Greenpoint
Lorven Pharmacy
Culture on the Cheap
A Question for the Department of Buildings
Like many Brooklynites, I did not grow up here. The reason Greenpoint appeals to me is it bears no resemblance whatsoever to the cookie cutter suburbs I once called home. Dallas, Los Angeles or San Antonio, the zip codes may have been different but everything else was pretty much the same. Be they houses, neighborhood associations or even the people. Except for one.
This house was located on the southeastern fringe of our sub-division. Its owners had an aesthetic not shared by their neighbors. If I had to liken the color scheme of this house to anything, I’d call it Whataburger Chic. Their approach to landscape design was equally unorthodox; the flower beds were lined with empty beer bottles and old tires from sixteen wheelers were employed as planters. This property was quite a sight. One I got to behold often; my father made it a point to drive by it each and every time the opportunity presented itself. Nary a trip to the gas station, mall or grocery store was made without beholding this poly-chromatic spectacle.
Some people like to drive through certain neighborhoods at Christmas time to savor the ornate, if tacky, tableaux the residents have erected to glorify the birth of our lord. My father, on the other hand, drove by this house so he would have the opportunity to repeatedly use his name in vain. My father hated this house and he wanted to make sure both my mother and I knew it. We did, in the most base, profane and explicit terms.
This persisted for a month or two until my mother decided she had had enough. One day she offered to drive to the grocery store and my father agreed to it. She’s very clever that way, my mother. She fired up the car and proceeded along a different route. My father was immediately alarmed and asked why she was not taking “Elk Grove”. She said she didn’t want to. He pushed the matter, she pushed back, and in so doing, made it very clear that she was tired of his ranting ad nauseum about “that house“. My dad never drove by it again.
I mention this story because in many ways I am like my father. One significant difference, however, is I make a concerted effort to avoid rage-inducing eyesores. However, when one is reliant on mass transit things can become problematic. Which brings me to this.
I featured this dubious piece of advertising back in June. As I was riding the bus yesterday I noticed it was still there. I made sure to point this out to my husband.
Can you fucking believe this shit? That sign has got to be fucking illegal. The Department of Buildings is cracking down on this kind of thing, you know. Why hasn’t it been taken down? I AM SICK AND FUCKING TIRED OF LOOKING AT THIS PIECE OF SHIT! I HAVE TO LOOK AT THAT UGLY MOTHERFUCKER EVERY TIME I RIDE THE GODDAMN BUS!!!
It was like a flashback to my father— except I had a captive audience of 40 bus patrons. Although no one said anything, I think it is safe to speculate that at least one or two of them probably hate this sign as much as I do. Maybe even more.
On July 25th of this year the Department of Buildings issued a press release announcing their crackdown on illegal advertising. Here’s an excerpt from their tome.
Buildings Commissioner Patricia J. Lancaster, FAIA, today announced the launch of phase two of the Department’s enforcement campaign against illegal advertising. Expanding upon a crackdown on illegal advertising on sidewalk sheds, this second phase targets illegal advertising signs on building walls, which are generally large in size and mounted by anchors to the exterior wall of a building.
This sign is indeed “large in size”, but it is not mounted using anchors. Whoever is responsible for this masterpiece decided to drill right into the building instead.
This press release goes on to say:
…New York is certainly known for its busy landscape, but not every one of the City’s 950,000 buildings can be used as advertising space. Some zoning districts allow advertising signs on building walls while others do not…
I do not profess to know what the zoning regulations are in Greenpoint. I will profess, however, that this is the only sign of its type (READ: strapped to the front of a building, obstructing windows) that I have seen here. Period. My inner “Nancy Drew” finds this suspect— if for no other reason because if this practice was legal I would probably be seeing a lot more of it. It has been my observation that any means of turning a fast buck at the expense of and/or discomfort to the residents in this neighborhood is rarely left unexploited.
Perhaps this practice is legal? If it is, it shouldn’t be. I am not so simple-minded as to use this eyesore to simply vilify Belvedere Realty. The real villain here are the enablers, be they our fairly (s)elected officials, building and/or zoning regulations and the people who are charged with enforcing them.
Or not.
Miss Heather
P.S.: If anyone from the D.O.B. is reading this, the above photographs were taken today, August 12, 2007. The sign in question is located at 609 Manhattan Avenue. Click here for directions.
Peter Picks a Poo
While scarcely a celebrity, I have noticed that my avocation catches up with me at the most unexpected times. Take yesterday, for example. As I was leaving my friend’s apartment her dog walker, Peter, arrived and the three of us struck up a conversation. At one point New York Shitty was brought up.
Me: That’s my blog.
Peter: It is!?!
