Greenpoint
Lorven Pharmacy
Culture on the Cheap
Lost
I saw this flyer on Greenpoint Avenue last weekend. Given that I have seen chickens and a goat here, I had a hard time feeling 100% certain that this was a joke. I later deduced that it was, but that still doesn’t change the fact that I found someone losing a pet rat and putting up flyers about it to be plausible. In Greenpoint it is, anyway.
Miss Heather
Believed to be insane
I am certain a number of you have read that laughably bad series of articles about Greenpoint in Time Out New York. I have done so repeatedly because the neighborhood they wrote about sure as fuck isn’t Greenpoint. And I should know, I fucking live here. The following quote from their real estate feature almost gave me an aneurysm.
Rentals run between $800 and $1,000 for a studio, and $900 and $1,200 for a one-bedroom. You just need to know where to look: Check real-estate listings in the Greenpoint Gazette and Greenpoint Star, and tenants wanted signs in the windows of Polish-run businesses, or try local broker Eve Levine (347-XXX-XXXX).
What the fuck were the editors smoking when they decided to publish this? I wonder if Eve gave it to them, because it must be some seriously good shit. Not like the schwag my neighbors usually smoke. That’s all they can afford after paying exorbitantly high rent each and every month.
It has also been my observation that most of the apartments advertised in the Greenpoint Gazette and the Greenpoint Star are listed by brokers. Many of the “for rent” signs I see here are written in Polish —which makes sense given they are usually placed in the windows of Polish businesses. Why does it not surprise me that Eve “Homebuying for Hipsters” Levine, an agent herself, didn’t see fit to mention any of the previous? It would be bad for business, that’s why. After a horde of gullible miscreats tries (and fails) to locate these unbelievably inexpensive apartments they will give Eve a call. And she will be more than happy to help them, for a fee.
Seriously, the days of getting a $800/month rent for studio apartment in Greenpoint are long gone. When I moved here over seven years ago my first (studio) apartment cost me $850 a month. Although it was very spacious, it was hardly a palace: I had part of my kitchen ceiling collapse, had intermittent hot water and once went 10 days without electricity.
I had a crackhead as a neighbor. The hallways of my building reeked of crack and the stench of stale shit. This crackalicious chap also happened to be the Superintendent’s brother, which really sucked. In a nutshell, I lived in a total and utter shithole. I can only imagine what $800 a month will get you now. Maybe a coop at Josh Guttman’s Chicken Ranch, a room at the ever popular Greenpoint Hotel or a Port-O-Let immediately come to mind.
Ms. Levine’s assertion that $900-$1,200 was the going rent for one bedroom struck me as being even more dubious. I have lived in the same one bedroom RENT STABILIZED apartment for over five years. When I moved in my rent was $1,200 a month. Not anymore!
I don’t know where you got your information from, TONY. Were the whoppers you published the result of graft or were they wrested out your ASS?* Either way, it’s a load of shit. Which brings me to today’s offering of Greenpoint historic hooliganism. This one dates from the November 23, 1899 edition of the Brooklyn Daily Eagle and is entitled “Believed To Be Insane”. Enjoy!
Young Man Found Wading in Whale Creek in Greenpoint
“I am a reporter and I have been assigned on a story by a Manhattan newspaper to Greenpoint” said Archie Harvey, a wild-eyed looking young man to Magistrate Lemon in the Manhattan Avenue police court today when he was arraigned on a charge of vagrancy. The Magistrate looked at the reporters and then at the magistrate a second time.
“I repeat that I am a reporter assigned by the New York Herald to write a story in Greenpoint,” the prisoner said. “I get $25,000 a day and give my mother $1,000 a minute.”
Magistrate Lemon committed Harvey for examination into his sanity. The young man gave his address as 148 East Forty-fourth Street, Manhattan. He was arrested on a charge of vagrancy last evening while he was wading in Whale Creek at the foot of Eagle Street, Greenpoint. He wore neither hat, coat nor shoes and appeared to be in search of something.
