Busy Night at 143 Huron Street

I am just now enjoying the first semblance of peace and quiet I have had all evening. It is 11:13 p.m.

My evening was kicked off by my neighbor (who I have taken to calling Chatty Cathy) yammering to her friends on her cell phone. I regret to inform everyone that she and her boyfriend have broken up. She’s really upset about it too. I suppose that’s why she spent several hours recounting each and every painful detail to her numerous friends. Among them was her former boyfriend stating that he needed to “find himself”. It took every iota of restraint I had to keep from shouting out the window:

You’re ex-boyfriend is full of shit!

Eventually she saw fit to go back indoors and continue her (undoubtedly) very sad story. I suspect my shouting

If they do not stop making all that goddamn noise I am going to call the fucking police!

had something to do with this. This outburst was not directed at her (I am not the kind of person to call the cops on someone when he or she is down), rather, one of the neighboring landlords saw fit to employ an international coalition of idiots (Thanks for this one, Dategirl!) to do a little work on her building’s facade. Was there a permit posted sanctioning this? No, why should there be? In Greenpoint we don’t need no steeeenking permits. They finally saw fit to call it quits at 7:00 p.m. How very thoughtful of them.

Unfortunately, the chaps at 143 Huron were not so considerate. Despite being ordered by the Department of Buildings not to work after hours they were quite the busy (and noisy) beavers tonight. Imagine that. So on top of listening to my husband conduct a conference call regarding some I.T. meltdown at his place of employment, I also got to bask in the sound of sheet metal being cut and hammered.

After taking the above photo, I called 311. I explained to the operator that I have complained about them working after hours twice the previous month. I provided her the complaint numbers and she pulled up the records on her computer. Even she was confused by the following disposition given by the Department of Buildings.

As you can see, 143 Huron was issued a stop work order violation for “after hours work only”. My phone call to 311 was placed at 7:25 p.m. This is “after hours”. The operator asked me if they were still working and I assured her they were. See where I’m going here?

Another complaint was filed and I added it to the growing collection on my dry erase board. Remembering what a D.E.P. operator advised a fellow Greenpointer to do in such situations, I called the police. That came to pass at 7:30 p.m.

I waited, they worked.

LOUDLY.

At 7:54 p.m. I receive a call from the 94th Precinct. The woman tells me a squad car is there and the officers report they cannot hear anything. I begged to differ, so I threw on some sweat pants and walked over to 143 Huron. After acknowledging that yes, these men are making a lot of noise, I am told that the police cannot do anything about “construction matters” and that I should take it up with the Department of Buildings. I tell them I have. Repeatedly. In return I am assured they will “come by to inspect it eventually”. I go home.

The workers do not.

They finally decided to wind things down at 9:30 p.m. My husband got off the phone at 11:10 p.m. Which brings me back to where I am at right now. It is late. I am tired. Tired and very, very PISSED OFF.

Miss Heather

Polka Porn?

Yesterday I found a real gem at the Salvation Army on Manhattan Avenue.

Even though I do not even own a record player, I shelled out the one dollar required to purchase this item and brought it home. Let’s just say it tickles my admittedly perverse fancy. First, you have a man and woman who look like they are going at it. Secondly, this image is flanked by canned ham, bread, a mug of beer and a number of rather phallic sausages, of which one has been sliced by a rather menacing looking knife. Kielbasa a la Bobbit!

But the best part, dear readers, cannot been seen in the above photo: it is the ad copy on the back. Here it is in all its glory. Warning: reading the following might induce night terrors and chronic bed wetting.

Shouldn’t that be Jack Stulak on the strumpet and David Pietrzak on the sexaphone?

The concept of “adults only” Polka brings to mind a number of things I could quite frankly do without. Polka key parties, Polka wife-swapping and Polka orgies, just to name a few. I can’t believe I just thought of Polka key parties. I must go now. I need to take a nice scalding hot shower and scrub the stain off my soul.

Miss Heather

UPDATE, 10/17/07: This morning I received an email from a new reader of New York Shitty. He writes:

Polish Songs Mama Never Taught Me: Give it to me and I’ll make a high-quality CD of it. Sounds amazing.

I have taken him up on his offer.

Monday is Bone Day!

Any Greenpointers out there who loves them some bones, listen up.

Mondays are Bone Days at the Polski Meat Market. Those of you who are currently craving a bone (or two) should drop what you’re doing, head on down to 726 Manhattan Avenue and get you some! They’re totally FREE!!!

