Crosstown Local Cavalcade Volume V: Politics
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
My grandmother always told me there were two things that one never, ever discussed at a party:
- Religion
- Politics
I wholeheartedly agree, especially in regards to the latter. Some people enjoy nothing more than listening to pundits talk District of Columbia shop. If political intrigue was not popular (with a certain set of people, mind you) I doubt there would be so many blogs, web sites and print publications dedicated to the subject. However, when I encounter such subject matter existentialist boredom inevitably follows.
Unless of course it is written on subway posters advertising the movie Rambo. That’s another matter altogether.
While waiting for the Crosstown Local on the Smith – 9th Street platform, I am reminded that the age of Imperialism is, indeed, over.
And the Queens bound platform at Nassau Avenue raises awareness about how the shadow under John Rambo’s nose makes him look like a rather (in)famous 20th century world leader. Cover up the right hand side of his face and see for yourself: the resemblance is uncanny.
Miss Heather
Greenpoint Photo du Jour: McGuinness Boulevard
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
I cannot believe with as many times as I have walked by this mural (on McGuinness Boulevard just north of the BQE) I never noticed that this seemingly cute little bunny was a headhunter. Or maybe he (?) is the Cthulhu bunny and instead of candy this playful little scamp leaves shrunken heads in the baskets of unwitting children? Given the way some children behave nowadays, I can only hope so.
This horrific little hare is yet more proof that the neighborhood we call Greenpoint yields its treasure in the most unexpected of places: in plain sight.
Miss Heather
Greenpoint Photo du Jour: Kingsland Avenue
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
One thing I love about Brooklyn is each neighborhood has its own unique take on what constitutes a cozy and inviting home. For example:
In Bushwick polychromatic statuary is the way to go.
Bedford-Stuyvesant prefers to festoon their fences with flamingos.
And in Greenpoint nothing says “welcome home” like a Jason mask standing watch over your stoop. Yes sir, we Greenpointers love us some homicidal maniacs! Fake flowers, cutesy woodland creatures and colorful plumage are for wimps.
In fact, we like Jason much we are not content with him merely gracing our homes, we also take him on the road! So much for Jesus. Any Greenpointer worth his (or her) salt knows the son of god cannot protect you from the utter lunacy that is the Greenpoint motorist. In the Garden Spot Jason is our co-pilot.
Miss Heather
Street Trash
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
Today, fellow Greenpointers I have a very special treat to share with you: a hitherto unknown bit of Greenpoint glory called “Street Trash”. It all started with an email I received from my buddy Matt Wolfe from the Greenpointer Courier:
Are you familiar with the movie Street Trash. Being that it was filmed entirely in Greenpoint* and is gross, I’m assuming you have. I’m writing an article on it and was curious if you had any comment.
Believe it or not, I had not heard of this film. Intrigued, I looked it up on Wikipedia. The plot synopsis is as follows:
The owner of a liquor store in lower Manhattan finds a case of cheap wine (“Tenafly Viper”) in his basement. It’s over sixty years old and has gone bad, but he decides to sell it to the local hobos anyway. Unfortunately, anyone who drinks this Viper melts away in a hideous fashion. At the same time, an overzealous cop is trying to get to the bottom of all the deaths. The movie is littered with darkly comedic deaths and injuries. It also contains the notorious ‘severed privates’ scene where a group of homeless people play catch with the severed member of one of their number, as he futilely attempts to recover it.
Hobos!?! Bad booze?!? FILMED IN GREENPOINT?!? Obviously I had to possess this item, so I moseyed over to Amazon and ordered it.
Today, dear readers, my “SPECIAL TWO-DISC MELTDOWN EDITION” arrived! Can you feel the magic in the air? You can anticipate a detailed analysis of this flick from yours truly in the near future, so stay tuned. Be sure to keep an eye out for Matt’s interview as well. I have no doubt it will be very interesting.
In closing, I’d like to thank Matt for bringing this to my attention. This film will provide me untold amounts of Greenpoint mirth. Any movie that has the following piece of Oscar-award winning dialogue is definitely up my alley:
Lady, I ain’t so sure you don’t have a cock.
I have found myself wondering just this as I stroll down Manhattan Avenue on many a Sunday afternoon.
Miss Heather
*It later came to light that this is not entirely true: it was filmed in Greenpoint and Maspeth.
Miscellaneous Foodstuffs
I have a couple of very exciting developments to pass along to my fellow Greenpoint gourmands. First up, a restaurant is in the works at the intersection of Humboldt and Richardson Street.
Frankie’s will be open only for breakfast and lunch (READ: they will not be serving that unspeakable other meal). When I asked the man working there as to when they would open he said:
As soon as god sees fit to let us. We’re waiting on our licenses from the city.
Good luck!
Frankie’s
490 Humboldt Street
Brooklyn, New York 11222
Phone: TBA
Next up, anyone who knows Amin and Salid (the co-proprietors of Greenpoint Grocery, home of Baltica lager) can attest to how utterly mouth-wateringly delicious the food they make is. After a few years of mulling the idea over, they are going to start selling their delicious wares to the public this upcoming Saturday, February 9th. I for one think a falafel stand would be an outstanding addition to the neighborhood. Check it out!
