Am I A Real Greenpointer Now?

(Or, it’s a full moon in Greenpoint)

The one subject I am rapidly tiring of is the issue of what makes a “real” citizen of (insert neighborhood here). Some were born in New York Shitty, and yes, some have even died here! It’s what’s in between that seems to be the pickle. At what point has one lived in a given neighborhood (in this case, Greenpoint) long enough to earn “street cred” from the self-appointed guardians of citizenship? I neither know the answer of this question nor do I care to learn it. To fixate upon the past is to ignore the present and abrogate one’s responsibility to shape the future. Which brings me to a Greenpoint incident of note from yesterday, July 18.

When I arrived at the junk shop I noticed something balled-up in a plastic bag. It was a wig. I pulled it out and looked at it.

Me (to a co-worker): This looks pretty ratty. Methinks I am going to throw it in the dumpster. That way we’ll see some crazy person wearing it in the neighborhood tomorrow.

ASIDE: Before I continue I would like to clarify something. The dumpster at the junk shop is arguably as popular as the store itself. Not only do people see fit to use it as a trash repository (such as the psychic next door* who once saw fit to dump her barbecue grill, replete with smoldering briquettes in it July 4th), but it is rifled through on a nightly basis by people who either do not know what has been placed in there (trust me, some of it was rather gross) or do not care.

Now jump forward to last night. It is 8:45 p.m. and I am headed down Manhattan Avenue to meet some friends for dinner. True to form, dumpster diving was well underway…

and the dude doing the diving was wearing said wig.

Is it just me or does this man bear an uncanny resemblance to Ron Jeremy?

Close but no cigar: my prognostication was off by approximately three hours. I may very well be on my way to becoming a real Greenpointer, but clearly I still have a ways to go.

Miss Heather

*Who has a habit of buying large quantities of lotto tickets. If this woman was truly psychic why hasn’t she won by now?

Overheard In Greenpoint…

(Or: Be A L-Trainer Or Just Act Like One)

Ordinarily I would submit something like the following to Overheard In New York. But given its particularly Greenpoint nature I am publishing it here. Mr. Heather and I overheard this last night while walking to the Black Rabbit.

Young 20-something chick to her clique of nubile comrades on Huron Street at Manhattan Avenue:

If I lived here I’d walk to the L train.

That’s over a mile, honey. Do you think you can do that in heels?

Miss Heather

Map Credit: Google