Polski Meat Market
726 Manhattan Avenue
Brooklyn, New York 11222

Be sure to tell them Miss Heather sent you.

Miss Heather

Ask A Greenpointer

All things Greenpoint seem to be the rage these days in the media. Speaking for myself, I have found some of this, uh, reporting to be of questionable quality. To this end my comrades at 11222 and Greenpointers and I are going to pool our collective expertise on this subject and offer a new feature to the Greenpoint (or simply Greenpoint curious) public: Ask A Greenpointer.

Have a question about Greenpoint? Or do you simply want to ask a Greenpointer a question? You can forward it to either of my fellow Greenpointers or me at missheather (at) newyorkshitty (dot) com. We’ll each tender an answer via our respective blogs or here at New York Shitty (we’re still in the planning stage folks, so bear with us).

Happy querying!

Miss Heather

The Greenpoint 10

It has recently come to my attention that Only The Blog Knows Brooklyn is soliciting suggestions for this year’s Park Slope 100. I mentioned this to my husband over dinner last weekend. As soon as the words left my lips we both shouted in unison:

Greenpoint should have something like this!

Now, thanks to more than a little inspiration from OTBKB, it does. With a few significant modifications, mind you. Here they are:

1. Unlike my compatriot to the south, I am not taking nominations. New York Shitty is not a democracy. It has been my experience that one of the biggest problems with any democratic process is the opinion of an idiot and that of normal person are given equal weight. Those of you who may be wondering what the end result of this practice is need only look at who inhabits the White House nowadays. Yeah, (c)HIM(p).
2. Since I am going it alone, my list will contain only ten people. No neighborhood has 100 people worth the use of bandwidth anyway. Sorry.
3. Criteria: None, really. Just people (and perhaps a thing or two) that make Greenpoint, well, Greenpoint.
4. Because it struck me as being a sterling idea, each installment of the Greenpoint Ten will feature a special motivational poster to uplift your spirits. But enough bullshit, let’s get down to business!

Numbers 9 and 10:

If I had to pick one location to describe Greenpoint, it would be the intersection Manhattan and Greenpoint Avenue. This is the very soul of the Garden Spot. It also happens to be where a number of intoxicated homeless people spend a great deal of time.

But let us not view the glass as being half empty. Most of you looking at the above photo probably just see two bums passed out on discarded furniture. I, on the other hand, see ACCOMPLISHMENT!

Those sofas didn’t just walk to Greenpoint Avenue, you know. These men worked as a team and overcame a number of obstacles (among them being drunk as hell) to actualize their placement there. I for one find it inspiring to see these men enjoying the fruits of their hard liquor, hard labor and —dare I say it— TEAMWORK.

Greenpoint Success.

Congratulations guys, you’ve made it to the Greenpoint Ten! Mazel Tov.

Stay tuned: Next Thursday I will unveil #8!

Miss Heather

Bad Finger

As some of you may have noticed, I have had a “thing” for the Department of Buildings of late. My reasons for disliking this agency are too plentiful to go into here. Let’s just say I think a thorough cleansing of the department from top to bottom wouldn’t hurt. In fact, I bet there are a few overworked, motivated and (dare I say it) honest inspectors under their employ who would back me up on this. If such a person is reading this, please shoot me an email. I would love to talk to you.

But I digress.

Today’s installment of Greenpoint goodness involves a former building inspector turned landlord, a disgruntled tenant and a finger. No not that finger. I am speaking of the kind of finger which usually graces one’s hand. Usually. Therein lies the crux of the following tale of digital divestiture from the August 18, 1878 edition of the New York Times entitled “A Strange Hospital Tale”. Enjoy!

Bedbugs aren’t the only things that will bite you in Greenpoint. Fuck those candy-ass “Beware of Dog” signs; they should make one which reads Beware of Tenant!

Miss Heather

Gentrification Rears Its Ugly Head at Greenpoint Bodega!

Today I walked by a former haunt of mine: the bodega on Manhattan Avenue just north of Clay Street. As a former resident of Clay Street I know this bodega well (where else are you going to buy maxi pads at ten o’clock at night?). Or do I? As I found myself wondering today.

“75 CENT” for a cup of coffee!?! OUTRAGEOUS! And to think I was once a regular patron of yours, Manhattan Avenue bodega. First it’s 10 oz. cups. Next you’ll be giving people free music with their over-priced, sugar-laden coffee products*.

You disgust me.

Miss Heather

*Like You Know Who down the street.