Podcasts about pittsburgh up

Season 7, Episode 154 College Spotlight: U Pittsburgh This 42 story Cathedral of Learning is the tallest educational building in the Western Hemisphere. Learn which university stopped me dead in my tracks. I am so excited to share the University of Pittsburgh with you. I must admit – I was on my way to another institution and stopped dead in my tracks when I saw what could only be the building known as the Cathedral of Learning. This 42 story Cathedral of Learning is the tallest educational building in the Western Hemisphere. Zachary – whom I met in Pittsburgh told me that was his favorite spot when he was a student there. First, a few facts about University of Pittsburgh: UP was Founded as Pittsburgh Academy in 1787. U Pitt is a large public institution, home to over 26K undergraduate students with an additional over 9K graduate students. Now the good stuff! Here are THREE things I want you to know about the Cathedral of Learning, found at the center of the University of Pittsburgh. Click to Watch Video Click to Read Blog FREE: Download 10 Sample Essays FREE: Watch Mini College Essay Training Book a Call with Dr. C Visit the website

Gabriela Polit (Quito, Ecuador) es crítica, catedrática, y escritora. con una licenciatura en Filosofía, una maestría en Ciencias Políticas, y después un doctorado en Literatura Latinoamericana en New York University, fue alumna de las críticas Jean Franco y Sylvia Molloy. Hoy es profesora del Departamento de Español y Portugués de la Universidad de Texas en Austin y su investigación es sobre la representación del tráfico de drogas ilegales en la literatura y en la plástica, concentrándose en la producción de Colombia, México, y Bolivia. Tiene numerosos artículos críticos y de opinión general publicados en diversas revistas internacionales, así como los libros Escritores y caudillos en la Literatura Latinoamericana del siglo XX (Beatriz Viterbo Editora, 2008), Narrating Narcos. Culiacán and Medellín (Pittsburgh UP, 2013) y Unwanted Witnesses. Journalists and Conflict in Contemporary Latin America (Pittsburgh UP, 2019), Amsterdam Avenue (Literal Publishing y Rice Humanites, 2017).

When I first went to the Soviet Union (in all my ignorance), I was amazed that everyone in Moscow lived in what I called “housing projects.” The Russians called them “houses” (doma), but they weren’t houses as I understood them at all. They were huge, multi-story, cookie-cutter apartment blocks, one standing right next to the other for miles. “Why?” I asked myself. Kimberly Zarecor‘s wonderfulManufacturing a Socialist Modernity: Housing in Czechoslovakia, 1945-1960 (Pittsburgh UP, 2011) goes a long way in providing an answer, and it’s a surprising one. As she shows, socialism and architectural modernism were tightly linked even before the Second World War. This was true in the Soviet Union, of course, but it was also true throughout much of Europe–especially in Czechoslovakia. The avante guard of Czech architects were enthralled with modernism, just as they were (with some exceptions) enthralled with the promise of communism. They believed modernism provided a template for a truly socialist architecture, particularly in the sphere of housing. Once the communists came to power after the war, the Czech architects were given the opportunity to realize the dream of building that truly socialist built environment. The result was the “panel house”: pre-fab apartment blocks built in factories, transported to sites, and then assembled. They were strikingly modern in terms of design, construction techniques and materials. Over time, the panel-house vision was compromised: by Socialist Realism, by economic constraints, by corruption and politics. But if you travel to the Czech Republic today, you can still see excellent examples of modernist panel houses in more or less pure form. Let Kimberly Zarecor be you guide. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

When I first went to the Soviet Union (in all my ignorance), I was amazed that everyone in Moscow lived in what I called “housing projects.” The Russians called them “houses” (doma), but they weren’t houses as I understood them at all. They were huge, multi-story, cookie-cutter apartment blocks, one standing right next to the other for miles. “Why?” I asked myself. Kimberly Zarecor‘s wonderfulManufacturing a Socialist Modernity: Housing in Czechoslovakia, 1945-1960 (Pittsburgh UP, 2011) goes a long way in providing an answer, and it’s a surprising one. As she shows, socialism and architectural modernism were tightly linked even before the Second World War. This was true in the Soviet Union, of course, but it was also true throughout much of Europe–especially in Czechoslovakia. The avante guard of Czech architects were enthralled with modernism, just as they were (with some exceptions) enthralled with the promise of communism. They believed modernism provided a template for a truly socialist architecture, particularly in the sphere of housing. Once the communists came to power after the war, the Czech architects were given the opportunity to realize the dream of building that truly socialist built environment. The result was the “panel house”: pre-fab apartment blocks built in factories, transported to sites, and then assembled. They were strikingly modern in terms of design, construction techniques and materials. Over time, the panel-house vision was compromised: by Socialist Realism, by economic constraints, by corruption and politics. But if you travel to the Czech Republic today, you can still see excellent examples of modernist panel houses in more or less pure form. Let Kimberly Zarecor be you guide. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

