Greenpoint
Lorven Pharmacy
Culture on the Cheap
Canine Chicanery
It has come to my attention that Curbed recently dissed Bubbles’s lack of reward money for her return. That’s because Greenpoint peeps are generally nice people who will do good deeds without financial “encouragement”. In any case, if Bubbles the Greenpoint Pit Mix met the lost Williamsburg Boston Terrier she’d eat him (or her) for lunch. And take a $2,500 dump later.
Greenpoint is teaming with mean dogs. Or that’s what the local signage would like me to believe.
Exhibit A: India Street
Not only did I fail to find a dog on the premises, but the phallic imagery made me laugh. Dilettantes.
Exhibit B: North 14th Street
Professional, yet uninspired and boring. Once again, nary a dog to be found.
Exhibit C: Meserole Avenue
I am not going to mess with the person who made this sign. Maybe there is a Rottweiler behind that door. Or maybe there isn’t. Do I feel lucky to find out? No, I don’t.
Miss Heather
30-03 Newtown Avenue Is Ready For The Holidays!
Some of you might recall my post earlier this month when I confessed to having a fit of Astorian demolition envy.
Well, a very astute observer, New York Shitty commenter and fellow D.O.B. critic vintagejames noted:
The devil is in the details. The demolition permit for 30-03 Newtown Ave. is for a 1-story building; the one being taken down has two. Also, look at the demolition checklist. Code A11 is for 5 day notice to adjoining owners. Was that done? Those wonderful people who undermined the foundation of the building that I live in did not bother with that little item, although the permit at bisweb said it was filed. In keeping with their mantra, the DOB swept the issue under the rug.
I beg to differ, James. The fine folks at First Class Wrecking got their facts straight and received a demolition permit for a two story house at the aforementioned address the very same day! Not that it really matters much; 30-03 Newtown Avenue is a one story structure nowadays. What’s more, a nice Christmas wreath adorns the front door.
Season’s greetings!
Good will towards men!
And Santa, please lock the door when you leave.
Miss Heather
McGuinness Boulevard Gauntlet of Death
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
When the opportunity affords itself I like to take a nice leisurely walk along McGuinness Boulevard. Unlike most people, I actually like this stretch of road. What it lacks in aesthetics it amply makes up for in visually interesting subject matter.
I encountered the above “closed sidewalk” a short distance north of the BQE. If the above hodgepdoge of buckets, boards and “caution” tape strike you as being rather rickety, I can assure it is. There is nothing whatsoever weighting down those buckets. Unless of course, one counts air.
Is this what the Department of Buildings means by “self-certified”? Anyone wishing to shake off a little pre-holiday season existentialist ennui should head down to the McGuinness Boulevard Gauntlet of Death and give it a stroll. I have.
Nothing will make you feel more “in the moment” than walking down this scantily fortified corridor as automobiles tear past you at breakneck speed. Be sure to remember what your mother told you and take an extra pair of underwear with you.
Miss Heather
McKibben Street Loft Dwellers: Time to Winterize!
Filed under: Bushwick
It’s been awhile since I have paid my neighbors to the south a little visit. Intrigued to learn how the residents of the McKibben Street lofts are faring, I swung by earlier this week to see what’s shaking. That’s where I found the following example of hipster-directed advertising.
Who knew Bob Marley music was such a problem there? I didn’t. I always thought the bedbug epidemic, dog shit strafed sidewalks and having an illegal strip club in one’s basement (which was the case of 155 McKibben several years ago) would be torment enough. All that and the prospect of having to winterize their windows? Poor dears.
Miss Heather
Anyone Know of An Apartment For Rent?
Filed under: Area 51
Yesterday I received a disconcerting email from my buddy Noel, the chap who was responsible for helping me share the gift of pervy Polka with the masses. He writes:
i was informed today by my landlord that my house (on Green Street) has been sold, will soon be demolished to become (probably) condos, and we all must vacate by jan 6th. boy, this makes my day. too bad because i like GP. and too bad because i probably can’t afford to find another affordable place here!
Just what this neighborhood needs: more rental property being razed to build condos. Ordering someone to vacate on the heels of the holiday season is pretty damned rotten as well.
Noel (and his roommate’s) price range is ~$1,200 a month for a two bedroom. Granted, this figure is a little low— but I cannot shake the feeling there’s a suitable rent-stabilized apartment somewhere in the Garden Spot in that will fit the bill. If anyone knows of some digs that fit the above requirements, please post them in the comments. Let’s try to help a fellow Greenpointer (and all-around nice guy) find a new home.
Miss Heather
Greenpoint Photo du Jour: Street Sneakers
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
After sharing the telephone line menagerie at Manhattan Avenue and Eagle Street earlier this week,I thought it would be fun to post a few photographs of the mother of all street sneaker spots: Jackson Street and Kingsland Avenue.