Greenpoint Grocery
1019 Manhattan Avenue
Brooklyn, New York 11222
(718) 383-1984
Last up, I would like to pass along a little intelligence about Moore Street Market I received from a commenter called Ando:
The market shouldn’t be going anywhere. Our congresswoman Nydia Velazquez earmarked $235,000 towards restoring the market with Project for Public Spaces.
http://www.house.gov/velazquez/PressReleases/2007/pr-12-19-07-funding.htm
http://timesnewsweekly.com/Archives2007/Oct.-Dec.2007/122707/NewFiles/FUNDING.html
Now the big question is what are the actual hours of the darn place?
Firstly, I think we should all thank Ms. Velazquez for securing the funds to restore this vibrant and much-needed asset to the community. Secondly, I am pleased to announce that I finally have the answer to Ando’s question:
Moore Street Market (AKA “La Marquetaâ€)
110 Moore Street
Brooklyn, New York 11206
Hours: Monday – Saturday, 8:00 a.m. – 6:00 p.m., Sunday 9:00 a.m. – 5:00 p.m.
Last night I made dinner using ingredients from La Marqueta.
The results were incredible. I kid you not, Mr. Heather licked his plate.
Miss Heather
Greenpoint Photo du Jour: Manhattan Avenue
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
I found this flier on the pay phone in front of Divine Follie last Thursday. When I walked by again today it was gone. Maybe the clowns finally caught up with him? After all, it’s kind of foolish to leave tabs with your phone number on them. That only makes it easier for them to contact you.
Then again Jon Voight’s thought processes have never made sense to me. Or much of anyone else for that matter.
Miss Heather
Backhoe For Sale
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
You know, there have been a number of occasions I have found myself musing “You know, I could really use a backhoe— and not just any backhoe either: it must have an extendable dipper.” So you can imagine my delight when I walked by Nina’s Pizzeria on Meeker Avenue today and found this.
Wow. $19,000 is such a small price to pay for a 580K case backhoe! I wonder what these purported “other options” are? Perhaps the seat is made is covered in genuine Corinthian leather? Methinks I will have to give this guy a ring and take this bad boy out for a test drive.
Miss Heather
Crosstown Local Cavalade Volume IV: Safety Tips
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
Subway safety posters are both a source of amusement and ire to yours truly. On the one hand I find their practice of explaining what should be self-evident to anyone with a shred of self-preservation and intelligence darkly amusing. On the other, I think posters advising sick people to refrain from riding the subway is a ludicrous waste of our tax dollars. Maybe the peeps at the MTA could provide a “call in sick service” on our behalf as well?
Dear Sir or Madam:
(Insert name here) will not be in today, (insert date). He/she (circle one) is too ill to ride the subway. Please note this in your payroll records and dock his/her pay accordingly. We thank you in advance for your understanding and thanks for riding the MTA!
The fact of the matter is some people do not have the option of calling in sick. What’s more, we have the right to ride the subway regardless of the state of health we find ourselves in on any given day. If I want to guzzle Orange Juliuses, hop on the train, get motion sickness and spew copious amounts of neon orange goo at my fellow passengers* during rush hour that’s my god given right. This is America goddammit and if projectile vomiting is how I see fit to exact my $2.00 worth of fare that’s my prerogative. And none of their fucking business.
My proposal to the MTA is as follows: why not outsource the copy writing of your public service posters to the ridership of the G train? Not only do we have the time to spare, but we also have a number of interesting ideas.
These range from the motivational and uplifting at Nassau Avenue…
to slightly nihilistic…
and illucid at Greenpoint Avenue.
Granted, the advice we dispense might be questionable in nature, but it is a lot more attention grabbing. How’s about it, Metropolitan Transit Authority? Will you let us help you to help us become more savvy subway patrons and better citizens?
Miss Heather
*I saw this once while riding the N train during rush hour. It was a sight I’ll never forget.
White Birds Can’t Jump
On Saturday, February 2, 2008 I wrote:
I suspect it is safe to speculate that a number of the people reading this post are busy getting ready for this weekend’s Superbowl festivities. While I think it is pretty neat that New York made it this year, I am not big on sports and will probably find some other way to amuse myself.
Well, as luck would have it, I didn’t have to try very hard to find a way to pass my time. Yesterday, while most people were tapping kegs, rolling out the crudites, ripping open bags of potato chips and prepping French onion dip, I was standing watch over a chicken.
Yes, you read me correctly: a chicken.
This chicken — who somehow found her (?) way onto Milton Street.
As with most days when I get hit with a mindfuck a minute, it all started innocently enough: with an argument with Mr. Heather. At noon I arose to find him on the computer, as is his usual habit. I notice a take-out container on the coffee table. I open it: inside is one cubic inch of red velvet cake. Recognizing this confection as being the one we purchased at Kombit the evening before, I asked:
How was the cake?
Mr. Heather: It was terrible. Way too dry.
