Greenpoint
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Culture on the Cheap
Greenpoint Family Values
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
I cannot help but be perplexed by the rash of juvenile delinquency plaguing my fellow Brooklynites to the south. First it was wet towel popping. Then it was a menacing 12 year old girl brandishing a knife. Now even a Prospect Park pigeon has become a victim of the apparent anarchy overtaking south Brooklyn. Opinions about all the previous abound, mine are as follows:
- The previous incidents are a symptom of a larger social problem— and no amount of police intervention is going to fix it. If you want teens to (for example) quit running amok in public parks, give them a different means of spending their time. Unlike the infant that was menaced by the wet towel poppers, these children probably do not have the luxury of having a stay-at-home parent. Why not start an arts program that will enable these children to expend their excess energy and provide an outlet for their teenage angst? It has been proven time and time again that the arts work wonders for youth, but to date we (the taxpayers) seem to be more concerned about our wallets than their welfare. This needs to change.
- I blame the parents. All of them.
What these people need a sense of community. This is something they decidedly lack. A perfect example of effective group-parenting is the “Mommy Mafia” that resides in the building across the street from mine. The residents in this building are mostly Dominican and Puerto Rican, and consequently, their children are serious baseball enthusiasts. They frequently play a game or two on the street. All the time under the watchful of eye of a parent gazing outside his or her apartment window.
One day (about a year ago) a child beaned one of his peers in the head with a baseball. Immediately after this transpired I saw a woman’s head abruptly jerk back inside the window. Ten seconds (if that) elapsed from the moment this offending act came to pass to that child’s mother marching out of the building, reading him the riot act and taking him inside. It was one of the damnedest things I have ever seen. Don’t fuck with the Green Street Mommy Mafia.
Unlike the children wreaking havoc in Carroll Park or the pampered pigeon killer of Prospect Park, the parents of these kids have strictly enforced code of conduct for their children. One parent might be absent, but he (or she) can rely upon her neighbors to make sure said son or daughter walks the line. These kids don’t get away with shit.
Of course, parents also have the option of taking their children with them when they have errands to run. My boss Larry had a piece of work-related business arise recently, and not having the option of hiring a babysitter, he took his 3 month old son Zane with him. To a dominatrix’s lair located in Chelsea. Little did he know this otherwise mundane business trip would become a family affair. And this is what exactly happened when his mother showed up:
My mother pushed her way into the room,”Get that boy out of that shit. He’s not in Coney Island. You look terrible Larry, that woman does not take care of you.”
We Greenpointers may have unorthodox parenting skills, but you don’t you see our kids waving around knives, assaulting people or killing animals either. I for one blame public breast-feeding regarding the latter most.
Sickos.
Miss Heather
P.S.: Be sure to read the second installment of Larry’s tale of family togetherness, it’s hilarious.
Hot Wheels
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
Yesterday I arrived to work five minutes late. Being a punctuality freak, such a temporal transgression does not come to pass without a damned good reason. And the previous I had: during my ‘commute’ I saw a one of the coolest bikes ever created. I asked the owner if I could photograph it. He said “sure” and proceeded to expound upon his bicycle’s numerous appointments for the next ten minutes.
I for one like the customization of the handle bars.
What would a bike be without mudflaps and a radio? Unworthy of gracing the fine streets of Greenpoint, that’s for certain!
The mastermind behind this phat set of wheels purchased this radio during his recent trip to Puerto Rico. He found the pickings in Greenpoint of inferior quality. They were too “tinny-sounding” for his musical palate. At a paltry six bucks, this lilliputian boom box is not only a bargain, but it is also significantly lighter than his old system, which consisted of a car stereo (powered by a motorcycle battery), speakers and a pair subwoofers that were mounted inside a wooden box. “You could hear that thing all the way down the block”* he wistfully mused.
But it also added a lot of weight to the bike, which made it very hard to bring upstairs. I live on the top floor. You can’t leave a something like this outside, you know. Someone will steal it.
I have always been amazed by the bicycle theft problem in this city. Any bike, regardless of condition or quality seems to be fair game. Now take a masterpiece like this (or better yet, DON’T); as I was speaking to this gentleman I even found myself wanting to steal this bike. A candy-ass lock isn’t going to protect this set of wheels against theft. This bike needs a detachment of the National fucking Guard!
Miss Heather
*This is true, you could.
Goodie Bags: How and Why I Make Them
It was originally my intent to focus on the incredibly stupid and fucked-up shit some of the customers at the junk shop say this week, but I have since changed my mind. This is partially due to the fact that I could not understand a damned thing most of them were saying to me yesterday; our core clientèle du jour Friday the 13th consisted of what my co-worker and I call “bobble-heads”. “Bobble-heads” are people who enthusiastically nod to anything and everything you say. I am certain these individuals are fluent in one language or another, but English it is not among them.
As a matter of fact, I got the idea for today’s post after being praised for my stellar work performance by my boss. He said:
You have yet to make a mistake.
To wit I replied:
Oh I make mistakes alright, but I either cover them up or set up someone else to take the rap for them.
“You are a true product of corporate America.” he replied. He is right: I am. It has been my experience that there is no better place to find a spiteful, incompetent and/or worthless human being than your local cubicle farm. The people who populate these god-forsaken labyrinths make a three-toed sloth seem like howler monkey on crack by comparison. These languid creatures have elevated abject laziness and intransigence to an art form. Over the years I have endeavored to learn their black art.
A fruit of the above course study is my implementation of the “goodie bag”. Better known by some as “grab bags”, these are sacks filled with jewelry or craft supplies which I price at a deep discount. The reason I have elected to add the goodie bag to my arsenal of time/sanity-saving bag of tricks is threefold:
1. There are three types of jewelry I handle: cheap ugly crap, cute vintage jewelry and “nice stuff”.
- The crap goes in the dollar bin where older Polish women detangle and pick through it for fifteen or twenty minutes on end. My logic: keeping these women engaged in the pursuit of some plastic piece of bling keeps them out of my hair. That one dollar string of beads saved me one or two hours of mind-numbing work.
- The “nice stuff” goes in the showcase. My logic: to do otherwise is to facilitate theft. Thieves constitute a sizable portion of the junk shop’s patronage.
- The cute vintage jewelry goes into goodie bags. My logic: after several months I got tired of repeatedly pulling these items out of the showcase, only to have people haggle and waste my valuable time. The goodie bag solves this problem; the jewelry is grouped, bagged and clearly priced, thus eliminating the need to dialogue with these soul-sucking shrews.
2. Sorting all the above jewelry is a very time-consuming task which requires a lot of concentration. Maintaining the required attention to detail becomes impossible when you are being hassled every five minutes by some miscreant raising a fuss over a lot of jewelry that costs a whopping five bucks.
3. The time I save preventing all the previous scenarios can be spent doing other things, like checking my email or working.
The evolution of the goodie bag was not without its setbacks, as you will see. But after a couple months of experimentation I have the process down to an exact science. Here it is.
PREPARATION
The first step to goodie bag production is to gather all your tools and place them on the counter.
Next, you select the items to be bagged. Today’s sack stuffers will be vintage clip-on earrings and some craft supplies.
GROUPING
When selecting earrings to place in a bag, group them in lots of 5-7 by color and style. Speaking as a woman myself, I am very grateful when items are grouped in such a manner. That way one does not have to slog through designs and colors one does not like in order to get to “the good stuff”. Follows is an example of a poorly prepared and properly prepared goodie bag.
The bag on the right is consistent in color and overall “feel”, the bag on the left is not. Such a random assortment of earrings is an invitation for someone to to rip it open and/or haggle with you because she “only likes a couple of pieces in the bag”. I shit you not, there are a number of people who see fit to use the previous bargaining tactic on me. I suppose it would work if I actually cared. I don’t.
As you fill the baggies, place them in a bowl behind the counter. Make sure this bowl is out of eye shot or people will try to grab them.
When the bowl is full (like in the above photo) you are ready for the next step: pricing.
PRICING
Since the items in question have been sitting on the shelf awhile, I am going to price them crazy cheap: $1.00-$5.00 a bag. Upon being labeled, the bags go into a bin. Once again, keep them out of sight or you will be beating back overly enthusiastic bargain hunters with a stick.