Me: The Dog Shit Queen of Greenpoint. Yup that’s me.
Peter: I just looked at New York Shitty this week!!! Someone told me about it!!!
Fascinated, Peter walked alongside me as I trekked to the Metropolitan station of the G train. He fielded many questions about dog log blogging to yours turly and I did my best to answer them. Although it had never crossed my mind before, I suppose I would enjoy a certain popularity among professional poop picker-uppers. Truth be told, his rapt interest made me feel like Elvis— which was nice given how utterly depressing and frustrating this week has been for yours truly. I was in dire need of a pick-me-up and Peter provided it.
Before we parted ways he excitedly pointed out some excrement for my perusal. It was located on west side of Manhattan Avenue just south of Grand Street.
“You should post this!” he said “The dog who did that one is really healthy.”
I replied, “It sort of looks like a lobster. Very interesting. I think you’re right!”
Upon closer inspection we discovered that it had a companion!
Thanks pointing out this turdy twosome to me and brightening up my day, Peter. I really needed it!
Miss Heather
Thanks A Lot, Verizon!
Today’s New York Shitty posts will be delayed because telephone and Internet service are down in a sizable portion of Greenpoint right now. Being the lucky devil I am, I happen to live in the afflicted area. For those of you who are keeping count, this makes five outages in as many weeks for yours truly.
I am left with two options:
- Schlep down to my friend’s apartment in Bushwick and work from there.
- Wait until 8:10 this evening, which is when Verizon has assured me service will be restored.
I have yet to make a decision. Quite frankly, neither option is very appealing.
Thanks a lot FUCK YOU Verizon!Â
Miss Heather
A few thoughts about blogging
As I indicated in the previous post, I called into the Brian Lehrer Show this morning. Since I was not allowed to complete my thoughts about blogging (which extend far beyond gazing upon Brooklyn’s fuzzy gentrifying navel) I am going to post them here.
1. I believe blogs are assuming the role that was once assumed by local (INDEPENDENT) newspapers.
2. If I had to liken the proliferation of blogs (be they neighborhood-based or otherwise) to anything it would be the invention of the printing press. Prior to its invention the Roman Catholic Church was (more or less) the sole distributor/gate keeper of knowledge. With the ability to control what people read (or more importantly what people DON’T read) comes a lot of power. And we all know what absolute power does: it corrupts absolutely.
Shortly after the printing press came into being, Martin Luther quickly saw its potential and exploited it. The end result was a little thing called the Reformation. The ability to disseminate and share information is a very powerful tool; the mainstream media (as “gate keepers”) has begun to realize this and they starting to pay attention to the “blogosphere”. Albeit very, very selectively— which of course, is what happened today*.
I suppose I should be content with getting any air time at all and giving a shout-out to The Gowanus Lounge (which was curiously absent from this forum). But I’m not. Here is a list of blogs I wanted to mention on the air today.
Queens Crap: Sure, this is not a Brooklyn blog, but— and this is a big BUT— it deserves attention. Perhaps it may seem paradoxical to some of you, but I do not envision blogging purely as a Brooklyn endeavor. I suppose being located about 15 minutes from this borough gives me a much broader view of things. My neighborhood (and its “growing pains”) have much more in common with Long Island City or Sunnyside than Park Slope or Brooklyn Heights.
To purely focus on Brooklyn is not only an insult to the hard-working and very dedicated bloggers in the other four boroughs, but it also fosters a (somewhat) false notion that Brooklyn bloggers are a smug, clannish and contented lot of well-to-do “white people”. Once again, race was drug across the floor like a red herring and once again it worked.
Confusing race with “class” is astonishingly myopic and naive. One need not be a minority to be poor— but it helps. Contrary to popular belief, poverty is not an indicator of lack of discipline or personal worth. I speak from experience. Even though I was provided a very comfortable upbringing and excellent education, when I started working my lifestyle radically shifted. Downward.
As the incomparable Dorothy Parker once said:
If you want to know what God thinks of money, just look at the people he gave it to.
Some call me a “gentrifier”. I probably am. But as a person who lives in a rent-stabilized apartment (and does not have the luxury of or ability to buy a condo) in a “hot” neighborhood, I have the presence of mind to know I am in danger of being displaced. Just like my less-affluent (and largely Hispanic) neighbors. Their concerns and mine are one and the same.
Atlantic Yards Report: Norman Oder’s dedication and hard work should not be ignored. While we may not agree on some things, I cannot over-emphasize how important his work is. He deserves to be heard.
Outside.In: They seem to be paying attention to the recent (and ongoing) proliferation of Greenpoint bloggers.
