Greenpoint Photo du Jour: Reflections Upon Geography

From Nassau Avenue, across the street from the Automotive High School.

Miss Heather

95 Clay Street Revisited

As I was crossing the Pulaski Bridge yesterday I found myself wondering if I could see the building the owners of 95 Clay Street managed to erect without a nary a permit or notice from the Department of Buildings. When I reached the incline at Box Street I stopped and turned around.

Sure enough, there it was. In fact I made a rather amusing discovery as I gazed upon at this masterpiece of illegal construction.

It is located only a Stop Work Order’s throw’s away from one of the Department of Buildings outstanding achievements in Greenpoint: 48 Box Street. As my compatriot over at the Gowanus Lounge put it so eloquently, this building is the product of immaculate construction. Despite numerous Stop Work Orders it just keeps getting taller and taller. I’ve noticed this. My colleague over at the Brooklyn Optimist has noticed this. People who cross the Pulaski Bridge have noticed this. But strangely enough, the Department of Buildings has not. And now there another building right beside it that was completed without a permit and whose only means of egress is through the basement of the building in front of it. Go figure.

Wishing to discuss this matter with a professional, I shared my findings with Hard Hat Hannah.

I pointed out the new building in 95 Clay Street’s backyard and then I made light of its illustrious neighbor.

She was less than pleased.

Miss Heather

Could Not Be A Man

In keeping with Women’s History Month I thought it would interesting to see if the Brooklyn Daily Eagle archives would have any material of both feminist and Greenpoint interest. Not only did I find just such an article (from the March 29, 1902 edition), but it is a really intense tome at that. Read on and get a glimpse of how one woman felt about her lot in life over 100 years ago.

While disturbing, this article (all the way down to the manner in which it is written) is an excellent indicator of the popular sentiment harbored towards women at the end of the Victorian era. The author of this articles points out twice that Ms. Moshoson ran a profitable dress making business, but gave no thought whatsoever to the possibility that this career did not make her happy. He goes on to glibly state:

the fact that women walking on the streets are not immune from the stares of men was another thing which is said to disturb her

but does not some seem to care whether or not the above behavior is socially unacceptable. This is probably because it wasn’t and (as the popularity of HollabackNYC would attest) still isn’t. It was simply her lot in life to be looked at. Being a woman, she had no say so in the manner.

In closing, I think what drove Ms. Moshoson to suicide was the fact she was all to aware of what the world had to offer and her sex precluded from experiencing much of it. She was, in a manner of speaking, dying from the drudgery and lack of dignity that was a woman’s life in the early 20th century. Hers was a living death. While it makes me happy that women have come a long way in the last 100 years, the fact of the matter is as a society we still have a long, long way to go.

Miss Heather

Greenpoint Photo du Jour: McCarren Park

Not only did we get spiffy new signs admonishing us (in two languages no less) not to drink publicly, but we have also been blessed with our first asshole tree!

Miss Heather

Reflections Upon Gentrification: #1 Of The Greenpoint 10

All too often as I sit at this computer and listen to the bang banging of Magic Johnson’s silver hammers I find myself worrying about my neighborhood’s future:

Will the developers succeed turning the glory that is Greenpoint into yet another bland affluent ghetto?

Twenty years from now will I find myself explaining to my own children, or more likely SOMEONE ELSE’S children, that there was a time when The Garden Spot on the Universe not only did not suck, but had personality? I certainly hope not.

The previous are both very good questions. And today I found a glimmer of hope that the character of our neighborhood— or more accurately the characters who reside therein— are quite alive and well.

Never seen male pattern baldness paired with pigtails, you say? Come on down to Manhattan Avenue. We got it. Take that gentrification!

What’s more, we don’t need any tony, overpriced Bedford Avenue boutiques telling us how to dress. We can coordinate our jackets, sweat pants, mini skirts, purses and hairdos just fine on our own, thank you very much.

Viva La Punta Verde!

Miss Heather

UPDATE, 4:52 p.m.: I have since learned this person is quite the fashion plate. G-Point writes:

This man lives but a few doors down from me. Just last week, while waiting for the B61 bus, my husband and I saw him in front of Lite Bites wearing – I kid you not – a Catholic schoolgirl-style plaid skirt and black tights. A couple of years ago, we saw him emerge from his apartment to take the garbage out in NOTHING BUT GRANNY UNDERWEAR.

God I love Greenpoint!