I’m not surprised the judge didn’t believe Mr. Harvey’s story. Everyone knows that there is no way in hell an actual print reporter (from Manhattan, no less) would set foot in our humble ‘hood. They let the local real estate brokers and developers ghostwrite/edit their articles for them. Everyone around here knows that, even the Dog Shit Queen of Greenpoint.
Miss Heather
*And to think that I actually looked forward to their “Cheap Eats” issue. Whores. No worries, I am currently in talks with NFT about doing a little writing for them. If this comes to pass people will hear the REAL DEAL about what’s shaking in Greenpoint. From someone who actually lives here and provides a measure of “local resistance” to Magic Johnson’s early morning wake-up calls and apparent disregard public safety, no less.
Kung Fu Cash
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
Located at 678 Manhattan Avenue, J.S.S. Fruit & Vegetable is easily the best produce stand in the ‘hood. Not only are the pickings fresh and reasonably priced, but the people who operate this establishment are painfully nice. The gent who usually mans the cash register is always happy. I’m not too sure why, but I doubt medication (self-prescribed and otherwise) is involved.
Rather, I think his beatific state is the result of being the keeper of the most BADASS automated teller machine I have ever seen.
Watching Bruce Lee kick some digitally animated ass makes the wait (and $1.75 service fee) totally worth it. I give this Kung Fu cash dispenser two enthusiastic fists up.
Miss Heather
Free Delivery
First off, I’d like to give a hearty shout-out to my homegirl 11222. It’s really nice not to be the only person bringing the, uh, finer points of “The Garden Spot” to the blogosphere’s attention. Maybe more people will actually pay attention to our oft-neglected and abused but very cool corner of Brooklyn as a consequence. I’m not going to give names, you know who you are. Shame on you.
Although we don’t agree on a number things (like grocery stores for example —I’m a Garden gal, myself*), a new voice was very much needed in this here ‘hood and 11222 delivers. Speaking of delivery, my fellow Greenpointer has made light of something that is lacking in our ‘hood: late night eateries. I had honestly not given this matter any thought, but she does have a point. 11222 writes:
I am a firm believer that the key to success is staying open later than normal restaurants in Greenpoint. This isn’t a late night kind of place, but please stay open until 8 or so, to get people coming home from work. Closing at 5 or 5:30, in the antiquated belief that people actually get home from work at that time, is a sure recipe for failure – unless of course you’re able to do such a smashing lunch business that you don’t need to.
Someone could open a late-night pizza joint near the Greenpoint Ave. G stop, serving the crappiest pizza in the world. It wouldn’t matter; they would do a bang-up business, because aside from the God Bless Deli & Grocery, there is nowhere else to get late-night food in Greenpoint. I am still astounded by this.
Aside from perhaps the Chinese Musician (which is open until 11:00 p.m.), I cannot think of a single sit-down restaurant that is open past 9:00 p.m. This is probably because it has never presented an issue to me: I work unconventional hours. Just like Jaime, as you will see.
I recently found someone offering free late night delivery. Right here on Manhattan Avenue.
Call me cynical but I suspect these breasts and thighs are going to cost you a lot more than the ones Colonel Sanders hawks. I won’t even go into the special sauce.
Miss Heather
*My best friend used to work at the deli at Key Food. That’s all I’m saying.
Anybody out there want some chickens?
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
Because if you do, go on down to Noble Street and help yourself.
I saw these chickens pacing about on Noble Street just east of West Street yesterday afternoon. After a little research, I learned that their apparent “home” belongs to 72 West LLC. This corporate entity, in turn, is headed by Greenpoint’s favorite citizen, the one and only Josh Guttman. I didn’t realize he was diversifying his holdings to include live chickens. Good for him.
In all seriousness, I could smell these foul-ass fowl all the way from Java Street. Those of you who have the misfortune of living near one of our city’s lovely “live poultry” establishments can attest to the stench I am talking about. It’s not unlike horse shit, only worse.
