines). The mechanical and elevator shafts in the hotel tower channeled the smoke right up to each floor, thereby asphyxiating the hotel's guests on floors that the fireball never touched. Since then, the primary goal of building codes is to first save lives and allow people to safely exit the building; second, to save the structure so that the non-loadbearing elements can be rebuilt; and third, to save contents and possessions if possible. Sprinkler systems help do this, but it's a secondary line of defense. Structural integrity and egress (exit) paths are the first line of defense.

The World Trade Center was built in 1971-1972, eight years before building codes were in wide implementation and enforcement. Hence, I don't know that any spray-on fireproofing (an image of which is forthcoming in tomorrow's Detail of the Week) was applied to the structure. Without fireproofing, the immense heat of the fire could very easily have deformed the columns and allowed the building to collapse. Also, much of the Twin Towers' structure was along the exterior skin in order to free up the inside of the building for office space. When the exterior skin was ruptured by the plane, the building lost a great deal of its structural integrity. The main innards of the Towers, called the "core", which consists of the elevators, the stairs, toilets, and the mechanical and electrical shafts and rooms, take up the very center. See the photo below. (I know it's not easy to see, but I've marked where the stairs are in the plan.)



The WTC's tenants used these stairs as regular circulation instead of taking the elevators one or two floors. Given that due to the size of each floor, as many as 300 people could work on each floor at the same time, that's a lot of people to try to funnel down the stairs. Imagine trying to funnel 300 people per floor times dozens of floors down the stairs...while fully loaded firefighters were coming up the stairs. Then imagine some of the people coming down the stairs having to carry some of their fellow coworkers because the person gives out 30 floors down and still has another 20 or 30 to go to get to the street. Two normal people need at least 5'-0" of width to pass each other going in opposite directions, but let's add that one person is carrying a person while the person going in the opposite direction is wearing a full jacket, a 60-lb pack, an axe, and a breathing apparatus.

Need a little more width than 5'-0", don't you?

Also, elevators often shut down when there's a fire. They go to the bottom of their shafts and pop their doors open to show the firefighters that no one is trapped inside. However, in tall hospitals (like Pomme de Terre), at least one elevator will be operable in a fire so that staff can evacuate incapacitated patients if they're on the floor where the fire is located. It sounds like the Twin Towers could have used a few emergency-operating elevators. These same elevators can be used by firefighters to get up to the floor where the fire is burning. Perhaps the fighters couldn't use them though, because the planes had severed the power supply and shorted them out. I'm guessing about this part, don't know for sure.

Furthermore, human nature played a part in the disaster. Some tenants reported being told to go back in the building after the planes had been burning for a while because "everything was okay and the fire was under control". Many of us--surely all of us--were so shocked to see what was happening that a part of us just couldn't fathom it, couldn't accept it, and wanted everything to be okay. Let's face it, none of us were prepared for the immensity of 9/11, and we really had no plan to deal with it. So the tragedy of 9/11 was due to the condition of a purposeful air strike, an absence of code and fire safety compliance at the time of construction, and a lack of a plan to handle the humans leaving the building.

The design of the Twin Towers, plus the luck of the planes colliding so high up on the buildings (in the top quarter of the tower), allowed the floor slabs to pancake on top of each other and fall fairly cleanly onto each other. Imagine how much worse it could have been if they'd toppled over from the middle and dropped floors 55 through 110 onto neighboring buildings. Still frightening though, is that what fireproofing that was in the building was acheived through the use of asbestos, a carcinogen so potent that I was told as an intern if I so much as peeked into an asbestos-clad ceiling they'd have to evacuate the building. I've heard some reports that they did asbestos abatement on the towers in the 90s, but I have to wonder if some tiny friable fibers of 220 stories of asbestos are still floating around Lower Manhattan.

Okay, I acknowledge that this was a lot of info, and I'm sure other WAD readers out there will have something to add, contribute, or dispute. But Wandering Author asked me for an opinion, and given my extent of knowledge, that's what I have to say.

Wednesday, February 7, 2007

Delayed gratification is overrated.

After this latest painful deadline with Pomme de Terre, I went to Alex, my big boss. Alex is one of the owners of Design Associates and is licensed to practice in ten states. Each of the owners has their specialties in design, and Alex's is healthcare. I can't recall the last time he did anything else. Oh wait--our office did his house not too long ago. That was a nice pad, for sure. But other than that, he only does healthcare in our office, so I work for him.

"Any word on the Mendwell Center, Alex?" I asked him. He ran his hand through his salt-and-pepper, devil-may-care hair and sighed.

"The owners are still looking for a site," he replied. "I think they're close, but they just need a site. I'll call them today and see what's happening."

Dammit.

Wheatlands doesn't require more than about five to eight hours a week these days. Pomme de Terre is leaving me so wiped out physically and mentally every day that it feels like I've been riding around all day in the tumbler portion of a concrete truck. I spent today fixing a few departments, trying to find space for a few of the rooms that hadn't yet been given space. Space planning is the weirdest thing: a list of rooms and their square footages seems so easy to make fit in a given space, but it's a lot harder than it looks. Sometimes the list of spaces doesn't take into account the amount of space that a department needs to get around between the list of rooms. For example, most administrative areas only need hallways that are about 5'-0" to 6'-0" wide (depending on the number of rooms leading into the hall) to get between offices, but building codes require that hospitals have hallways and corridors that are no less than 8'-0" wide. That's a big-ass hallway, and it takes up more space than you'd think.

