Oh. My. God.

Ever had a revelation about yourself that was so profound you spent the next five or ten minutes muttering to yourself “What the fuck just happened!?!” Well, I had one such moment yesterday in (where else?) Greenpoint.

After walking to the very end of Java street to take some photographs, I headed back towards West Street. When I reached this intersection a couple of particularly nasty Polish bums had parked their (even nastier) bums on an adjacent stoop. They were conversing. When I walked by the tone of their speech changed.

Suspecting that they were hurling Polish epithets at me, I tried to ignore them. Until one of them said:

She doesn’t speak Polish, she is an American.

I stopped dead in my tracks, turned around and shot them the finger. What is particularly remarkable about this otherwise banal-seeming event, you ask?

1. These men were not speaking English.
2. I understood what they were saying.
   

Who knew Miss Heather could mowimy her some po Polsku (on top of being quite proficient in the international language of “Fuck You”)? I sure as hell didn’t. Until now.

God help me.

Miss Heather

Mother’s Day, Greenpoint Style

I saw this last night in front of the Mexican grocery store on Manhattan Avenue.

Miss Heather

Just like a good neighbor…

I found this sign posted next to the construction permits (and a DOB summons for inspection!) at 110 Green Street this evening. What else can I say? (Other than this is fucking hilarious!)

Keep smiling!

Miss Heather

Save Beepy!

I was absolutely ecstatic this morning when we had a brief, but substantial, downpour. Not only had the humidity become downright stifling, but rainy days also give me a reprieve from the dreaded pile driver. This is the first morning in at least 3 days I have gone without this jarring and very unwanted wake-up call.

Nonetheless, there is still some ambient noise for me to savor whilest I write this tome.

Eight full days and one rain storm later the smoke detector (who I have taken to calling “Beepy”) continues to make its plea for a new battery. I realize what I am about to write may sound ridiculous, but I’m gonna write it anyway; I feel sorry for it. Clearly this appliance has been sorely neglected by its owner. These living conditions are downright inhumane. Even for a machine. I think I will call 311 and report the person(s) responsible.

Or more likely, I will adopt* this little fella instead. Not only will I provide a caring, nurturing home for Beepy, but his services are in great demand here at Chateau de Ghetto. The public areas of my apartment building have not so much as single smoke detector —despite citations issued by of the Department of Buildings making light of this deficit.

Miss Heather

*Steal

121 and 123 Huron Street speak out about Magic’s mischief

Before heading out to the Brooklyn Blogfest (to represent the 17th Ward AKA Greenpoint), I read the following email from a tenant at 121 Huron…

Hi, Heather —

I live right behind the construction site, at 121 Huron Street. I think the woman you overheard talking with Larry is my landlord, Monika. At any rate, the broken glass is from the old ivy-covered brick wall that separates the backyards of two or three buildings on Huron (including ours) from the condos. Monika told me that the construction workers, in advance of knocking down the wall to build the south facade of the new building, have smashed all of its panes into our yard.

It may not be quite as bad as the 7 a.m. pile driver (I bounce in the tub while showering), but it’s certainly not very neighborly.

Hope to see you next week in court!

When I got home this evening, I got an earful from a tenant at 123 Huron:

I am so glad I found your site. Because I have not seen riots in the local streets over the maddening earthquakes that begin at 7 a.m., I had thought I might just be going crazy. Or perhaps that I was the only person on Huron Street that doesn’t have a dayjob and happens to be home. Is it just me or was the pile driver even louder this morning? I live at 123 Huron and I’m beginning to wonder if I should take the advice that I heard from a fireman yesterday – “wear a hardhat while sleeping”.

I greatly appreciate your coverage of this, and would happily join in any sort of protest or filing of a complaint. Apparently my whining to 311 does absolutely nothing.

There have you. Unlike the previous two peeps, I do not live adjacent to this site; I live down the block and across the street. Yet even I find the noise excessive. A number of tenants in my building work 2nd and 3rd shift— given that Greenpoint (still) is a working class neighborhood this is not unusual. If anything, it is the norm. Why is our right to comfortable enjoyment of our respective apartments less important than the rights of this developer— or the affluent clientele it seeks to attract?

Classist rhetoric aside, one person displaced by this project’s seeming disregard for public safety (and/or our mental health) is one too many. To recap:

1. They poked a four square foot hole in 106 Green 2/13/07.
2. They have scattered glass cherds all over 121 Huron’s backyard.
3. They may or may not have damaged the residential property at 131 Huron Street.
4. That pile driver is insanity-inducing. Whether or not one hold’s a “day job” is irrelevant; we have rights and they have been subordinated to this ‘project’. I call bullshit.

If this situation is left fester (by our goverment agencies/officials), the worst is yet to come. I only hope no one gets hurt.

Miss Heather

A G train rider speaks out about service cuts

I am hesitant to confirm that this brown matter is shit (canine, human or otherwise). But whatever it is, I wouldn’t want it on my hands. Or anywhere else on my body for that matter.

Then again, to nit-pick over the provenance of the substance smeared on this “Service Notice” is to miss the point. And the point being made (by one of my fellow Greenpointers at the India Street entrance to the Queens-bound G train) is all too clear.

I would love to meet the person did this. He (or she) would make an excellent addition to the New York City Transit Riders Council. A person of this caliber would make an otherwise boring public proceeding much more provocative. Fuck facts and civility; they haven’t worked before, why should we expect them to work now? I want entertainment— and I’m more than happy to purchase a Hazmat suit to get it…

Chairman: Next up, cutting weekend service on the G train to Queens for all eternity.

Greenpoint Representative (pounds chest and commences to fling feces): EEEEEP!

Chairman (wiping said feces off his lapel): Duly noted. The gentleman from Greenpoint has registered a vote of dissent. Anyone else?

You can’t deny it: the G train riders are revolting and the winds of change are a-blowing. And appropriately enough, they both smell like shit.

Miss Heather