‘Tis The Season: Monitor Street

A little bit of holiday cheer begotten by a Fedders box and a little Greenpoint ingenuity.

Miss Heather

1000 Manhattan Avenue, Revisited Once More

It is officially the holiday season. The season of cheer and good will towards men. A three week sojourn of shiny commercialized happiness begotten by people who are otherwise nasty shitbags to each other the following 11 months of the year.

I fancy myself to be a nice person. I exercise a considerable amount of restraint with what I post on New York Shitty. Not today.

My buddy, frequent New York Shitty commentor and Marie Grasso casualty, vintagejames opined about 1000 Manhattan Avenue recently:

I haven’t seen the place and don’t really want to get up and personal. But if the work they are doing there has created the danger, then that should be some sort of violation, which will eventually be ignored by the DOB or whatever is in charge of sucking up to the contractors. Why not just be a pain in the ass and complain to 311, or 911 if the danger is immediate. The call is free and you never know when you will find a city agency that actually cares. But don’t bet on it, after all, Mike & Marky are watching and they are shooting you the rod.

The reason 1000 Manhattan Avenue has a crutch is because the powers that be have seen fit to allow this building to decay beyond repair.

I seriously doubt this happened overnight. Apparently, the Department of Buildings agrees with my lowly lay(wo)man’s assessment.

Eight months ago.

Here is the doorway gracing 1000 Manhattan Avenue. This is not Photoshop. This is real life. My life. Nary a plumb line is to be found on this property, but the local bums love shoving empty cigarette packs into the cracks. Maybe these will keep this building from collapsing onto its neighbor(s) next door?

I am certain the scheduled hearing date of February 4, 2008 will put the fear of our city’s legal wrath into the owner of this building’s heart.

That’s the funny thing. Who owns this building, that is. I looked up 1000 Manhattan Avenue (AKA: Block 2523, lot 2) on ACRIS and found some mortgage/ownership log-tossing between one Carol Caputo and Stanley Ferraro*. Hmm.

Otherwise, I am pleased to report that no one got injured by 1000 Manhattan Avenue’s crutch today. Those cones are really working, Carol!

This chap was a true multi-tasker; he continued conversing on his cell phone while circumventing the 1000 Manhattan Avenue death gauntlet. The lovely (and very gracious) ladies of Greenpoint held their own as well.

They even took turns as to who could pass first, as the above woman in the GORGEOUS orange sari attests.

Perhaps that is the problem? We Greenpointers are too polite. We have grown acclimatized to living in conditions that would be considered unacceptable in “better” neighborhoods.

Would this fly on 7th Avenue (Park Slope— or Manhattan, for that matter)?

What about Smith or Court Street?

I think not.

To answer vintagejames‘s question:

Why not just be a pain in the ass and complain to 311, or 911 if the danger is immediate. The call is free and you never know when you will find a city agency that actually cares.

I am not going to call 311. Although I have dealt with a number of very courteous and helpful operators I know my complaint will get thrown in the bureaucratic dung heap like so many complaints I (and others) have filed before. What’s more I have actually watched a building inspector look at this building.

He/she failed to notice that the awning which used to grace the bodega on the first floor is being stored on the shed. It is my understanding that sidewalk sheds are not to be used for “storage”. That said, I am certain the bum slumbering under it is 100% legal.

Why would I bother filing a complaint with such an ineffectual agency, James? Writing nasty blog posts about their ineptitude and dare I say it, MALFEASANCE, seems to be a lot more effective.

Miss Heather

*Don’t bother trying to contact them via the addresses listed on ACRIS. Per an email I received this morning, Carol hasn’t lived on Freeman Street in years.

P.S.: To view more D.O.B. hilarity about this building, check out my new flickr set.

Another One Bites The Dust!

Remember my recent rant about 72 Norman Avenue’s piece of illegal advertising? Well, when I walked by there this afternoon I made a most joyous discovery.

Thanks a lot, S.P.I.T.! Now I would like to discuss the matter of a newly erected eyesore on Huron Street. Should I pencil you in for January 24, 2008?

Miss Heather

‘Tis The Season: 1059 Manhattan Avenue

Who is this Snuffi and why does he hate hipsters so, I wonder?

Maybe it has something to do with this? Figment of Big Bird’s imagination or not, Snuffi’s jihad against cool 20-somethings appears to have a body count.

I’d mind my p’s and q’s if I were you.*

Miss Heather

*Obvious someone at Tommy’s Tavern didn’t.

#4 of The Greenpoint 10

Yesterday I finally broke free of my wintertime malaise and decided to resume the long-neglected Greenpoint Ten. What brought about this momentous breakthrough, you ask?

Very simple: I looked under my very own nose and there she was! I present to you, dear readers, a very special Greenpointer for today’s installment of the Greenpoint Ten. Her name is Mordred…

and she is the best dressed dog in Greenpoint.

Miss Heather

P.S.: Don’t let the nail polish and pink leash fool you. This bitch means business. When I saw her Monday afternoon she was busy threatening to kick a fellow canine’s ass. This dog was at least four times her size. Don’t fuck with Mordred.

‘Tis The Season: Franklin Street

Christmas lights? Check.
Poinsettias? Check.
22 caliber bullet hole? Check.

Miss Heather

Astral Mattress du Jour: First Day of December

Astral Apartments, December 1, 2007, 8:04 p.m.

Miss Heather

Mr. Butler Has A Fan In Greenpoint

When the opportunity presents itself I like to perform conduct anthropological experiments. These usually come to pass when I have something more pressing to do, like the cleaning the apartment. I performed one such bit of research last week when I was tidying the apartment in anticipation of my parents’ visit. The results were telling.

It started with this.

11:30 a.m.: After delivering my first salvo of stuff to the Salvation Army I spied this book sitting on the sidewalk outside my building. It is entitled The Dance of Anger, A Woman’s Guide to Changing the Possibilities of Intimate Relationships. I never knew any of my neighbors had trouble with the opposite sex. Maybe the book worked?

12:30 p.m.: When I returned from my second Salvation Army run I noticed the book was gone. An idea was hatched. There are, after all

more things in Miss Heather’s mind and apartment, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.

I have always engendered a distrust of self help books, so I put together my own “care package” and left it in front of my building:

1. A champagne bucket
2. A biography of Jerry Butler
3. A bottle of massage oil

1:30 p.m.: I made my third donation to the Salvation Army. When I arrived home one of my neighbors was holding the champagne bucket.

Me: I see you like my old champagne bucket?
Neighbor: Is that what it is?
Me: Yes.
Dude next door: See, she knew what it was! I bet you drink Dom Perignon every day, don’t you?
Me: Do I look like a Dom Perignon kind of person to you?
Neighbor: I was planning on storing cat food in it.

2:00 p.m.: As I was throwing away some recycling I noticed the bottle of massage oil had been moved. No one had taken the Butler book yet, but it was looking encouraging.

2:30 p.m.: When I left a VCR stand out front I noticed the book and the massage oil were gone.

My next door neighbor was also absent. I suspect someone in my neighborhood had a very interesting Thanksgiving this year.

The End.

Miss Heather