Happy St. Paddy’s Day From Karl Fischer!

The fence is down at 130 Diamond Street. A new Karl Fischer is born!

When I showed my colleague over at the Gowanus Lounge this building several months ago, he doubted that this building would retain its sickly hue.

Aren’t they going to make it match the brick work?

He asked. HOGWASH! I cried. This is Karl Fischer we are talking about! I am certain when Master Fischer sat at his desk and started knocking around ideas for this magnum opus he thought to himself:

Let’s see, this building is slated to be in a neighborhood called Greenpoint. What can I do to make it “fit in” with the “feel” of the neighborhood. Hmm… I could reduce the scale so it would jibes contextually with the rest of the block. NAH. Wait a minute… I know, I’LL MAKE IT GREEN! But what shade of green… hold on it’s coming to me…

NEWTOWN CREEK CHARTREUSE! Genius!

This may very well be the most ingenious marketing ploy yet: luxury condominiums rendered in the hue of the local environmental disaster. Brilliant. Simply brilliant.

In fact, it looks like they actually used the creek to paint this building. They made a little boo boo here. Whoops.

Speaking of boo boos, I hope the mailman has excellent vision as the address is rather difficult to read.

But who am I the poo poo this building’s boo boos? As you can see it was built with an eye for accuracy.

On the behalf of Greenpoint I want to give a props to Karl Fischer for giving us a new architectural masterpiece to marvel at on this, St. Paddy’s Day. Unlike the hangovers many will be experiencing tomorrow, this building will be a gift that keeps on giving.

Sort of like syphilis.

Now if you don’t mind, I’m off to secure some penicillin.

Miss Heather

P.S.: With craftsmanship like this who needs to be acurate?

Saturday Night: New York Shitty Style

I imagine quite a few of you are eagerly watching the clock and busy making plans to celebrate the day of St. Patrick. I considered going out to celebrate this great holiday myself (after all one of the core requirements of living in Greenpoint and liking it is having a fondness for drunken hooliganism) but have since thought the better of it. This is not due to lack of interest or love for the Irish (and the many contributions they have made to this city). Rather, Mr. Heather has seen fit to do the celebrating for me.

Last week the Mister had to work second shift at his job. While not happy about this arrangement he understood it was necessary given his line of work (I.T.) and towed the company line. This workload rotation also entailed he report to work the following Saturday. And work he did: until 7:00 p.m. Upon packing everything up Mr. Heather called me on my cell: he is going to go out to dinner and “blow off some steam”.

It was about 1:30 in the morning when he arrived home. Not only was he in a rather festive mood, but he also bore a present for yours truly: six loaves of bread.

Mr. Heather: I am a good husband, see I brought you some bread. (giggling)
Miss Heather: Why do you have six loaves of bread?
Mr. Heather: Because I am a good husband. You always complain that I never help with the grocery shopping. Well here you go. I got you some bread. (more giggling)
Miss Heather: It is 1:30 Sunday morning. Are you trying to be Jesus Christ or something? If so shouldn’t you have brought home some fish too?

Mr. Heather thought this was hilarious. In fact, he found a great number things quite funny. Like Eliot Spitzer’s latest fall from grace, for example.

Mr. Heather: How much for a blow job?
Miss Heather: What?
Mr. Heather: How much for a blow job?
Miss Heather: Fuck off.
Mr. Heather: I want to know how much a blow job costs.
Miss Heather: I dunno, why don’t you ask our former governor?

It was at this moment I realized what it must have been like to entertain client #9. Save of course the person making the solicitation was not the Governor of New York, there was no way in hell I was going to net $3,000 from this “transaction” and these “negotiations” were coming to pass in a living room in Greenpoint, Brooklyn. No four star hotels in D.C. or airline tickets for me. Women of my station get courted with six loaves of bread.

Come to think of it, I think Mr. Heather (as merry with drink as he was) might have been onto something: had Mr. Spitzer paid his own wife for sexual favors he wouldn’t have found himself in such a pickle. This having been said, I was tiring of the Mister’s shenanigans and after some none-too-subtle encouragement on my part he finally realized that what he really needed was sleep. To this end I assisted him on his journey to the boudoir (which was sort of like a toothpick propping up an elephant). I am pleased to report nothing whatsoever was broken. Except some bread.

The next day I recalled a story I had read recently from the September 19, 1902 edition of the Brooklyn Daily Eagle. While not a St. Patricks story per se, it does involve Greenpoint, drunken chicanery and five foot five inch tall police officer taking a seven foot tall 300 pound reveler to the drunk tank. Enjoy!

Not surprisingly, Mr. Heather sported the “honest blood of shame” when he finally arose Sunday afternoon.