When I first went to the Soviet Union (in all my ignorance), I was amazed that everyone in Moscow lived in what I called “housing projects.” The Russians called them “houses” (doma), but they weren’t houses as I understood them at all. They were huge, multi-story, cookie-cutter apartment blocks, one standing right next to the other for miles. “Why?” I asked myself. Kimberly Zarecor‘s wonderfulManufacturing a Socialist Modernity: Housing in Czechoslovakia, 1945-1960 (Pittsburgh UP, 2011) goes a long way in providing an answer, and it’s a surprising one. As she shows, socialism and architectural modernism were tightly linked even before the Second World War. This was true in the Soviet Union, of course, but it was also true throughout much of Europe–especially in Czechoslovakia. The avante guard of Czech architects were enthralled with modernism, just as they were (with some exceptions) enthralled with the promise of communism. They believed modernism provided a template for a truly socialist architecture, particularly in the sphere of housing. Once the communists came to power after the war, the Czech architects were given the opportunity to realize the dream of building that truly socialist built environment. The result was the “panel house”: pre-fab apartment blocks built in factories, transported to sites, and then assembled. They were strikingly modern in terms of design, construction techniques and materials. Over time, the panel-house vision was compromised: by Socialist Realism, by economic constraints, by corruption and politics. But if you travel to the Czech Republic today, you can still see excellent examples of modernist panel houses in more or less pure form. Let Kimberly Zarecor be you guide. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

When I first went to the Soviet Union (in all my ignorance), I was amazed that everyone in Moscow lived in what I called “housing projects.” The Russians called them “houses” (doma), but they weren’t houses as I understood them at all. They were huge, multi-story, cookie-cutter apartment blocks, one standing right next to the other for miles. “Why?” I asked myself. Kimberly Zarecor‘s wonderfulManufacturing a Socialist Modernity: Housing in Czechoslovakia, 1945-1960 (Pittsburgh UP, 2011) goes a long way in providing an answer, and it’s a surprising one. As she shows, socialism and architectural modernism were tightly linked even before the Second World War. This was true in the Soviet Union, of course, but it was also true throughout much of Europe–especially in Czechoslovakia. The avante guard of Czech architects were enthralled with modernism, just as they were (with some exceptions) enthralled with the promise of communism. They believed modernism provided a template for a truly socialist architecture, particularly in the sphere of housing. Once the communists came to power after the war, the Czech architects were given the opportunity to realize the dream of building that truly socialist built environment. The result was the “panel house”: pre-fab apartment blocks built in factories, transported to sites, and then assembled. They were strikingly modern in terms of design, construction techniques and materials. Over time, the panel-house vision was compromised: by Socialist Realism, by economic constraints, by corruption and politics. But if you travel to the Czech Republic today, you can still see excellent examples of modernist panel houses in more or less pure form. Let Kimberly Zarecor be you guide. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

At the Seventeenth Komsomol Congress in 1974, Leonid Brezhnev announced the construction of the Baikal-Amur Mainline Railway, or BAM. This “Path to the Future” would prove to be the Soviet Union’s last flirt with socialist gigantism. The cost, poor planning, waste, and environmental damage associated with the construction BAM’s 2,687... Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

At the Seventeenth Komsomol Congress in 1974, Leonid Brezhnev announced the construction of the Baikal-Amur Mainline Railway, or BAM. This “Path to the Future” would prove to be the Soviet Union’s last flirt with socialist gigantism. The cost, poor planning, waste, and environmental damage associated with the construction BAM’s 2,687 miles of track served as an allegory for the Soviet system as a whole. To say that the BAM, which was to serve as an alternative to the strategically vulnerable and aging Trans-Siberian Railway, was a colossal failure is a colossal understatement. It’s troubles linger even today. But BAM’s story is not merely tragic. As Christopher Ward‘s book Brezhnev’s Folly: The Building of BAM and Late Soviet Socialism demonstrates, the tale of BAM is also a window into the complexities of the Brezhnev era. Historians commonly view this period as one of “zastoi,” or stagnation. The BAM project, however, suggests a rather different interpretation. As Ward shows, we find a lot of things in the BAM initiative that are not captured by the “zastoi” interpretation, for example: a nascent Soviet environmental movement at loggerheads with the ecological destructiveness of Soviet Prometheanism; a flood of young volunteers driven by enthusiasm, opportunity, and a desire for freedom in the more libertine Soviet Far East; and, finally, a lot of crime, corruption, and sex (together with futile attempts to regulate and punish all of them). Ward’s study of BAM suggests that the Soviet Union under Brezhnev wasn’t so much stagnating as it was running about without any real idea of where it was going. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

At the Seventeenth Komsomol Congress in 1974, Leonid Brezhnev announced the construction of the Baikal-Amur Mainline Railway, or BAM. This “Path to the Future” would prove to be the Soviet Union’s last flirt with socialist gigantism. The cost, poor planning, waste, and environmental damage associated with the construction BAM’s 2,687 miles of track served as an allegory for the Soviet system as a whole. To say that the BAM, which was to serve as an alternative to the strategically vulnerable and aging Trans-Siberian Railway, was a colossal failure is a colossal understatement. It’s troubles linger even today. But BAM’s story is not merely tragic. As Christopher Ward‘s book Brezhnev’s Folly: The Building of BAM and Late Soviet Socialism demonstrates, the tale of BAM is also a window into the complexities of the Brezhnev era. Historians commonly view this period as one of “zastoi,” or stagnation. The BAM project, however, suggests a rather different interpretation. As Ward shows, we find a lot of things in the BAM initiative that are not captured by the “zastoi” interpretation, for example: a nascent Soviet environmental movement at loggerheads with the ecological destructiveness of Soviet Prometheanism; a flood of young volunteers driven by enthusiasm, opportunity, and a desire for freedom in the more libertine Soviet Far East; and, finally, a lot of crime, corruption, and sex (together with futile attempts to regulate and punish all of them). Ward’s study of BAM suggests that the Soviet Union under Brezhnev wasn’t so much stagnating as it was running about without any real idea of where it was going. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices