#5 of the Greenpoint 10 is…

A man who needs little in the way of introduction. Damned near everyone in Greenpoint knows who he is— and besides, no one seems to know his name anyway. He is simply that shirtless guy who lives on Franklin Street —or “Blow Torch Harry” as one New York Shitty commenter likes to call him:

When he lived on Milton he was renovating his bathroom. We could see him from our window. He would be blow torching naked in his apartment. It was classic.

It is my understanding that my buddy over at 11222 is going to give us the 411 on this chap and I do not want to step on her toes. However, I too have a “Blow Torch Harry” story I would like to share. Here it is.

One very brisk February morning I decided to burn a little time before a hair appointment by taking a walk. Curious to see what my favorite Greenpoint celebrity was up to, I swung by Franklin Street to find out. He was busy tending his lot.

Clad only in a pair of tighty whities.

I do not recall what the temperature was that particular day, but it had to have been around freezing. Watching this man conduct his business in his BVDs was painful to watch, and yet too fascinating to avert my gaze away. I was mesmerized and from that moment forward became a “Blow Torch Harry” believer.

You gotta respect a a guy for walking around in sub-freezing weather in his underoos. He looked shrinkage in the eye and didn’t flinch. The fact he also sees fit to weld au naturel on occasion is pure gravy, which brings me to this week’s motivational poster.

The Park Slope Civic Council can distribute free umbrellas (lest the local populace melt with the first trace of autumn rain). We Greenpointers don’t need no stinking umbrellas. Hell, we’ve dispensed with clothing altogether! What’s a little rain water compared to the thrill of going commando with a blow torch?

Wimps.

“Blow Torch Harry”, it is people like you who make Greenpoint, well, Greenpoint. On behalf of all the fellow Greenpointers you have managed to amaze and inspire, I salute you.

I look forward to seeing a lot more of you this upcoming February.

Miss Heather

Public Service Announcement

Whoever stole that kid’s tent on Kent Street between Franklin and Manhattan Avenue last weekend…

the parts and instructions are ready for you to pick up.

Miss Heather

P.S.: Thanks for forwarding this to me Nate!

Franklin is Clinton Country

Yesterday we learned 177 1/2 Norman Avenue is Bush-friendly (and tambourine playing). Democrats, don’t despair! I have since learned that Franklin Street is Clinton country!

Is that a pumpkin stem between his legs or he is just happy to see me? In keeping with most such moments in my life, Bill’s show of affection was a little too little and a little too late. Unlike Ms. Lewinsky, I would have proven to be a very capable power behind the bone.

I know how to use a cigar correctly.

In closing I’d like to give a big New York Shitty shout-out to my buddy across the pond who has seen fit link to my humble post featuring the above depicted gnomes. I suspect he will be blown away by this latest tableau.

In more ways than one.

Miss Heather

1-800-COP-BITE

One thing I have noticed as I parse through newspaper archives is that Greenpointers sure like to bite. As we have learned so far, the discriminating Garden Spotter has taste for landlords and would-be ghosts. Given the previous, I suppose it should hardly be surprising to learn that law enforcement officials also tickle our taste buds. From the December 16, 1895 edition of the Brooklyn Daily Eagle I present to you a tale about good old Greenpoint cop biting.

Perhaps we should do as this subway poster suggests and pluck our teeth for freedom? Mr. Smith’s freedom, that is.

Miss Heather

A Word of Advice To Greenpoint Bike Owners

You might want to watch where you park on Greenpoint Avenue or you might discover that your two wheeler has been converted into a NO wheeler. Missy, a long-time New York Shitty reader and first time tipster writes:

Noticed this endangered bike on Greenpoint in front of The Black Rabbit and thought of your blog… The bike’s gonna get it if we don’t act fast!

While grammatically flawed, the point attempting to be made in the above missive remains pretty clear: remove your bike or it will be removed. Piece by piece. On that note, any bicycle enthusiasts who might be reading this should probably refrain from chaining your bikes to this tree on Calyer Street as well.

Hey, at least they said thank you.

Miss Heather

The Karate Krishna

The following are three phrases I use with unusual frequency in Greenpoint:

1. What the fuck?
2. Oh my.
3. Who the hell did this?

Yesterday I asked myself the above two questions, dear readers. What’s more, they were both answered in the course of a mere thirty minutes. It all started with the following objet de arte on Norman Avenue.

What the fuck?

At 2:30 p.m. I found this tricked-out five wheeler tethered to a steel gate which graces one of Greenpoint’s more interesting edifices: 177 1/2 Norman Avenue.

Oh my.

Obviously the owner of the aforementioned cart (and presumably the decorator of the above window) likes:

1. America
2. George W. Bush
3. Karate
4. Running

Especially America and Karate.

Who the hell did this?

I have asked myself the above question many times as I have gazed upon the this building. And on November 5, 2007 at 3:00 p.m. I finally received an answer.

The kind of guy who totes his painfully adorable children in a customized kiddie coach while beating a star-shaped tambourine at the intersection of Manhattan Avenue and Norman, that’s who.

Oh my.

Miss Heather

Greenpointers Are Good Americans

It’s been quite awhile since I have seen me some subway poster goodness here in the Garden Spot. This is because I rarely ride the subway anymore. However, last night I did and I didn’t come away disappointed.

Intrigued by the hole ripped out of this poster on the Smith & 9th Street bound platform, I went in for a closer look.

What is that thing saying?

Oh, of course! I should have known! Pluck my theeth (sic) for freedom!

We Greenpointers might be distrustful of a lot of things, but we pull our share of the load when it comes to protecting god and country. We may not offer up our selves (or sons) as cannon fodder for Iraq, but we pitch in all the same. Our contributions are simply of a more, uh, personal caliber.

And if the smiles I see around here are any indication, we have been very generous.

Miss Heather

Greenpoint Honor Roll of Discarded Mattresses: 11/2/07

Last night my husband and I went to Casa Mon Amour for dinner. Before arriving there (and being chided for not going to their SECOND anniversary celebration last night*) Mr. Heather and I saw an assortment of mattresses headed to that Serta Sleeper in the sky.

99 Freeman Street

Note the plastic sheathing on the box springs. I wonder if this mattress has “tenants”?

230 Franklin Street

Hmm. A mattress, box springs and a day bed. I wonder if they bite?

74 India Street, AKA: Bedbug Central**

While not labeled, I bet these bad boys have bedbugs.

A very close friend of mine (who doesn’t even live in Greenpoint, but in north Brooklyn all the same) just underwent the utter hell that is a bedbug infestation. When are our civic leaders going to acknowledge that we, and consequently they, have a problem?

Greenpoint verse, in rhyming terse:

The Pencil Factory and its (remaining) siblings getting landmarked is great.
After a convenient conflagration made landmarking another property too late!

The new bike lanes and trees are all pretty keen.
I wonder why the city gave them to us, was it for developer green?

If the powers that be in NYC would see fit to redirect their attention to the people who actually live in Greenpoint and north Brooklyn (as opposed to the people they seemingly WANT to live here) it would be greatly appreciated.

Contrary to popular belief poor people (and by virtue of being poor, they are also lazy and filthy in the Neo-Victorian mindset most people seem to sport nowadays) are not the only ones who get bedbugs. Ask a bedbug. He (or she) will tell you they don’t give a damn if the blood is red, white, blue, yellow, brown or green. Rich or poor, blood is blood. They’re equal opportunity blood suckers. Unlike our elected representatives (and the developers they pander to).

If these little critters find their way into my mansion of merde, I can assure you, dear readers, the shitty is going to hear about it. Often.

Miss Heather

*Beatrice’s birthday is next Friday, by the way.

**Isn’t interesting that Pistilli would go on the record as being against a hotel in Queens being converted into a homeless shelter while they let a beautiful building like the Astral (in Greenpoint) go to shit?

From The Queens Gazette:

Pistilli Realty Group and members of the community agree that the Westway Motel cannot serve as a substitute for a homeless shelter, the letter said in part.

Yet, retaining a Super who photographs topless women in the hallways of one of their apartment buildings while doing nothing whatsoever about a bedbug infestation (in the aforementioned building) is perfectly acceptable? Perhaps the peeps at Pistilli should be be forced to reside in the Astral for a month or two? Who knows, they might even leave with the six-legged gift that keeps on giving.

Forgotten Greenpointer

The biggest fringe benefit I get at the junk shop (aside from yelling at crass customers without fear of recrimination) is first whack at all the goodies that come in. Recently I scored borrowed this:

It was heavily picked over, but within the remains I found a forgotten Greenpointer!

Her name is Winnie Lightner and here is her story.

Intrigued to learn what happened to Ms. Lightner, I looked her up on IMDB. Follows is an excerpt from her biography:

Winnie Lightner was known as Broadway’s “Song a Minute Girl” because she could belt out a song in less than 60 seconds. Her brassy outgoing style lent itself to Warner’s Vitaphone shorts when sound came in and soon Winnie Lightner was a top Warner star. The missing “Gold Diggers of Broadway” was a triumph for Lightner in 1929, and the all-technicolor “Life of the Parry” was an even bigger hit. Despite the huge success of her first few films, Warner Brothers began to assign maudlin roles to Winnie and by 1933 she was at MGM playing second fiddle to stars like Joan Crawford.

Ms. Lightner retired from show business early and lived out the rest of her life in southern California. Her son, Thomas Del Ruth, is a cinematographer. Some of the more notable films he has worked on are:

• Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid
• Myra Breckenridge (a big, BIG fave of Miss Heather)
• The Outlaw Josey Wales
• Motel Hell
• Look Who’s Talking (YUCK —but the previous four films make up for it)
• Stand By Me
• And a slew of television work including Charmed, West Wing and JAG

But back to Winnie. She never became a big star (or got to play Lady MacBeth for that matter), but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t deserve recognition. She was the first movie performer to be censored for something said or in this case, sung in a talkie (once again, from IMDB):

In 1928 she made a Vitaphone short in which she sang “We Love It,” “God Help a Sailor on a Night Like This,” “That Brand New Model of Mine,” and “We’ve Got a Lot to Learn.” A censorship board in Pennsylvania held the release of the film because of the content of Lightner’s songs. According to film historian Alexander Walker, “Warners asked the censors to merely pass judgment on the visuals – the censors refused.”

The more eagled-eyed among you might have noticed IMDB has “Greenport, New York” listed as her place of birth. I suppose only Winnie (or perhaps her son) would have known/know for certain. Then again, getting censored for a singing a saucy song about sailors strikes me as being a very Greenpoint phenomenon.

Regardless of your place of origin, I salute you Winnie. Your accomplishment might have been lost to time, but it hasn’t been forgotten by yours truly. It was a pleasure making your (belated) acquaintance.

If it is any consolation, I have never gotten to play Lady MacBeth either.*

Miss Heather

*First by lack of opportunity (before going into art, I was a drama major), now by lack of desire. Life is tragic enough, no need to dwell upon it. I have long since accepted the fact I am a comedienne anyway. Even when dead serious I crack people up.

CASE IN POINT: When I wanted to take home a magazine with a Jenna Jameson interview in it from the junk shop.

Me (to my boss): Can I take this? It looks interesting. Besides, if lays around here some guy will probably take it down to the basement and jerk off to it.
Brad (coworker): It wouldn’t be the first time.
Me: Yeah, I know. Tony had to go down there and mop it up. That was back in 2002.
Boss: Sure, you can have it. But you might want to check it for “man juice” first.
Me: Already have. I realize that is an occupational hazard here. It’s clean.

My boss thought this was one of the funniest things he ever heard.

Maybe I should take my comedy cavalcade to Community Board 1? I have considered it. They need a laugh. What’s more, they could use a primer post-feminist record keeping. Per a Miss Heather mole:

I was looking through the minutes from the September CB #1 meeting and, wouldn’t you know, the male names are spelled out but the female names only use the surname. I discovered this because I remember one woman standing up and explaining the problems she and her family had experienced because of construction next door. When I looked up her name I only found Ms. Bowe, not her full name. Am I being naive here? Is it common not to include the first names of all females? Looking through the doc, I noticed all male names were spelled out at first mention and the majority of female first names were omitted. Hmmm..maybe I’m looking into things too much!

That’s Mrs. MISTER Heather to you, bucko!

Ask A Greenpointer Asks You

Recently we were posited a question which (frankly) I am not qualified to answer*. Here it is:

I just moved to town and I have no idea where to find a good tailor! I am all thumbs when it comes to sewing or else I would do it myself. Please help!

-Short girl with long pants.

I bounced this query off my buddy over at 11222 and she conceded that just about any dry cleaner here could probably do a job as simple as hemming pants. She’s probably right. However,  I have met people who could break an anvil if given the chance, so I thought it would be a good idea to put this question up for you, dear readers, to answer. If you know of an especially competent tailor in this neighborhood, please help this Garden Spot newbie out and post it in the comments.

Thanks!

Miss Heather

P.S.: On a related note, the laundromat at the corner of Green Street and Manhattan Avenue has changed names and hours. It is now called “Apollo Express” and is open 24 hours.

*I do my own alterations. Been sewing since I was 15.