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Great Moments in Bushwick Real Estate Rhetoric: Stockholm Syndrome
Filed under: Bushwick
When not utterly horrifying (which more often than not is the case), the north Brooklyn real estate feeding frenzy is a considerable source of amusement for yours truly. Blinded by greed (or abject stupidity), the spin-masters charged with shilling developments in less-than-stellar locations get downright creative.
Case in point: the following advertisement at Central Avenue and Stockholm Street.
How fancy, how bucolic! This palace reminds me of the Southfork Ranch. In fact, I think I can see J.R. peeking out of one of those windows! Is he looking for the person who shot him?!?
Nope, he’s trying to figure out where all the goddamn noise is coming from!
I bet he’s also wondering why would someone want a three car garage when he (or she) can live in a location so close to public transportation.
Miss Heather
From Bushwick With Love
Filed under: 11206, Bushwick, Bushwick Brooklyn, East Williamsburg, East Williamsburg Brooklyn
As it would happen, a good friend of mine resides in Bushwick. On occasion she sees fit to send me pictures from her wanderings around the neighborhood. Today was one of those days. She writes:
I was going to save this and give it to you as an anniversary present, but it’s just too good to sit on till October. This is what I saw while walking my dog this morning. I made sure to swing back by with my camera on the way to the train to work. I did not arrange this. I merely happened by and saw its intrinsic sublimity.
This looks like one hell of a party (note the baggie of cocaine to the rat’s right). They sure seem to like Heineken down there. I sense a phat product placement deal will be headed Bushwick’s direction soon. With publicity like this, who needs Madison Avenue?
Miss Heather
P.S.: Thanks a lot for the gift, Chintamani! This is like Christmas, Kwanzaa, Hanukkah and Ramadan all put together.
Dining Al Fresco: Greenpoint Vs. Bushwick
One late Saturday afternoon at Suydam Street at Central Avenue…
Miss Heather: What IS that?
Mr. Heather: I think it is the hip bone for some large animal… oh wait…
Miss and Mr. Heather (in unison): IT’S A PIG HEAD!!!
Alas poor Porkrick, I knew him well.
Note the super-sized bottle of Heineken in the background. Nothing washes down a mouldering pig head like a tall frosty brewski. Yum. All my husband had to say about this find, however, was as follows:
I am sort of disappointed they didn’t boil the head and make head cheese. This is kind of wasteful.
My husband is a man after his time. His personal habits (including religiously using FOUR SQUARES OF TOILET PAPER— no more, no less— TO WIPE HIS ASS) would have acclimatized him to the Great Depression smashingly. I, on the other hand, have more epicurean tastes. I give this meal five stars for presentation and overall ambiance (it is far superior to Williamsburg’s paltry chicken heads), but the lack of dessert knocks it down to four stars overall.
Miss Heather knows fine dining when she sees it. And see it I do on McGuinness Boulevard. Often.
Today’s five star dining experience hails from Chez McGuinness, AKA: the tree pit just south of Freeman Street.
First course: Colt 45
Second course: Colt 45
Third course: Pepperoni
And what would such a fine meal be without dessert and a digestif? Thankfully, the chef was thoughtful enough to place them in a tree pit immediately adjacent to courses 1-3.
Cookies and Colt 45:
…works every time!
Miss Heather
Photo du Jour: Mr. Heather Goes to Bushwick
I am constantly amazed by the photographs my husband is taking nowadays— like this gem from Bushwick Avenue. Since I scored an AIA Guide to New York City dating from 1968 Mister H has been OUT OF CONTROL.
Mr. Heather took Mr. Lindsay’s advice to heart. With a vengeance. He ventured into Bushwick this weekend and I could not stop him. I grabbed his leg (like the faithful wife I am) and exclaimed:
Do not go there! You are not worthy! It is not your turf. If you get beat up and robbed people will call you a douche bag*! I will not be able to take the humiliation!
Mr. Heather made it back. Intact. Clad in black (which is how he left our apartment—so much for “fronting”).
I suppose the douche bag bashers were off duty Saturday?
Miss Heather
*I’ve called my husband the aforementioned and much worse on many occasions.
Lipstick on a Pig Part II: Vomitus ‘R’ Us
Homes R’ Us: I made their acquaintance September of 2007 when I took the below photograph of 100 Jefferson Street. This is one of their “developments”.
Despite the fact a stop work order had been issued for this property, men were quite busy working on these promised two family luxury homes.
