Oh there's an animal all right.
I'm not sure I'd advocate anyone building a new brutalist structure in a major urban downtown but tearing them down without regard is like Stalin airbrushing the out-of-fashion from photographs. To be a mature society we have to own up to our mistakes and sometimes stare them in the face every day. The anti-brutalists are children, irresponsible and short-sighted, wantons flailing with pudgy arms against the depth of human experience.
I could argue that Brutalism fits better in Southern California's wide open spaces (and general brightly lit sense of dread and ennui). As evidence, may I present the Salk Institute:
By blergh on Death to Negronis
"Neg-ron-i Season! Neg-ron-i Season! Whoooooo!"
I believe the appropriate thing to say it "Now now, little boy, don't cry, we'll find your mommy, she has to be somewhere here"
@grendan Damn!! That would have been the greatest burn in the history of the internet, unfortunately you spelled 1 of 3 words wrong, rendering it meaningless. Don't you hate it when you have one thing to say and you completely mess it up? I'd go practice writing out that killer burn you've crafted (you genius) on some bathroom stalls, hone those skills, get your confidence back, then hit up the computers in the public library and put those trolls in their place!
@Clarence Rosario : I JUST NEVER TURN IT OFF SO MY TEXTS LOOK LIKE THEY CAME FROM YOUR GRANDMA. HOPE YOU GOT THE TEN DOLLARS ($10) I SENT FOR YOUR BIRTHDAY, LOVE NANA.
Alright, you guys caught me: I never had pine mouth.
I spent 17 hours trying to get my car registered in NYC due to the simple, elegant fact that my hyphenated last name is so long, it gets truncated at different points depending on the form I've filled out. At one point, I went outside, stared at Horace Greeley, and screamed "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU SO SMUG ABOUT?!!" before my girlfriend force-fed me bibimbap and xanax.
I find it impossible to write fiction set after the invention of the motor-car. Who wants to hear endless tedious descriptions of how the character listened to some dreadful talk radio station for 43 minutes while driving to work? How can we justify characters not being able to travel to the next town over, or build an important plot point out of having forgotten an important item at home during a light snowstorm? When, but on a long and intimate carriage ride, do we get a chance for two people to just sit and *communicate* without distraction?