Once the bags are priced you are ready for the next step: tamper/theft prevention.
TAMPER/THEFT PREVENTION, PART I
Each bag is folded and stapled no less than three times. This is done to discourage someone’s sticky little fingers from getting into them.
TAMPER/THEFT PREVENTION, PART II
After each bag is stapled, out comes the packing tape. Tear off a three foot long piece and wrap it around each bag.
As I was preparing the above bag my boss commented:
You are the most focused worker I have ever had. You take on a task and do not not stop until it is completed.
I admonished my boss not to mistake malice for due diligence and reminded him about the time I discovered someone had opened once of these bags and placed a razor blade in it. Then I said:
I’d like to see that bitch try to get into this bag.
He laughed.
Once you have wrapped each bag, place them in the proper container for sale. Make sure there is a prominently placed sign advising customers that these bags are “priced as marked” and are not to be tampered with.
Congratulations! You have completed today’s goodie bag tutorial!
Total time elapsed: three hours.
Hours of aggravation prevented: incalculable.
Miss Heather
Great Moments in Greenpoint Siding Volume IX
I want to open with a thought-provoking comment that was posted regarding last week’s Greenpoint siding superstar. Fisher6000 writes:
I know that your goal is to be a smart ass and that I may be taking this series too seriously… but you are pointing to such a poignant truth here–that surface is the layer that matters.
I have been pondering this over the last week— and not only do I agree with Fisher6000, but I have decided to illustrate her point with this week’s selection. Albeit in a rather circuitous manner.
A number of you are already familiar with this house. While its street address is 198 Green Street, this modest two-story domicile is more commonly known as the Subzero Building. This home received the aforementioned moniker from an extremely vitriolic post yours truly wrote about it over a year ago. Here’s an excerpt:
I’m guessing this is a light fixture. The first of three to be installed along the top of this building. I for one would like to propose that upon completion these be used as gallows for the owner of this property, the ‘designer’ responsible for this ‘design concept’ and the contractor who enabled it to happen.
OUCH! In hindsight I don’t remember who (or what) pissed in my Cheerios this particular morning, but I certainly had a bug up my ass. I had a point to get across and that point was unequivocally made: I hate this building.
As with most things in life, what goes around comes around. Last month I got my well-deserved comeuppance. Many of you know that I marched in the Mermaid Parade this year, but would anyone like to hazard a guess who I ended up meeting immediately afterwards?
Anyone?
The owner of the Subzero building, that’s who.
Subzero Owner: Hey, are you Miss Heather of New York Shitty?
Me: Yes.
S.O.: I’m the owner of the house you riffed on.
Me: The Subzero building!?!
S.O: Yes.
I was pretty frazzled at the time (marching around in a dress that weighed ten pounds while slathered in caramel syrup will do that to a person), so I cannot recount exactly what was said between us. But I do vividly remember thinking to myself “Wow, this man is a damned nice guy!” Had the shoe been on the other foot, I doubt I would have had even a tenth of the class this man exhibited.
And that’s the funny thing: since meeting this gent I don’t harbor the rancor I used to have towards this house. In fact, I have kind of grown to like it in a strange sort of way. Sure, sheet metal-sheathed buildings are not my taste— but I’d much rather have a nice person who lives in an “ugly” house as a neighbor than a raging asshole— even if he or she lives in an architectural masterpiece. After all, if I wanted the latter I would have moved to Park Slope.
Think about it.
Miss Heather
Another childhood memory shot to shit
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
Those of you who want to see E.T. buggering a lemur can find the above-depicted tableau on Franklin Street immediately next door to the Franklin Corner Store.
Miss Heather
Greenpoint Sound-Seeing Tour, Part II
The long-awaited second half of my sound-seeing tour of Greenpoint is online and ready for your NSFW listening pleasure. Here it is.
Enjoy!
Miss Heather
Summer Sale at Alter
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
Today is the first day of Alter’s “Serious Summer Sale” which will run through July 15. Per their announcement:
Summer merchandise up to 40% OFF.
Women’s Dresses, Tops, Shoes & Jewelry.
Men’s Tee Shirts, Button Downs & Accessories.ALL CHEAP MONDAY JEANS $50.00! This Week Only!
Something else Alter currently has— which may or may not be on sale— are some very nice Greenpoint shirts.
I asked one of the guys about them and he gave me the scoop. The Greenpoint Reformed Church made a slew of these shirts (before the now infamous fire, obviously) with the intent to sell them but never got around to it. So the pastor gave them to Alter.
The last time I checked only two men’s shirts were left. However, there are still plenty women’s shirts waiting for the lovely women of Greenpoint to wear them. It’s time to step up to the plate and show your Greenpoint Pride ladies!
This is probably the best Greenpoint shirt I have seen (although Champion Coffee has some nice offerings as well, to be fair).
Now if someone would produce a tank top…
ALTER
109 Franklin Street
(at Greenpoint Ave)
Brooklyn, NY 11222
718.784.8818
Hours:
Wednesday, Thursday, Friday 1-9 PM
Saturday 12-9 PM Sunday 12-8 PM
Miss Heather
What is wrong with this picture?
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
All you Greenpointers out there know where this intersection is: Franklin at Calyer Street. In fact, I bet a number of you have walked down this very block hundreds of times without noticing that something is amiss. I know did. That is, until I looked up one day.
Your eyes are not deceiving you. The cornerstone of this house reads “Clinton S(t)”. Pretty neat, isn’t it?
What’s even more interesting is I have not found any direct reference to Greenpoint’s very own “Clinton Street” in the Brooklyn Daily Eagle online archives. Rather, I (might) have found it mentioned in an article entitled Vaccinators in Greenpoint. Here’s an excerpt:
Dr. Robert A. Black, the local health officer, with his associates, is trying to stamp out the present outbreak of smallpox in Brooklyn and the physicians of the vaccinating corps have been kept on the jump for over a week. There were five new cases reported at the office on Clinton Street today. The patients were all taken to the Riverside Hospital on North Brother Island . They were Walter Brush, a boy, age not stated, from 275 Driggs Avenue; Helen McMahon, aged 12 years, and Rose McMahon, aged 9 years, from 275 Driggs Avenue; Emma Schwartz, aged 23 years, from 31 Meeker Avenue, and John Devaney, aged 7 years, from 100 Warren Street. The cases from the house at 275 Driggs Avenue are believed to have received the infection from 273 Driggs Avenue, where there was a nest of cases.
The previous probably sounds like something from the 17th or 18th century to many of you. It isn’t: this article dates from March 11, 1901.
That said, I hardly find it surprising that there was a Clinton Street in Greenpoint. At one time there was both a Washington and Lincoln Street here as well. Naming streets after public officials (especially presidents or in this case, DeWitt Clinton) was a very popular practice in not only Greenpoint, but in Brooklyn as a whole.
This practice resulted in a slew of duplicate street names* which took years to unsnarl. It was a long and very contentious process. One which, amusingly enough, often saw “North Brooklyn” (AKA: “The Eastern District”) in opposition to “South Brooklyn” on a number of occasions.
Could you imagine trying to get your mail if (for example) there were five Washington Streets extant in the Borough of Kings?** In addition, if one happened to be a flim-flam man with a sketchy command of Brooklyn geography, all the name changes (that were eventually implemented) would pose a serious problem.
Keeping your story straight when you’re being interrogated by the cops is hard enough. Especially if you have trouble remembering your own name, as I learned from this article in the December 3, 1886 edition of the Brooklyn Daily Eagle.
Note to self: If I want to blow someone off, tell them to meet me at Tompkins Avenue at the corner of Center Street.
Miss Heather
*This list is simply too lengthy for me to feature here. Go to the Brooklyn Public Library’s Brooklyn Daily Eagle online archives, run a search for “duplicate street names” and see for yourself!
**This was once the case, by the way.
Nothing Like a Stop Work Order on a Saturday Afternoon
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
Greenpoint is not a very exciting place. While some people may enjoy the constant hum of activity that comes with living in Manhattan, I like peace and quiet. To use Beastie Boy parlance, “slow and low” is my tempo. Always has been.