Dave Kenny and Xris Kreussling, of Dope on the Slope and Flatbush Gardener respectively: It is one thing to bemoan the lack of diversity at the Brooklyn Blogfest, it is another to actually try and do something about it. Both of these gentleman were of vital importance in the creation of monthly blogger meet-ups. I mention this because Louise Crawford of Only the Blog Knows Brooklyn seems to be garnering most of the credit. Not only is this a tremendous disservice to both of the previous gentleman, it is downright false. I could not have organized last month’s meet-up without their help.
On that note, I have to say organizing the Greenpoint meet-up was very challenging. One of the obstacles I faced was the perception that this meet-up would be a repeat of the Brooklyn Blogfest. While I can understand that some might find “Smartmom” to be good reading over that first cup of coffee in the morning, the fact of the matter is many people do not. For this reason I made a concerted effort to contact people directly and to a certain degree it worked— although not in the manner I had expected. It was much better.
Not only did a lot of number of new faces show up, but they were very talented ones at that! Many of the attendees operate food-oriented blogs. To name a few of them:
In closing, I’d like to say that I am very excited about September’s meet-up in Bedford-Stuyvesant. My only fear is that today’s episode of the Brian Lehrer Show might have scared off a number of Brooklyn (or Queens) bloggers who would otherwise have been inclined to attend.
Including myself.
This post was brought to you courtesy of one 24 oz. can of Coors. Now back to our regular programming.
Miss Heather
*This is in no way intended to be critical of BushwickBK or Bed-Stuy Blog.
Greenpoint Cannoli
While I was at work this weekend I got an important email from my buddy over at 11222. She writes:
Shit on a rolled up carpet. Franklin between Greenpoint and Kent. Quite the assemblage. Had to let you know.
I promptly excused myself and hauled my ass over there. She wasn’t kidding; it WAS quite the assemblage. I like to call it the “Greenpoint cannoli”.
Leave the gun. Take the cannoli.
Be sure to save room for dessert!
Miss Heather
Cannoli Credit: Seattlest
Code Brown: 51 Street and Lex
I have always made it a point to avoid the 51st and Lexington hub of the MTA. There are a number of reasons I eschew this station, but the two main ones are:
- Its thoroughfares are clogged worse than sideshow fat lady’s arteries.
- It smells bad. Really bad.
The latter always confused me; I could never pin-point the source of the stench. Sure, everything looked clean (inasmuch as that is possible in subway station anyway), but my nose always told me something was amiss. This was the first lesson I learned about living in New York City: always trust what this highly underrated organ is telling you. Stink don’t lie.
Today I got a submission from Jen (of the wonderful blog, lastnightsdinner) from the 51st Street and Lexington subway station which, ironically enough, features last night’s dinner for someone… or something.
She writes:
I took a different route home from work yesterday than normal. As I walked to the back of the 6 train platform at the 51st/Lex station, I noticed a couple of guys in business casual wear wiping their feet. I looked at the platform in front of them and noticed a trail of flattened shit that lead all the way to the elevator. I’m hoping that the poop was the result of a service dog who couldn’t quite make it outside and whose owner was unable to clean it up, but to be honest, this being New York Shitty, I doubt that was the case.
Anyway, I couldn’t not take photos for you. Enjoy!
All good dinners go to heaven…
Here’s looking at you kid!
Miss Heather
The Honeymooners
One week after having yet another remnant of my childhood completely and utterly destroyed I have not been able to get that lemur off my mind. “I wonder how they are making out?” I thought to myself this morning. So I threw on some shoes and headed to Franklin Street to find out.
This looks encouraging. In fact, I think I detect a smile on that lemur’s face. No wonder; the good thing about getting ravished by E.T. is he can use that magic finger of his to do a little sexual healing on your ruptured colon or prolapsed rectum. He may bust you out, but he can also make your naughty bits all shiny and new again. Or, as Madonna would say,
Like a virgin.
From the look of things I’d say E.T. is pretty content too. Maybe he is basking in the afterglow of his one week ‘honeymoon’? My husband thinks he’s doing a little post-coital cuddling, but I have my doubts.
The gesture E.T. is making with his left arm reminds me of something a salesman pitching time shares on late night television would do. The eye contact is also disquieting. It is almost as if E.T. is trying to say You’re next! or
If you lived here you’d be fucked by now!
Miss Heather
P.S.: Speaking of things E.T., I found this most remarkable turd on McGuinness Boulevard this week.
Shit Crawler
Yesterday I finally had time to scratch a long-neglected itch: checking out some Grade-A monster dog shit. To this end I hopped on the G train and got off at the Broadway stop. It took me very little time to find what I was looking for.
Those of you who, for whatever reason, are searching for scat, go to the intersection of Hewes and South 5th Street. You will not be disappointed. This minuscule block not only looks like shit, it smells like it too. It REEKS, in fact.