When I encounter a culinary item I find distasteful I rarely endeavor to eat all but one bite. If I do not like something I will cease eating it. Mr. Heather— for reasons known only to him— is not so easily deterred. I did not ask him why he left only one minuscule chunk of cake, that would have invited a lengthy explanation which I, having just awakened, was probably not prepared for. I go to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee instead.
Thereafter I proceeded to the bedroom to change clothes. Mr. Heather was busy preparing a load of laundry. Under the impression we were going for a walk (this was agreed upon the night before) I ask him what he is doing. He replies:
I am going to do a load of laundry.
Me: I thought we were going for a walk.
Mr. Heather: I thought you could help me do some laundry first.
Me: Um, no.
Mr. Heather: Well, can’t you wait?
Me: No.
I will spare you the gory details of what followed. Suffice it to say it involved a lot of passive-aggressive manipulation on the Mister’s part. Disgusted, I offered a compromise:
Fine, I will go to Williamsburg and cash out a gift certificate. You can meet me there later. I don’t want you going with me anyway. I am not in the mood to hear you curse about hipsters every fucking five feet.
And lo, a deal was made! I put on my coat and headed to Willy B on foot. When I reached Milton Street, this is what I found:
A pack of tweeners and a woman looking at a chicken.
Having never seen a chicken before (save perhaps on their dinner plate) the children took great delight in chasing her. She was not as enthusiastic and elected to hide behind a dumpster.
When one of these gutter snipes shouted “Let’s put it on a raft and dump it in the East River!” I decided it was time for action: I called 311. Before I continue I’d like to say a few things about 311. Having the pleasure of living in Greenpoint, which can best be described as being in a state of (an over) development free for all, I have called them on numerous occasions. The operators, always courteous, vary wildly in regards to their ability to direct me to the proper agency. This time proved to be no exception.
Call #1
Me: Yes, I’d like to report that there is a chicken wandering around on Milton Street between Franklin and West.
Operator: What?
Me: There is a chicken loose on Milton Street in Greenpoint, Brooklyn. A number of young boys are tormenting it. Can you get someone down here to pick it up?
Operator: Is the chicken injured?
Me: I don’t know. It’s walking around but isn’t very happy.
After being put on hold with the Center for Animal Care and Control for over five minutes I got frustrated and hung up.
Call #2
Me: I know this is going to sound really strange, but there is a chicken at large on Milton Street between Franklin and West. A number of preteen boys are chasing it, can the C.A.C.C. please come by and retrieve it?
Operator: Is the chicken injured?
Me: Beats me, I don’t know anything about chickens.
Operator: I am going to forward your request to the local precinct and they’ll follow it up.
As I got off the phone I noticed the woman with me was engaged in a shouting match with the “parent” who was charged with “supervising” these pack of prepubescent p(h)ucks. Larry, in the meantime, had seen fit to enter the basketball court. Knowing that we had him cornered, the woman and I stood watch over him.
Five minutes go by. My fellow Samaritan calls the 94th Precinct directly* and reports Larry Bird. The operator assures her a police car is on the way.
We watch the chicken.
Fifteen minutes come to pass, she calls the 94th Precinct again. After informing the operator that she has been waiting fifteen minutes for the police to show up, she was told she has only been waiting for five minutes.
We (continue to) watch the chicken. Larry Bird— cornered, confused and cute— tries to keep warm.
Twenty minutes later the police arrived and with them came the crowning coup de grace: they were the same officers who detained me last December for taking photographs of Christmas Decorations. I had told the woman standing guard with me about this incident (people tend to engage in discussions when guarding a chicken, it makes the time go by faster when waiting for the 94th to arrive) and of all things, she happened to be a photographer.
Me: Aw shit.
Woman: What?
Me: Those are the cops who detained me. If you don’t mind, I’m getting out of here. I do not want to talk to these people. You can handle it, right?
Woman: Sure, go.
And go I did. FAST.
Wherever you are little Larry Bird, I hope you are safe and sound. Perhaps you’ll find your way to a nice animal sanctuary upstate where you can shoot hoops in peace.
Miss Heather
*Because I know the phone number for the 94th Precinct by rote memorization and gave it to her. Long story.
Crosstown Local Cavalade Volume III: Subway Smackdown
I am not big on dance music. Sure, I have a fair measure of the genre socked away in my I-tunes, but when Ultra. Dance rolls out their latest compilation of “hits” I cringe. Before you cry “hypocrite!” let me clarify the reason for my distaste: looking at skanktastic syphilitic sylphs while waiting for the G train is not my cup of tea. And each year Ultra Dance makes sure I do just this. For a very, VERY, long time. 2008 has proven to be no exception.
In the spirit that is Superbowl Sunday I thought it would be fun to showcase two takes on the same subway poster: Ultra. Dance 09. Today’s subway smackdown features the usual suspects/adversaries: Williamsburg versus Greenpoint.
First up: Metropolitan Avenue
Not bad, though I personally would have explored her possible eating disorder, bad dye job and contact lenses.
Second up: Greenpoint Avenue
Is she supposed to be Popeye or Paris Hilton? I don’t know, but either way, this is a definite improvement. Why else would she have a phat wad of bennies tucked in her skivvies?
Greenpoint wins by a nose!
Or would that be a head?
Miss Heather