My curiousity piqued, I did a little poking around the Department of Health’s web site today to learn more about how these businesses are regulated. Here is what I found:
Health Code Subsection 161.19 Keeping of live poultry and rabbits
(a) No person shall keep a live rooster, duck, goose or turkey in a built-up portion of the City.
(b) A person who holds a permit to keep for sale or sell live rabbits or poultry shall keep them in coops and runways and prevent them from being at large. Coops shall be whitewashed or otherwise treated in a manner approved by the Department at least once a year and at such other times as the Department may direct in order to keep them clean. Coops, runways and the surrounding area shall be kept clean.
Here’s my two cents:
- Why are there chickens on Noble Street?
- Who is allowing them to wander about?
- Do these people even have a permit to keep chickens here? If they do, they don’t seem to be following the above regulations.
- Anyone up for some KFC? I’m buying!*
Miss Heather
*Just kidding, I’m a vegetarian.
Shaffer Family Values
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
After getting a little housework done I finally have time to sit on my ass and sip a brewski. The laundry has been run, the dishwasher is loaded and groceries have been purchased. Life is good.
This morning I could not for the life of me decide what to feature for today’s installment of Greenpoint crime blotter fun. Thankfully, Greenpoint gave me a hand: at precisely 8:30 a.m. This is when I got up from my desk, peered out my living room room and discovered an ambulance parked directly in front of my apartment building.
The EMS workers didn’t seem to know where they should be headed. Thankfully Vito, a gentleman who lives across the street had a word with them and whatever he said seemed to help. The previous is pretty remarkable given that Vito is mentally retarded and his speech is, for the most part, unintelligible.
Vito is a neighborhood institution— or he is to me and the guys who work at “The Thing” anyway. On any given day he can be found hanging out at the laundromat over on Huron Street (which presumably, his family manages). I’ll never forget the time Vito saw Kerry speaking on a cordless phone. He left the store and came back less than five minutes later with a phone receiver. JUST A PHONE RECEIVER— with which he commenced to strike up a ‘conversation’ with Kerry. This was hilarious beyond words. I like Vito; he brings a much-needed touch of Greenpoint zen to my life. But I digress…
After watching the ambulance episode this morning I remembered the Shaffers. They are my very favorite Greenpoint family. The local patricians may not have seen fit to name a street after them like the Meseroles, Bennets, Calyers or Provosts, but they made their mark nonetheless— in the Brooklyn Daily Eagle crime blotter. Repeatedly. Without further ado, let me introduce you to Joseph “Grandpa” Shaffer…
June 18, 1867
SENT TO JAIL.— Justice Dailey yesterday sentenced Jospeh Shaffer, of Greenpoint, to jail for 10 days, on the complaint of Officer Beckingham, of the Forty-Seventh Precinct, who found him very drunk and disorderly in the vicinity of the ferry.
And take my word for it, the acorn nut does not fall far from the tree…
June 8, 1894
A young man entered the Fifth Street Station house in Long Island City yesterday afternoon and said he had been shot in Greenpoint a few minutes before. He gave his name as John Shaffer, and said that at the corner of West and Huron Streets he met a man he had never seen before. He had some words with the fellow who was about his own age, 19 years, when the latter pulled out a revolver and shot him in the knee. The Greenpoint police were notified and an investigation was made. Captain Rhodes, who examined Shaffer, thinks he invented the whole story.
What about the lovely ladies of the Shaffer brood, you ask? Well, let’s just say you probably don’t want to marry one of them…
June 28, 1884
Rosanna Shaffer, of No. 89 Clay Street, Greenpoint, was arrested on a warrant this morning, for assaulting her husband, Fred Shaffer.
Poor Fred. What is a hen-pecked husband to do? Kick the family dog, I’m guessing. Shit rolls downhill. Even in Greenpoint.
August 24, 1884
Yesterday morning while a number of children were at play on Clay Street, Greenpoint, a large dog, the property of Frederick Shaeffer, of No. 89 Clay Street, bounded out of a yard and sprang upon a little girl, the daughter of John Hawley, of No. 79 Clay Street, and fastened its teeth in her right arm, lacerating it in a fearful manner. The dog was taken to the station house and hanged by Doorman Brennan, The girl’s wound was cauterized.
