G Train Glory Part II: Meet The Parents

Over the last several days my parents have become quite familiar with the infamous Crosstown Local. Well, last night they finally had a true G train experience in all its resplendent and abject glory. Here’s how it all started…

Earlier in the day my father was bemused by something that amused me at the intersection of St. Mark’s Place and Third Avenue: an old man popped out his denture plate, blew on it several times and nonchalantly stuck it back into his mouth. Noting my excitement, Pa Heather laughed and shook his head. My rebuttal was as follows:

Hey, things like that make me happy. Living up here, I see quite this kind of thing pretty often. This is why I am happy most of the time.

Now jump forward to 9:30 p.m. Sunday night. My parents, Mr. Heather and I had just completed a fantastic dinner at De Stefano’s and it was time to hail our crosstown chariot (at Metropolitan Avenue) and go home. After waiting a fair amount of time it arrived and we got on board. I soon tired of watching the man across from me play video games on his cell phone and casted my glance downward. In so doing, I caught a glimpse of G train glory.

I gleefully pointed out my new find to my mother:

Hey, that looks like blood!

Ma Heather: That’s what I was thinking.

The gentleman playing video games paused, took note of what laid beneath his Nikes and moved them so I could get a better picture. When not engaged in pommeling the shit out of each other, G train patrons are some of the nicest people you will ever meet.

Me (to the guy across from me): That had to hurt.
Guy across from me: (laughing)
Me (exiting G train): Thanks a lot for moving your shoes so I could get a good picture of the blood. Take care and don’t let that happen to you.

(Laughter from several Crosstown local patrons.)

From the November 25, 2007 edition of the New York Times:

In the opinion of Gene Russianoff, a spokesman for the Straphangers Campaign, if the G train in its current incarnation were to disappear, its riders in all likelihood would happily let it slip into history. As Mr. Russianoff summed it up: “Writers in Greenpoint and Williamsburg won’t write poems about it.”

I want the G train to stay shitty. The recent media “make over” of my neighborhood has attracted the attention a certain element I would just as well live without: yuppies hellbent on suburbanizing and homogenizing neighborhoods beyond recognition. Unlike the media (or the real estate industry), the good ol’ Crosstown Local train keeps on keepin’ it real. And as long as the blood shed therein is not my own, I do not mind it the least bit.

Miss Heather

Manhattan Avenue Gears Up For the Holidays

Some of you might remember my post about the exotic assortment of items congregating on the telephone line crossing Manhattan Avenue at Eagle Street. For those of you who don’t, here’s a photo of it to jog your memory.

Well, the powers that be behind this budding masterpiece have been bit by holiday spirit.

I call this ensemble Christmas gnome with pine cones.

Miss Heather

More Fun With Teeth In Greenpoint

I was really beginning to miss ol’ Chopper. Even though he has gone on to that Park Slope changing station in the sky, his act of heroism will never be forgotten. I have recently found myself waxing sentimental about Chopper more and more of late because with the holiday season coming up, I sure could use him.

I have the presence of mind to know somewhere in my immediate future I will attend a holiday celebration that will utterly suck. Most parties (even shitty ones) have hummus. Take one denture plate, a bowl of creamy, delicious hummus and a roomful of people you could care less about and you have the recipe for hilarity— Miss Heather style.

The previous having been said, you can imagine my glee last week when I opened up a box at the junk shop and found this.

Ho! Ho! Ho! It looks like it might be a Merry Christmas for Miss Heather after all!

As I have mentioned on a number of occasions, we Greenpointers loves us some teeth. This is probably because in order to bite a cop, one’s landlord, and/or a ghost, one must have a good set of them. Well, after knocking around the newly revamped Brooklyn Daily Eagle online archives today I learned that creatures who sport a nice set of teeth also happen to fancy us.

Case in point: have you ever wondered what a bunch of Greenpointers would do with an alligator? If so, today’s your lucky day! From the July 1, 1865 edition of the Brooklyn Daily Eagle I present to you a tale about a critter with a tail (and “formidable rows of sharp teeth”). Ladies and gentleman, meet the Greenpoint Gator!

That’s mighty nice of Mr. Wallers to display this presumed alligator in his shop for all to enjoy. I say “presumed” because unlike those wannabes in Marine Park, we Greenpointers don’t need any fancy fake Nessies gracing our Gator Garden Spot. We have a real one.

But don’t take my word for it, read this article from the December 13, 1860 edition of the Brooklyn Daily Eagle and you too will become a believer!

If two cops say they saw something it has to be real, right? Methinks these two fine officers might have had a tibble or two at Ye Olde Grog Shoppe while on duty. Then again, if any neighborhood in New York City would have a living breathing sea monster in residence, it would be Greenpoint. It’s not a normal creature could live in our waterways.

Miss Heather

Toxie The Snowman

I have a confession to make: I thoroughly detest the holiday season. In fact, there are only two things I dislike more than Christmas time:

1. My birthday which follows shortly thereafter, virtually ensuring my friends will either be too tired or broke to trifle with it. I am certain the next one will be exactly like the last one— except I’ll be one year closer to getting sucked into the that cesspit called middle age.Certain in laws like to remind me of the previous fact. And I, in turn, I like to remind them that if I am “getting old” they are downright ancient. Fuck off Methuselah: if my own parents have given up on me becoming a “responsible adult” you should too. Take your shingles to the crypt and leave me alone.
2. The fact people are putting up their fucking Christmas decorations earlier and earlier nowdays. Is it just me or is November 1 a little early to tear down quality street art and replace it with garish goop people like me do our utmost to ignore?

Excepting of course if someone manages to display something cool like this homemade “decoration” I found on Engert Avenue recently.

For the life of me I cannot tell you why, but there is something so right about a Greenpointer creating a holiday decoration out of a wheel rim and an empty oil drum.

I’m glad to see he (or she) has outfitted it with a theft-deterrent system as well.

Miss Heather

Matchmaking: Greenpoint Style

Since the Brooklyn Daily Eagle‘s online archives have been kaput the last several days, I have been busy searching the archives of the New York Times for this week’s tale from Greenpoint’s past. As I did, I came across two stories that bookend each other beautifully. Follows is the first; a tale of Greenpoint matchmaking gone wrong from the January 26, 1893 edition of the New York Times.

It just goes to show that men really haven’t changed very much the last 100+ years. Be it online dating in the 21st century or a simple solicitation tucked away in a 19th century napkin: they still insist upon seeing a picture of you first.

Stay tuned for the next installment featuring divorce Greenpoint style!

Miss Heather

McGuinness Boulevard Gauntlet of Death

When the opportunity affords itself I like to take a nice leisurely walk along McGuinness Boulevard. Unlike most people, I actually like this stretch of road. What it lacks in aesthetics it amply makes up for in visually interesting subject matter.

I encountered the above “closed sidewalk” a short distance north of the BQE. If the above hodgepdoge of buckets, boards and “caution” tape strike you as being rather rickety, I can assure it is. There is nothing whatsoever weighting down those buckets. Unless of course, one counts air.

Is this what the Department of Buildings means by “self-certified”? Anyone wishing to shake off a little pre-holiday season existentialist ennui should head down to the McGuinness Boulevard Gauntlet of Death and give it a stroll. I have.

Nothing will make you feel more “in the moment” than walking down this scantily fortified corridor as automobiles tear past you at breakneck speed. Be sure to remember what your mother told you and take an extra pair of underwear with you.

Miss Heather