Feeling nostalgic (with the new year and all) I thought it would be fun to see how things were shaking in big bad 2008. So I looped by there this week and checked it out.
The finished product was pretty much what I expected.
Is it just me or does the word “luxury” suggest a measure of scarcity and/or exclusivity? If so, wouldn’t a bunch of cookie-cutter row houses slathered together with stucco be the opposite of luxury? Just curious.
Miss Heather
Bushwick Photo du Jour: Willoughby Avenue
You can always leave it to good ol’ Bushwick to get right to the point.
Miss Heather
The Shittiest Corner in North Brooklyn?
I have a confession to make: living in Greenpoint has made me pretty jaded when it comes to encountering mass quantities of dog shit. As I went for one of my infamous four hour walks earlier this week I was summarily jolted out of my torpor by the utter HORROR which awaited me at the above-depicted intersection.
This is Bushwick Avenue. When you turn the corner onto Melrose Street it doesn’t get much better.
Words fail me.
Miss Heather
Knock, Knock…
Who’s there?
Fucking ugly, that’s who!
I present to you, dear readers, 147 Maujer Street. Per the Department of Buildings a partial stop work order exists on this property.
Or would that be three Stop Work Orders? I am getting a little confused.
Per their latest deposition, January 7, 2008:
Guess what? They were back at it January 8!
So much for the Department of Building’s “enforcement”.
And good taste, for that matter. This thing looks like something from the Soviet Union. Those phat balconies have a nice view of housing projects. Sweet!
if they’re going to go to this much trouble to break the law— repeatedly— the developer could do us all a favor and do so with matching bricks.
Miss Heather
Williamsburg Is Dead
It has recently come to my attention that there is a blog with this very title. I have not taken the time to check it out extensively, but this snappy passage certainly piqued my interest:
Depending on how long you’ve lived here, the number of times you’ve had the following experience might vary: Walking along a familiar street, a block you walk a few times a week even, something jars you. The distribution of storefronts, pedestrians, and apartment stoops is just off. Maybe you stop, investigate. And then, there it is. Some new restaurant or store or bar where literally, you swear to yourself, there was nothing there three fucking days ago. Maybe you curse aloud, quietly, (really just barely a whisper, under my breath) if you’re like me, or maybe you symbolize your internal discontent with an exaggerated head shaking. Or you just frown briefly. And why? What did this plasma-screen laden sports bar ever do to you? Or that desperately-wanting-to-be trendy “club” that should make its way back to Soho where it belongs? Or that second dessert shop to open in a month? Which offenses, exactly, are they guilty of? I’ll tell you.
And he (or she) does.
Whatever “artistic marrow” the ‘Burg once had has long since been sucked dry or forced to move further afield. I mention this because yesterday I discovered one of the most inspired bits of chicanery I have seen in a LONG TIME on Montrose just east of Bushwick Avenue.
I initially thought by “pigs” the maker of this sign meant the police.
Upon closer inspection I realized he/she was referencing whole different breed of pig: people who leave their doggie dumplings on the sidewalk. And judging from what I saw during my jaunt in “East Williamsburg” I’d hazard to guess there are a great number of people who engage in this practice. Those of you who have a strong stomach (and nothing better to do) should check out Humboldt Street between Montrose Avenue and Meserole Street. It’s a fucking minefield.
Miss Heather
Guns & Butter
Once in a very, very blue moon I come across something so novel and creative that even I, a cynical art school graduate who once had the pleasure of teaching 20-somethings, am impressed. I mention this because lightening struck last weekend at Third Ward‘s holiday craft fair.
The nom de plume of the artist is Guns and Butter.
She sells “handmade love objects”.
Each comes with its own name (the above garter belt answers to “Licky Monuts”) and dirty talk instructions. After explaining to the incredibly high energy woman who creates these items that I am married (and thus, have ceased to give a shit) I settled upon purchasing a barrette.
It is named “Fuck nugs” and I am pleased to report that, as purported, “dirtytalk instructions” were featured inside the label. Not that I need them, mind you. I have found the phrase “fuck off” to be the perfect panacea for Mr. Heather.
Enjoy some dirty talk today and blossom into a comfortable and confident dirty talker tomorrow!
Indeed.
Anyone who is interested in purchasing one of these amazingly eccentric handmade items can contact the artist at:
gotamamama (at) gmail (dot) com
Stuff someone’s stocking with dirty talk today. Who knows, you might just get lucky tomorrow!
Miss “Fuck nugs” Heather
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