I don’t know about you, but I feel like I know these people. I can only imagine what their holiday celebrations were like, but I strongly suspect knuckle sandwiches were on the menu alongside the turkey, stuffing and cranberry dressing. The Shaffers are were my neighbors. That’s why I am grateful four blocks and 150+ years separate us.
Miss Heather
Photo: 89 Clay Street as it stands today, taken by Miss Heather.
3 Crappers, 2 Days, 1 Bladder
After being awakened by Magic’s Silver Hammer one too many times, I decided to go for a long walk. Being the kind of person I am, Dog Shit Queen and all, my sense of noblesse oblige forced me to consider how I could spend this time productively (in the interest of my people). Then it hit me: why not patronize and review Greenpoint’s public lavatories? I have. In explicit detail. As you will see.
Bathrooms reviewed:
- The American Playground
Location: Franklin Street between Milton and Noble Street - McCarren Park
Location: Nassau Avenue between Bedford and Driggs Avenue - McGolrick Park (AKA: The Crapper of Death)
Location: Monitor Street between Nassau and Driggs Avenue
Note: I prepared for my toilet-going jugger pissernaut by drinking several glasses of water followed by copious amounts of iced tea. It worked. I was downright uncomfortable when I reached my first destination…
#1 The American Playground
Number of stalls: 1
Overview: Not many people seem to know about this one. Even I did not give it much thought until several summers ago when I got sick at a street fair on Manhattan Avenue. I cannot explain the pain I felt in my gut that day save to say that it was like having the Battle of Guadalcanal in my bowels. I trotted double-time with the hope that I would make it to this crapper in time. I didn’t. I ended up shitting (if you can call such an involuntary and violent act of purgation that) in front of the rectory on Milton Street. (Sorry padres, but I suppose it’s kosher given I was raised protestant.)
After several frantic calls to my husband, he bought paper towels and met me at the American Park. Even though I didn’t make it to the crapper, I found the fountain they have there very useful to clean myself. I suspect a number of other people hereabouts have used this fixture for a similar purpose. With varying degrees of success.
Observations: In order to reach this privy I had to pass an Algonquin Roundtable of Polish bums replete with its very own Dorothy Parker. Whether or not this woman’s repartee was witty and cutting as Ms. Parker’s is anyone’s guess. I wouldn’t know because:
- She was speaking Polish. I think.
- She wasn’t really “speaking” as you and I know it. It was more akin to screaming.
As I approached the women’s bathroom, the smell of stale piss hit my nostrils. What I beheld inside wasn’t much better.
By all outward appearances the place seemed fairly clean. The fetid odor, puddle of fluid and swarms of flies seemed to indicate otherwise.
That said, toilet paper was plentiful and the toilet seat was dry. Contrary to what many of my fellow females will tell you, we are just as disgusting— if not more so— than men when it comes to spraying piss in public bathrooms with total abandon. In fact, the crimes my fellow XX chromos commit are much more venal given that we sisters have to sit down to do our business. Any chick who has ever fallen prey to stealth piss left on a toilet seat will know exactly what I am talking about.
Soap was plentiful, but paper towels were lacking.
Nonetheless, a garbage can was on duty.
After my first inspection I did a spot of shopping and downed more fluids. I was hot and my feet hurt so I went to San Loco and had a margarita. I consider this a business expense, as I needed something to stimulate urination and wanted to self-medicate before going to my next destination. In hindsight, this was an excellent decision.
#2 McCarren Park
Number of stalls: 2
Overview: This is arguably the most trafficked public restroom in Greenpoint. For this reason my expectations of it were pretty low. The fact that some weird dude was malingering nearby whilest rolling a joint didn’t assauge the prejudices I harbored regarding this public pissoir either.
Observations: Unlike the American Playground, this bathroom didn’t smell. Not any worse than Greenpoint in general, anyway. But it did have a lot trash laying about, despite the presence of a garbage can.