Naturally, I spent a great deal of time inspecting every nook and cranny. A Hasidic gentleman in a minivan watched in his rear-view mirror with rapt interest as I perused each and every piece of poo. What this chap didn’t know was I had a little project in the works that required a piece of shit. A very specific kind of crap, if you will.
Eventually I found it and went to work. He didn’t stick around to see the final product, which is a shame really because it came out quite nice.
They travel in single file to hide their numbers.*
Miss Heather
*Yes, I know that this quote is in reference to Sand People, but this is my blog and I can do what I damned well please.
Fun With Public Urination Part II: Scarano’s Skidmark
Needing a projection screen for Kevin Walsh’s presentation at this week’s blogger meet-up, today I headed over to my boss’s store in Bushwick to pick one up. Although I could have taken the G to Metropolitan, transfer to the L and take it to Montrose Avenue, I decided to mix things up a little. So I took the G to Broadway and hoofed it.
If you want to see firsthand on how completely and utterly impotent this city’s regulatory agencies are in regards to policing irresponsible developers, walk down Meserole or Scholes Street from Union to Bushwick Avenue. The best way I can describe the landscape is Beirut circa 1985. It’s a fucking disaster.
Here is a textbook example of one of the many derelict construction sites to be found in this area. You will probably not be surprised to learn that Robert Scarano is responsible for this turd.
You know, if I were getting the kind of negative press Mr. Scarano has been getting lately, I would at least pick up my trash. Being branded as a litter bug is not exactly stellar PR.
Come to think of it, getting cited for having a “dirty sidewalk” probably isn’t good publicity either. Note: the above ticket lists a “used mattress” as one of the pieces of refuse obstructing 130 Scholes Street’s sidewalk.
Yup, that looks pretty used alright…
They failed to mention the piss and shit stains on said mattress, though. I think I will give above photo the title Scarano’s Skidmark.
To call 130 Scholes Street “deplorable”, “inexcusable” or “revolting” is to make a gross understatement. As far as I am concerned Scarano made this bed and he should be forced to lie in it. I strongly suspect there are numerous others who share the previous sentiment, many of whom are probably relegated to negotiating this eyesore every day. But then again, this is just an educated guess.
To the poor people who have the dubious honor of calling 130 Scholes Street (READ: Robert Scarano) a neighbor: please accept my sincerest condolences.
New York Shitty to Robert Scarano: PICK UP YOUR SHIT!
Miss Heather
Ask Not For Whom the Porn Man Comes
He comes for me.
As I mentioned in this post, I had the pleasure of assisting the porn man with his never-ending quest for spankerific entertainment again last weekend. I suppose Friday’s offerings were yesterday’s news and he need more, uh, grist for the mill. This time he even brought a female companion with him. It was all I could do to keep from laughing.
First he drifted to the housewares; he picks up a box of drinking glasses. After bantering with my boss and handing another gentleman his business card, he goes back to the clothing. A pair of pants and a tunic are selected. All the while he is yammering away with his female friend. Then, after laying the groundwork, he went in for the kill:
Hey, you guys had a box full of DVDs yesterday. There was one that had a broken case— do you still have it? I’d like to buy it.
My co-worker and I look at each other. We pull the box of porn out from behind the counter.
“This one?” my co-worker asked.
“Yes”, he replied.
It was entitled Buff Bitches. I deduced that this was some kind of bodybuilder fetish flick because it had an image of a rather muscular woman on it. A rather muscular woman having very, very dirty things done to her, I should add. Peachy.
Shortly after this coveted prize found its way into his possession, his female friend wandered back to the counter to see what he was doing. She smiled, said “goodbye” and left. After all, how can a girl compete with that?
When this gentleman finally left my co-worker and I burst out laughing. My manager wanted to know what the deal was, so we told him. The solitary sentence that left his mouth was:
Yeah, the porn freaks are always cheap.
The piece de resistance, however, was when I saw this dude’s business card. After repeatedly asking myself:
- What kind of person would buy this stuff and be so damned cheap about it?
- What kind of person would buy this stuff with a female acquaintance with him?
I got my answer.
The same kind of person whose business card has a picture of him modeling au naturel with a musical instrument, that’s who! “Is this man for real?” you ask. Of course he is. REAL NAKED. You can’t make this shit up folks…
Speaking of shit and people with zero social skills, I have a very special “Dung of the Day” for your edification today. This item hails from 960 Manhattan Avenue, which happens to be the location of a rather large healthcare facility. I found it directly outside the front door.
Warning: Mothers who leave their used cigarettes and their baby’s shit-filled diapers on the sidewalk are hazardous to my health.
Miss Heather
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