MIAMI'S PARKLING BLUES

FROM THE MIAMI HERALD OP-ED PUBLISHED JANUARY 25, 2015

The average American uses 900 square feet for parking each day. The average apartment is 982 square feet. That means North Americans use almost as much room for cars as for homes. Miami’s gluttonous parking habit, and the way the city’s zoning code deals with this problem, discourages small-scale development that could greatly improve its many neighborhoods. 

Miami21, the city’s zoning code, regulates development with sequential intensities assigned to zones. Simply put: The less intense the zone, the smaller the development allowed — Zone 3 allows only single family houses, while Zone 6 is assigned to areas such as Downtown and Brickell. Miami21 allocates all the ingredients for development: density, open space, building size, street frontage and green space sequentially depending on its zone. But it does not do this with parking.

Parking requirements are determined by building uses, not by a zone’s density/intensity. That means that generally, a five-bedroom home in Morningside (Zone 3) has the same parking requirements (1.5 spaces) as a studio apartment in Brickell (Zone 6). However, the Morningside mansion can typically accommodate six cars in driveways and garages, while the Brickell studio may use only one or none.

While Miami21 encourages urban infill redevelopment, we currently see few small-scale buildings that long defined the city. Few neighborhood-scaled mid- and low-rise projects are being developed, largely because of their parking demands. Intense super-block developments dominate the real-estate market because they can exploit their super size to cover their parking structures’ building costs.

Miami’s code rewards these behemoths by applying a use-based sharing ratio that exponentially reduces required parking as the building gets larger.

Additionally, a required driveway consumes about 25 percent of a small parcel’s frontage. On a superblock, it may be less than 1 percent. This difference alone can kill a small-scale project. Small property owners will often wait to be bought out by developers assembling land for mega developments, as it is rarely feasible to develop small buildings because of their parking requirements. 

The result is dozens of neighborhoods blighted with vacant lots and dilapidated small buildings. There is no incentive for small-scale development, which arguably weathers real estate’s cyclical booms and busts better than mega developments that crash to a halt when the economy slows.

Cities are living, breathing organisms made up of distinctly unique neighborhoods. They cannot survive on a diet of superblocks. 

To promote the healthy evolution of diverse places, the Miami21 code requires constant attention. Surgical amendments to the code address local conditions and enable growth addressing land use, open space, accessibility and infrastructure conscious of its context. 

Wynwood, for example, a warehouse district undergoing significant change, has required district-specific code modifications to facilitate its transformation into an arts hub. Every district and neighborhood requires different calibration to remain unique. The code needs to be adjusted to address the different nuances and shifting market trends of each area. Zoning must be an enabler, not a hindrance to the evolution of a city.

Miami21 establishes a strong framework code for the city of Miami to guide growth. But its parking requirements must be revisited to build human-scaled developments on thousands of vacant lots that should be brought to life with housing, jobs, services and activity. 

Miami’s parking blues can be fixed by applying several methods at the city’s disposal, including better public transportation and especially the expansion of the fee-in-lieu program that allows developers to pay into a parking fund. 

That system, already used in parts of the city, builds garages that serve multiple developments — in lieu of the burden of creating onsite parking. Miami needs to revisit, with precision, ways to encourage development opportunities for these small urban parcels. 

The first major fix should be to base parking requirements and sharing ratio reductions by both land use and its increasing density and intensity (from the suburban Zone 3 up to the Brickell skyscraper Zone 6) allowed in the Miami21 code.

Juan Mullerat, an urban designer with two decades of international experience, is principal at PlusUrbia Design in Coconut Grove.

MY CONSTANT COMPANION

THE CREEP IN MY BASEMENT WHO IS PARTIAL TO
OP-ART POSTERS, CHEVY CHASE MOVIES AND BEEF-A-RONI

By Heidi Johnson-Wright

I have a constant companion who never leaves. Even when I’m otherwise alone -- in the shower or tucked away in bed -- my companion is hanging around.

We don’t speak. Don’t need to. We intuitively know everything about each other. Know where to find the dark corners of the mind and the cut-to-the-quick places that never heal.

We have a long history, my companion and I. It was the summer of 1973, when Nixon was still in the White House and Paul Lynde was the center of Hollywood Squares. It was also when juvenile rheumatoid arthritis claimed me and its signature feature – debilitating joint pain -- showed up at my front door. I thought it was merely a slovenly, uninvited house guest, a ne’er-do-well that would pack up in a few days, maybe a few weeks, then depart. Instead, it moved in and never left.

Over the years, I – along with a cadre of medical professionals – have tried to evict it. Tried to send the pain packing by strong-arming it with a pharmaceutical goon squad. At times, we pushed it toward the doorway where my loathsome companion was barely clinging to the jamb by its dirty fingernails. But when I turned ‘round, it was reclining comfortably in a Naugahyde La-Z-Boy in the den, plowing through a 12-pack of Schlitz, belching loudly and tossing the cans on the floor.

My companion used to wander the house howling at the top of its lungs. Used to bind me like concertina wire in a cruel embrace. Each day was dreadful but the unpredictable flares were far worse. When my companion tore up the furniture and ripped open walls on intense benders -- I remained motionless. To even sit upright would push me to the edge of a blackout.

I remember untold hours spent attempting mental distractions. Counting the bumps on the ceiling. Spotting all the places the wallpaper pattern repeated itself.

By junior high, my body grew increasingly unpredictable. As my strength dwindled, my companion’s blossomed. On good days, the microscopic drug goons patrolled my insides with brass knuckles and lead pipes, looking for my companion. But his outbursts could only be quelled a bit, from roaring jumbo jet to battering jack hammer. A knee might flare and make walking even a few steps a nightmare. A joint in my finger or the bones in my hand would partially dislocate and I would have to jam them back into place. My jaw would hurt so bad I could barely chew.

Because the pills I took were about as effective as swallowing M&Ms, my arthritis remained unchecked. My companion moved from the guest room to a basement efficiency apartment. It put up black light Op-art posters and beaded curtains. Ate Slim Jims and Beef-a-roni out of the can. Watched Chevy Chase movies on Betamax while lying on a Murphy bed, clearly in it for the long haul.

Years passed and my bones disintegrated. Joint fusions and replacements -- brutal human carpentry –were my only option for anything resembling a life.

I eventually worked out an arrangement with my companion. It could have a 99-year lease on the basement, but the stairs in between were our DMZ. It could make a tolerable racket, provided I couldn’t hear anything over the soothing sounds of my mental white noise machine.

My companion is still alive and kicking. But most days, I can tune it out. I’ve compartmentalized my home, my heart and my mind. We live our separate – yet very interconnected – lives.

Last Christmas, my companion demanded Netflix download service, a pair of Nike Zoom LeBron Soldiers and a craft beer brewing kit. My reply?

“Stick it where the sun don’t shine.”