That said, there was a flurry of excitement on Manhattan Avenue this weekend. I had just returned to my job (after taking lunch) when a man poked his head in the door and shouted:
Hey, a building across the street is being issued a work order!
I bolted out the door without delay. I was not about to miss this. Miss Heather loves her some Stop Work Orders, but I had yet to see one being issued. When I got outside I noticed a number of my fellow Greenpointers must have shared my enthusiasm because a rather sizable crowd of gawkers had collected on the street.
After arguing with the building inspector in vain, the contractor took a moment to contemplate his new Stop Work Order.
After he was done, a number of this neighbors wandered over to do the same.
Who knew the issuance of a Stop Work Order could generate so much interest? I certainly didn’t. Then again, maybe some of these people were fed up with the illegal weekend construction that has been conducted here for the last four weekends?
Just a thought.
Miss Heather
Need a mattress? COME TO GREENPOINT!
Whenever I start running low on new subject matter to expound upon I go for a walk. I have spent much of the last two days pounding the Greenpoint pavement. And, as always, I did not come home disappointed. Perplexed or downright disturbed? Yes. But disappointed? Not in the least.
This is why I live in Greenpoint. It has long been my understanding that, as a lowly renter* with low class, the “A-list” Brooklyn neighborhoods are well beyond my reach. As I told my buddy Larry yesterday (after dealing with the “Pornophile”, AGAIN):
Not all of us have the stuff to land a porn queen, some of us have to settle for the fluffer.
“The Garden Spot of the Universe” always puts out. They can keep can keep their Park “Angelina Jolie” Slopes and Boerum “Lindsay Lohan” Hills. I like my neighborhoods like my women: delectably wrecked and HARD. Greenpoint is the Amy Winehouse of Brooklyn ‘nabes. This is why I love her so.
July 7, 2007
I was walking along Greenpoint Avenue when I happened upon one of the many languishing development sites my recently designated chic neighborhood has to offer: 189 Greenpoint Avenue.
I go in for a closer look.
“Wow, that’s kind of gross.” I thought to myself. “I wonder if Jessica Simpson’s marital bed looked like this?” After chuckling at my own sordid imaginings I took the above photograph. Not thinking any more about it, I went home.
Today: July 8, 2007
As I am walking down Green Street I find another abandoned mattress.
After taking a few photographs of the above mattress, box spring and shopping cart still life, a gentleman sunbathing next door (whilst reading a book entitled Great Artists) commented:
You’re the sixth person to photograph that mattress.
I told this chap he can expect one of those photographs to find its way onto the hallowed walls of MOMA or the Whitney and proceeded down the street where…
I found this despoiled mattress just as a man was about to load it into his minivan. I asked him if I could photograph it before he took it. Not only did he oblige, but he propped it up for me so as to get a better angle.
On the one hand, I find this gentleman’s eagerness to take a not-so-gently used mattress home somewhat disturbing. On the other, it was uplifting to see Serta Sleeper Samsara in action.
If Instant Karma doesn’t get him, the bedbugs most certainly will.
Miss Heather
*I agree with a number of points Mr. Oder makes in this post. The New York Times article he critiques is bad. I’m not saying this because I am sore that I wasn’t mentioned in it either; when I read something as hagiographic and insipid as this turd is it makes me thank the heavens above my name is in no way attached to it.
The Brooklyn ‘blogosphere’, just like real life, has A-listers and fluffers. I know which one I am. Before I end this post (because my hand is tired and I need a glass of water— I wonder if that is how Gregory Beyer felt after writing Cracker Barrel Vial 2.0?) I will leave you with today’s Dung of the Day, which I like to call Greenpoint Casserole: Miss Heather Style.
Recipe
Take one dead bird and one large pile of dog shit. Let them roast in the hot July sun until they smell like refried death. Garnish with a cigarette butt and it’s ready to eat.
If this succulent dish makes you hungry, grab your knife and fork, run down to 1043 Manhattan Avenue and get your some!
Bon Apetit!
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