Greenpoint
Lorven Pharmacy
Culture on the Cheap
121 and 123 Huron Street speak out about Magic’s mischief
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
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 sleepingâ€.
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:
- They poked a four square foot hole in 106 Green 2/13/07.
- They have scattered glass cherds all over 121 Huron’s backyard.
- They may or may not have damaged the residential property at 131 Huron Street.
- 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 Greenpoint stroller mom speaks out…
about dog shit.
Just like any other time I go to McCarren Park, I do my best to avoid the stroller set. This isn’t because I hate children (I don’t), rather, I harbor a deep fear of their caretakers. Be they biologically related to the minors in their charge or not, one wrong word on my part could precipitate a beat-down by an angry horde of post-partum depression/fertility drug riven mothers. Or worse yet, a flock of Filipino nannies would proceed to kick my ass.
The latter have become very manifest at McCarren Park of late, enough so that I have to remind myself that I am in Greenpoint, not the Upper East Side. Thankfully the drunken roustabout roundtable still holds court at the northeastern section of the park. They serve as a constant reminder that I am, indeed, in Greenpoint. Unlike most people I find their presence comforting.
Last Thururdsday I had the pleasure of interfacing with a Greenpoint stroller mom. Her daughter made the introduction by pointing at me and shouting:
Mommy, she has red hair!
It is true. I have red hair. But it isn’t the red hair one usually sees on Ireland tourism brochures. Or the Lucille Ball-esque tints the local Polish population here is all too fond of donning. I have Day-Glo Crayola Crayon red hair. Thus, I did not take offense at what this cherubic child said. In fact, I found it amusing.
Me (to the little girl): You have blond hair!
Girl: (giggles)
Me (to the mother): You have red hair too!
Mother (to her daughter): Yes, but mommy has to go in for a touch-up soon!
Inasmuch as I bitch about stroller moms, this one didn’t bother me. She harbored a lack of pretense (and Humvee-sized stroller) that I found endearing. The fact that her child was young enough to merit having a stroller in the first place was a big plus.
In my 7+ years of living in Greenpoint I have seen a lot of shit. I have seen teenagers pushing each other down the street in strollers. I have seen women fling their tits out to feed their kids in the weirdest and most abject of places. I have encountered children over two years of age who have yet to be toilet-trained.
While I find all the previous somewhat irksome, what really pisses me off are parents who push their 4,5+ year old children around in strollers. If mommy’s errands are too much for little Kaitlin or Lincoln to bear, hire a fucking babysitter. The children involved and myself would be very grateful if the previous practice was implemented.
Not being a parent myself, I have no idea what ‘logic’ belies shoving over-sized children down the street in a stroller. But if I had to take a guess, I’d say the stroller is merely a temporary residence until these pampered babes’ parents buy them a brand-spanking new condo. From the cradle to blue chip Williamsburg digs (and a new couch mommy picked out just for you), so it goes on planet entitlement.
That said, the previously-mentioned stroller mom did not exhibit any of the previous qualities. What’s more, she and I bonded over our collective hatred of dog shit. After crossing Nassau Avenue (on Lorimer Street), this women saw me take a photo of a smeared pile of shit and said:
Don’t you hate that? I live next door and if I find the person who is responsible for this I am going to kill them.
Shortly thereafter she asked me what I was going to do with my poopie photo. I told her that I was going to put it up on my blog.
And I did.
Miss Heather
Postscript
If you’ve read this you might be interested to know what happened later. Here it is.
May 9, 2007
At 2:15 p.m. the pile driver fired back up, albeit 6 doors down from where it was stationed this morning (148 Green Street, the far eastern section of the lot). This lasted maybe 5 minutes, until…
I spied a police car going down Huron. It stopped in front of 131. I walked down there. There were 4-5 people standing out front talking. I went over and asked if this has to do with the earlier fiasco. A middle-aged gentleman wearing a pair of Bermuda shorts and a wifebeater asked me if I was Heather. I said yes. Then he introduced himself and shook my hand. It was the owner of 131 Huron, Larry Schwab. He then proceeded to introduce me to the other people present: the onsite engineer, a woman from 121 Huron, the owner/site manager of 110 Green and “the inspectorâ€.
I immediately asked, “An inspector from the Department of Buildings?”
Larry: Yes.
Me (to the DOB inspector): it’s so nice to have you here.
(Sometimes my natural talent for being a raging cunt even amazes me.)
Then the DOB inspector and the owner of 110 Green wandered next door to talk business. Larry and the engineered dialogued. Nothing was overtly said about building damage, but the engineer offered to place some device on Mr. Schwab’s property. From what I could deduce it would monitor noise levels. Mr. Schwab declined, stating that he didn’t need a machine to know that the noise was excessive; tenants have been calling him repeatedly complaining about it.
The engineer left, leaving me, Larry and the woman from 121 Huron. After a little bantering I learned that she too, had her issues. She had a strong Polish accent (very surprising, I know) so it was hard to for me to determine if she said that 110 Green has taken out a window at 121 OR if they had scattered cherds of glass (from an adjacent warehouse they are demolishing) ON 121 Huron. Not that either one is particularly desirable, mind you.*
Before I left the owner of 121 Huron had arrived. He went over and talked to the owner of 110 Green.