Miss Heather

Happy St. Paddy’s Day From Greenpoint!

This impish (and downright Orwellian) little leprechaun can be found on Franklin Street.

On Guernsey Street even man’s best friend has gotten into the St. Paddy’s Day spirit!

But the mother of all St. Patrick’s decor can be found on Hausman Street just north of Meeker Avenue.

As you can see, this home owner has spared no expense.

What’s more, he (or more likely, she) may very well be in possession of the world’s only St. Paddy’s Day tree. I wonder what he (and by “he” I mean St. Patrick himself— or better yet— Sinn Fein Santa) leaves in your stocking if you’ve been naughty?

Or protestant?

Miss Heather

Greenpoint Photo du Jour: Howie’s Ashtray

From Norman Avenue.

Miss Heather

Greenpoint Photo du Jour: Bridal Suite

As some of you are aware I was recently in a show curated by the proprietress of Found In Brooklyn at Freddy’s Backroom. A number of people (who did not attend the opening) have inquired as to what I submitted. I will finally endeavor to answer that question today.

After racking my brain the entire month of December and much of January I finally had my long-awaited eureka moment. When Mr. Heather arrived home from work on that most auspicious evening, I told him the good news: I know what I am going to do. And of course with the good news came the bad: we need to go to Calyer Street STAT— and to be sure to put on some clothing you don’t mind getting filthy. Surprisingly enough, he did not ask a single question and complied with my wishes.

Once we had completed this mission successfully it was time for stage 2:

1. Locating a Siamese hydrant located a short distance from the ground.
2. Acquiring a matching pair of thong underwear and pasties.

It took a while and I encountered many a setback, but in the end it all came together.

Have you ever carried a 40 pound tree stump down McGuinness Boulevard? If you are wondering what it is like ask my husband.

Miss Heather

Greenpoint Photo du Jour: Reflections Upon Geography

From Nassau Avenue, across the street from the Automotive High School.

Miss Heather

95 Clay Street Revisited

As I was crossing the Pulaski Bridge yesterday I found myself wondering if I could see the building the owners of 95 Clay Street managed to erect without a nary a permit or notice from the Department of Buildings. When I reached the incline at Box Street I stopped and turned around.

Sure enough, there it was. In fact I made a rather amusing discovery as I gazed upon at this masterpiece of illegal construction.

It is located only a Stop Work Order’s throw’s away from one of the Department of Buildings outstanding achievements in Greenpoint: 48 Box Street. As my compatriot over at the Gowanus Lounge put it so eloquently, this building is the product of immaculate construction. Despite numerous Stop Work Orders it just keeps getting taller and taller. I’ve noticed this. My colleague over at the Brooklyn Optimist has noticed this. People who cross the Pulaski Bridge have noticed this. But strangely enough, the Department of Buildings has not. And now there another building right beside it that was completed without a permit and whose only means of egress is through the basement of the building in front of it. Go figure.

Wishing to discuss this matter with a professional, I shared my findings with Hard Hat Hannah.

I pointed out the new building in 95 Clay Street’s backyard and then I made light of its illustrious neighbor.

She was less than pleased.

Miss Heather

Could Not Be A Man

In keeping with Women’s History Month I thought it would interesting to see if the Brooklyn Daily Eagle archives would have any material of both feminist and Greenpoint interest. Not only did I find just such an article (from the March 29, 1902 edition), but it is a really intense tome at that. Read on and get a glimpse of how one woman felt about her lot in life over 100 years ago.

While disturbing, this article (all the way down to the manner in which it is written) is an excellent indicator of the popular sentiment harbored towards women at the end of the Victorian era. The author of this articles points out twice that Ms. Moshoson ran a profitable dress making business, but gave no thought whatsoever to the possibility that this career did not make her happy. He goes on to glibly state:

the fact that women walking on the streets are not immune from the stares of men was another thing which is said to disturb her

but does not some seem to care whether or not the above behavior is socially unacceptable. This is probably because it wasn’t and (as the popularity of HollabackNYC would attest) still isn’t. It was simply her lot in life to be looked at. Being a woman, she had no say so in the manner.

In closing, I think what drove Ms. Moshoson to suicide was the fact she was all to aware of what the world had to offer and her sex precluded from experiencing much of it. She was, in a manner of speaking, dying from the drudgery and lack of dignity that was a woman’s life in the early 20th century. Hers was a living death. While it makes me happy that women have come a long way in the last 100 years, the fact of the matter is as a society we still have a long, long way to go.

Miss Heather

Greenpoint Photo du Jour: McCarren Park

Not only did we get spiffy new signs admonishing us (in two languages no less) not to drink publicly, but we have also been blessed with our first asshole tree!

Miss Heather