Then, there's structure to think about. In most houses, the exterior walls and a couple of interior walls support the roof and the floors above the ground, no problem. But in large buildings, like seven-story hospitals, steel or concrete columns are needed for support. Once the structure is in place, then one is required by code to spray fireproofing onto the columns to keep them from deforming from the heat in a big fire. Then, one has to cover the columns in studs and drywall to make them look pretty. THEN, one has to make sure that a person (or a person with a cart) can navigate around the column, or make sure that the column doesn't stick into a corridor or an exit passageway, or.... You get my drift. So once the structure is in place and the design conforms to all applicable codes, suddenly I can't get all of the rehab center's administrative offices in unless I make them all smaller than they asked for in their list of spaces (called a program). And that makes me a sad panda.

So, I guess it's more space planning tomorrow and waiting hopefully for MCRI to kick off. I'm trying to be patient, but it's hard to be that way when you're exhausted and annoyed.

Sunday, February 4, 2007

Stupor Bowl

Guy and I have a tradition every year at Super Bowl time, which is to get ribs and baked beans from the barbeque shack (or is that barbecue shaque?) down the street and watch together, mostly critiquing the ads. Watching them doesn't make me want to buy a Chevy or a bottle of Sierra Mist, but they make me laugh. So, a few random thoughts on this Stupor Bowl Sunday:

  • I have such a low tolerance for football announcers. One of them said, "The rain is definitely having a little bit of an effect on this game." Wow! Definitely having a little bit of effect? Why not just say how unbelievably so-so something is? Or how compellingly okay it is?
  • Another line that made me laugh, spoken after yet another long Rex Grossman pass: "The Bears go downtown more than any other team in the NFL." Really? Must be why the Bears cheerleaders are smiling so widely.
  • Why is Prince wearing a headrag like he was just vacuuming and washing dishes before he whipped off his apron and ran out onto the field to do the halftime show?
  • Why is Prince doing a Foo Fighters song? What, he doesn't have enough well-known songs of his own for us Gen-X'ers to sing along with?
  • Know what this game's missing? John Madden reminding everyone just how important the quarterback is. (I know, I know, he's not employed by CBS....)
  • I know CSI is CBS' most popular show franchise, and I know the Super Bowl is in Miami tonight, but must I continually be subjected to David Caruso's overly-dramatic sunglasses-removal-intense-look combo in every single CSI: Miami clip? And why didn't Jade sink his career? Seriously!

Time for the second half.

Friday, February 2, 2007

Detail of the Week

In an attempt to edify as well as possibly amuse, WAD presents a Detail of the Week. Learn about the minutiae of architecture without actually finding out anything that you could share around the water cooler on Monday.

Below is a photo of an ADA sink panel, which you'd likely find in a medical facility:


Why, I bet you're asking, didn't the architect just put cabinet doors below the sink? Good question. Here's the deal: in order for a sink to comply with the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA), the sink cannot be higher than 2'-10" above the floor, and a wheelchair must be able to slide underneath the counter so the person can reach the sink controls and put their hands under the water stream.

Also, many (though not all) medical facilities are inspected and accredited by the Joint Commission on Accreditation of Healthcare Organizations (JCAHO, pronounced "jay-ko" in da biz). Accreditation by JCAHO assures that a health facility has high standards and is safe and good and right and wonderful. It also makes their insurance rates lower, so I hear. one of JCAHO's rules is that nothing can be stored underneath a sink because it might be toxic, or worse, toxic and forgotten about. Storage space in a medical facility is of the utmost importance, so if you give them cabinet doors under a sink and say "don't put anything there," you can bet as soon as that damned architect is out of the room, they're gonna chuck some extra antibacterial soap and paper towels and Formula 409 and a box of lollipops for the kids under there. Or something.

So, no cabinet doors. But you still need something to hide the pipes under there, right? Cuz it's gotta be perrty. Hence...the panel. But just how does one get that panel on there? Hmm?




Oh-ho-ho! There's one of these latches at the top and bottom of the panel on the left and right sides. The hooks on the panel slides neatly onto the little brackets inside the cabinet. Now, it hides the pipes from view, protects the knees of anyone in a wheelchair, and provides no real storage space for would-be storage addicts.

In other news, Wanda took it upon herself to print the whole Pomme de Terre set at 4pm today. I told her I'd print my sheets as well as Leslie's but she wanted to batch publish them. This means that her computer was probably locked up for an hour while the software printed every single sheet. The rest of the Pomme de Terre team showed their solidarity by leaving at 4:05. I can't say I blame them. I hope all of them have a good weekend--that whole group has spent way too much time in the office this week.

Thursday, February 1, 2007

Ah, white-knuckle driving in Kansas....

Like driving in snow? How about blowing snow? I'll see your blowing snow and raise you big, heavy flakes and evening rush hour traffic. I'll call.

Wheatlands was a beautiful, wonderful place to behold today, despite my long drive into Wheatlands, Kansas.* The building roof and exterior (what we call "core and shell" in da biz) were finished in the fall, so they're actually putting in drywall, carpet, and casework (you might call casework "cabinetry and countertops"), and they've even gotten some painting done. It's so refreshing to see a building getting built. It's also heartwarming and satisfying to me when I look around and realize that every wall, every door, every cabinet and countertop in this building...I drew it. And I look at every carpet, every plastic laminate on the counters and drawers, every painted wall, and I know that Susanna picked them out herself. She could see in her head what i couldn't see until I walked into the boardroom and saw the warm tans and greys contrasted to the multiflecked carpet...just gorgeous. Even my contractors, Stan* and Kenny*, think the finishes are beautiful. It's just so refreshing to see the drawings I bled over for eight months become real and useful. I love watching staff members walk through with Stan and me, watching their eyes light up, watching them taptaptaptap another's arm and gush over the wood nurse station and light olive accent walls. Just beautiful. It almost makes up for driving three and a half hours in snow.

Almost.

(Note: My hands are wearing out from asterisks. Unless I say otherwise, all names and certain identifying details have been changed.)