You will notice that this trash can is tethered to the sink with chains. I suspect this was done not out of fear of theft, but rather the likelihood that this recepticle would try to flee from the disgusting people who use this bathroom. I say this because as I was pulling out my camera to take pictures of this public crapper, a rather staturesque and VERY ANGRY parks employee popped out of a door whilest ranting to her co-worker.
Like most heavily painted and ancient doorways I have seen in New York City, I thought this one was no longer in use. It is. And behind it resides some very pissed off civil servants you do NOT want to fuck with. This woman passed by me like I was not even there and yelled:
They throw trash all over the place, don’t even flush the toilet and then complain that this bathroom is dirty. These people are disgusting!
She then punctuated her outburst by throwing a wad of trash in the toilet, flushing it and going back from whence she came. I was more than a little spooked by this, but proceeded to do my duty.
Here is the stall I patronized.
Both the floor and toilet seat were wet. But after I flushed the toilet I noticed that this was probably due to the tsunami-esque water pressure these toilets sport, not errant pee. These toilets are fucking fierce. If there was ever a Kings County Crapper Rumble, these bad boys would win. Hands Seats down.
Otherwise, I think paper towels were present. I did not document this because frankly I wanted to get the hell out of dodge before that woman came back.
DAY TWO: The Reckoning
I collected my senses, got hydrated and returned to McGolrick Park.
#3 McGolrick Park
Number of stalls: 1
Overview: I have a deep-seated hatred of this bathroom and its employees. Unlike McCarren Park, this one is not patronized by legions of hipsters and bums: its clientele base is mainly the stroller set.
Observations: I had to wait to use this one. This is because “Mommy” was entreating her young ‘un as to whether or not she was “finished”. Clearly she had, or I have would not have had the chance to use this particular toilet. But there was some ‘unfinished business’ for me to contend with nonetheless…
There were bleach puddles on the floor. I had to roll up my pants so they wouldn’t get soaked. The entire bathroom reeked of Clorox— perfect for a humid 80 degree day.
Although I found toilet paper to be plentiful, I found evidence that this is (was) not always so.
The faucet is still fucked up, there was soap, but no paper towels and someone (else) left a gift on the sink. Probably…
because there was no trash can to be found.
What I am to make of the previous data, you ask? Well, Miss Heather has made a handy chart for you.
Statistics aside, here is my advice to fellow Greenpointers regarding our public lavatories:
- Always carry anti-bacterial wipes with you.
- Don’t fuck with the employees at McCarren Park.
They will kick your ass.
Miss Heather
New Business Frenzy
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
Jack O’Neill’s pub at 130 Franklin Street is finally open for business…
and the interior is every bit as nice as the exterior!
They have a patio in the back too. Very nice!
The Parish Diner at 218 Richardson Street is open for business as well…
as is the North Henry Eatery one block away on Meeker.
I haven’t tried either of these yet, but I am looking forward to the experience. Anyone who lives in this part of Greenpoint will probably agree with me when I say that this area has been under-served on the restaurant front for way too long.
Permanent Records (at 181 Franklin Street) is slated to open this week too!
And last— but hardly least— my homegirl over at 11222 has brought a new vegetarian restaurant to my attention: The William Taft Vegetarian Diner.
Way cool!
Miss Heather
Meet the Belvederes!
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
The recent discovery of “Belvedere 28” made me (finally) realize exactly how many of these buildings blight the Greenpoint landscape. To apply cold deductive reasoning, if there is a “Belvedere 28” there must be a “Belvedere 27”, “Belvedere 26”, etc., etc. The previous gave me an idea; why not track down all these buildings, document them and place them on a handy map? Last weekend I commenced my quest. Here are my findings.
Belvedere 28
Location: 137 Java Street
Belvedere 12
Location: 150 Java Street
Sure it hasn’t been built yet, but the sign clearly (if illiterately) indicates this will be the location of “Belvedere 12”. It should be noted that I found something rather unusual at this site.