Here’s what I know:
The owner of 131 is at the end of his rope. He is not concerned about the project as he is about his tenants. He is angry at the DOB and is tired of all the noise complaints he has been getting from his tenants.
The woman from 121 Huron and Mr. Schwab told me that a number of residents along construction site are PISSED. As are several of the landlords. This is funny given that the owner/developer (of 110 Green) told the DOB inspector that everyone liked what he was doing.
May 10, 2007
Well, it looks like someone didn’t like what he was doing. A judge, no less. As I learned from the New York Daily News this morning. After being awakened by 110 Green Street’s pile driver at SEVEN IN THE MORNING, mind you.
Miss Heather
*And let’s not forget my favorite bit of Magic mischief: poking a 2′ x 2′ hole in an adjacent property the day before the Valentine’s Day Blizzard. BRAVO!
Magic Johnson’s Latest Victim?
Filed under: Area 51
Remember Larry Schwab, the manager of 131 Huron Street? Well, he has a court date next week to explain why 110 Green should not be granted access to his property. Well, he just got one damned good reason today. Per the FDNY, Magic’s minions probably destabilized one his fucking apartment buildings. I say apartment “buildings” because there is a garage apartment located at the far northeastern corner of this lot.
Here’s 131 Huron.
Here is the adjacent property, owned by 110 Green.
Here are some firemen inspecting 110 Green.
Here are some fire trucks.
Even the NYPD has joined the party.
Way to go, Magic! You’re really helping Brooklyn blossom. If “blossom” means yet another piece of much needed rental property has to be vacated because yet another careless developer fucked it up, that is. I am certain the tenant(s) at 131 Huron (who may very well become homeless because of your actions) will mention you in their prayers.
I swear to god, if this doesn’t make the Department of Buildings WAKE THE FUCK UP, nothing will.
Miss Heather
UPDATE: I have contacted Larry Schwab to get the full scoop about what happened and am awaiting his reply.
Another black kitty needs a home
Filed under: Area 51
While it is not the purpose of this blog to place kitty cats in new homes (there are many better qualified organizations that do this, BARC being one of them), I would like to bring Weegee to everyone’s attention. He is a beautiful black cat whose owner simply cannot give him all the nurturing he deserves. If anyone is interested in Weegee, please contact Eva101 via Flickr mail and she’ll give you all the deets.
Thanks!
Miss Heather
Can you take me to Poopytown?
Yesterday the heavens opened up and spewed forth poo manna for Miss Heather. I was (and still am) very grateful, because I had to make a trip to the bank (which is not exactly one of my favorite places) to stop payment on a check that had not been presented in over TWO YEARS. I wasn’t too happy about being charged $15.00 to do this either. There is something very wrong about me spending one hour of my time, much less fifteen dollars to (re)solve a problem I did not cause. Oh well…
My mood brightened significantly on my ride home when I had the pleasure of meeting the V train Poo Man.
This reminds me of that blob thing from the Gigglesnort Hotel. I do not remember much from my early childhood, but I do remember watching this show. Many of my early days were spent in day care gaping at that diarrhea-esque semi-animate blob on the idiot box. Perhaps this sight imprinted itself on my subconsciousness somehow? This would shed some light on my proclivity for poop.
Regardless, that thing freaked me out then and it freaks me out now. Those of you who are old enough may remember the hysteria over LSD laden stickers in the mid-70’s. I do. My mother admonished me not to lick any stickers that had smiley faces on them, no matter how pretty they were. Yet, these same concerned parents let their young ones watch a television show that was the psychoactive eqivalent of a bag of shrooms. Go figure.
Ah the 70’s, gotta love ’em!
Miss Heather
A G train rider speaks out about service cuts
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
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
That Smell
It’s a funny thing; when I find myself wanting to be alone I go for a walk. This is what I did yesterday. No cell phone, just me and my trusty camera. I took a number of wonderful pictures, most of which have been uploaded to my Flickr page. Check them out.
When I reached 79A India Street I was assaulted by an odor SO FOUL it made me stop dead in my tracks. I looked around so as to ascertain the source of the stench. It didn’t take very long.
This melange of canine (?) crap was so nasty it literally made me gag. It was one of the worst smelling specimens I have ever found. I didn’t couldn’t record where it was located until I was safely at the end of the block.
Later on I created a little ditty about my experience (with a lot of help from my Lynyrd Skynyrd Greatest Hits CD):
Ooh that smell!
Can you smell that smell?
Ooh that smell!
The smell of shit is all around you!
Miss Heather
Area 51
At last, photographic evidence confirming what I have suspected all long: Area 51 is located in Greenpoint. Where else would someone see fit to sculpt a graven image of ‘the male anatomy’ using a wad of chewing gum and stick it to a light pole? Stick that in your pipe bong and smoke it, Williamsburg!
Miss Heather
Something I found on Huron Street yesterday…
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
Once in a blue moon I find something that is so right I am willing to overlook its imperfections. This is one of those things.
We Greenpointers may not be cool (or know how to spell) but we have the presence of mind to know that Bus(h)wick sucks. Big time.
Miss Heather
NYS Flickr Pool