Looks like some type of portal. Does the Belvedere Empire employ an open door policy for felines or is this the worker’s entrance for non-union elfin employees? I for one hope it is the previous, not the latter.
Belvedere 22
Location: 636 Leonard Street
They were having an “Open House” when I took this picture last Sunday. Didn’t see any takers, though. Perhaps noise from the illegal weekend contruction being conducted inside kept potential clients at bay?
Belvedere 8
Location: 116 Calyer Street
Arguably, this has got to be the ugliest of the lot (so far). Its location (near McGuinness Boulevard) isn’t exactly stellar either.
Belvedere 6
Location: 114 Calyer Street
Immediately next door to “Belvedere 8”, #6 makes one wonder where “Belvedere 7” is located. Miss Heather will find this phantom condo. Next time…
Miss Heather
By popular demand…
Filed under: 11222, Greenpoint, Greenpoint Brooklyn, Greenpoint Magic, Street Justice
After tossing up this post (which featured arguably the most diabolically clever ruse to get noisy neighbors to cease and desist) I had a number of people request copies of this letter. This weekend I happened to bump into my fiendish friend and asked him for it. Twenty four hours later there it was in my inbox. “John” writes:
Hi Heather,
here’s the letter, you can post it as is if you like. I folded this letter into an envelope that had the name of some attorney on it. . . .a nice subtly that may have had an effect. So, I wrote this after going up to their door 3 separate times to politely explain the noise situation. Nothing changed, in fact it seemed to get worse. Anyway, things have been quiet since delivering this note.
Without further ado, here it is. Enjoy!
Dear Upstairs Neighbors,
First I’d like to say I appreciate what you’ve done to keep the noise level down. I can’t imagine it’s very easy. However, I feel that I may not have made my message clear, that is why I’m writing this letter. My entire apartment is basically below your kitchen and bathroom. Your kitchen floor is my ceiling.
I’m not talking about regular footfalls from normal walking, that I can hear and easily deal with. I’m referring to moments of thunderous vibrating pulses of sound from stomping and jumping that take place over my entire apartment.
To understand this, you have to know that your kitchen floor is the original flooring from the early 1900’s. No reinforcement, only very thin, old dry floor joists. That is why the walls and floor of my apartment explode with vibration when there is heavy walking, esp. with shoes.
Like I mentioned earlier, I can hear every step anyone makes upstairs above me, not a problem, but when there is heavy walking and pounding on the floor, plaster has literally fallen from the ceiling and objects on the shelves begin to shudder, similar to a small earthquake. No joke. The quality of living in this apartment has severely diminished. I’ve lived here for 4 years and have never experienced this before.
There is a clause in the lease that allows the tenant to enjoy the peaceful environment of their apartment and I have to tell you that has not been the case within the last two months! The last thing I want to do is bother or complain about excessive noises, but when it starts to effect my daily existence, sleep and general concentration, it’s time for all neighbors to be aware of it and concessions have to be made.
I have to tell you that there have been times when I actually feel trapped in my apartment, when the pounding and stomping begin to consume the air of my small space. I have no where else to go when this noise level ratchets up. I’m basically a prisoner in this pulsating box as I sit and wait until it slowly goes away..
Look, I pay my rent here, and help the landlady with odds and ends around the building to help maintain a safe, positive and peaceful environment in this building and apartment. So, while your kitchen floor (my ceiling) is only a thin separation between tenants, your living room floor however, is totally reinforced.
I helped to install the flooring in that front living room. Three quarter inch plywood laid over the original wood flooring plus insulation then carpet. That makes a huge difference. You could put on a Broadway show on that floor and not bother anyone.
I’m not asking for total silence, that’s ridiculous I understand. I’m asking for everyone who lives above me to be mindful of the impact they’re making on the kitchen floor. That’s all!!
One thing that would help is to consider taking shoes off when walking on the floor in the kitchen area. It’s a night and day difference for me.
Please understand my situation, I would appreciate anything that you can do to help out here. If not, I will be forced to take other initiatives.
Thank you,
Your neighbor
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