This is the most shoes I have seen suspended from a telephone wire. Ever.
It’s not just sneakers either. Boots and ballet flats are included in this heady mix of footwear.
It is quite impressive. Photographs do not do this work of art justice. Go down and see it for yourself. It is totally worth the trip.
Miss Heather
The Queensboro Kitten
Filed under: Area 51
Meet Jeff. I learned about this remarkable little guy from my buddy Lisacat. Here is his story as written by the woman who found him: Shawn, a BARC Cat Loft volunteer.
Jeff Bridges is the kitten I found while I was running over the Queensboro Bridge Thursday morning. How the hell he got on the pedestrian walkway of the bridge–a long, long fall on the right, eight lanes of traffic on the left and non-stop on-ramps at either end is anyone’s guess. But there he was, scampering toward Manhattan with no intention of letting himself be caught. Pretty much all the other options besides somebody grabbing him were certain death, so I went after him.
After a short pursuit in which I was afraid I would chase him either over the side or into traffic, I caught him trying to hide under a railing. I had to reach in at an angle and my grip was awkward. I think only my shelter experience kept me from letting go when he panicked and started biting my hand like his life depended on it. It really hurt and it bled a lot. But I just hung on until I could get a good grip scruffing him, then maintained that very hard scruff (ouch, it must have hurt him) with one hand while I rifled through some construction workers’ stuff with the other hand to find the paint can I ended up putting him in. I grabbed a scrap of plywood to put over it.
The construction workers, who were fairly far away, saw only some frenzied woman ransacking their stuff, and came lumbering over to challenge me. I had to explain it all to them and keep them from lifting up the board to look in. Then I walked the little guy off the bridge, hailed a cab with my foot and prayed the fumes in that paint can weren’t going to kill him. The can, it turned out, was old enough that fumes weren’t an issue. But it’s not like I had time to think about that up there on the bridge with probably less than a minute or two before he would have somehow managed to squirm away from me. You can see the print on the paint can, which actually says Queensboro Bridge, in some of the photos. You can also see the band-aids on my fingers, which are fine now.
At first I assumed he might be feral, but it turns out he’s a total purring sweetheart who obviously has had a great deal of handling and affection. He’s about 7 weeks old, appears to be in good health, and is negative for feline AIDS and leukemia. He is weaned and uses the litterbox. I have treated him for fleas and worms and will be giving a distemper shot and having him neutered shortly.
Anyone who is interested in adopting him should contact me directly, not the shelter. There will be an adoption fee of $50 to $100 depending on how long he stays with me and how much the vet work costs. I will require an adoption contract and I will do a home visit and reference check. I strongly prefer to place him in a home with at least one other cat or kitten, but will consider letting him go solo if there are gushing references from people I know.
Those of you who are interested in giving this Evel Knieval of kittycatdom a home can contact his foster mother by clicking here. Be sure to check out the re-enactment of his jaunt on the 59th Street Bridge on Lisacat’s Flickr page too. It is very cute. As is this photo of Jeff posing in the paint can that whisked him away to his new “home”.
To close on a related note, BARC will be hosting its “Bowling for BARC” fund raiser tomorrow night at The Gutter.
Why not bowl a few rounds, have fun and help some animals in need? Bowling is one of my favorite sports: it can be played without putting down one’s beer.
Miss Heather
Photo Credit: Lisacat
The Rat King, Revisited
Anyone who has lived in southeastern Greenpoint for any appreciable amount of time knows who the rat man is. For those of you who don’t live in this hallowed corner of the Garden Spot, I’ll tell you. He’s the guy who lives in this house.
The reason he is called the rat man is he used to keep them as pets on his property. One person told me he even saw this dude’s cat and a rat eat out of the same food dish once. Amazing. Anyway, as you can imagine, his new neighbors took issue with his furry little friends and the lot was baited.
No worries, he has since taken to pigeons.
And they have taken a fancy to him.
It just goes to show that you can’t keep a good man down. I don’t know why there is all this talk of New York Shitty creating a Pigeon Czar. We already have one. His name is Vinny and he lives on Kingsland Avenue.
Miss Heather
P.S.: If the Park Slope pigeon killer is reading this you better watch out. When I tell the rat man about your antics, he’s gonna get super pissed. Don’t fuck with the rat man.
Dirty Deeds Insured Dirt Cheap
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
Last week I had the pleasure of seeing an acquaintance of mine. Newbie Greenpointer, good reporter and all around nice chap, Matt. We talked about local happenings. The recent murder was our primary topic. Some time during our discussion I told him about the “Venus Matrimonial Agency” that used to be on Greenpoint Avenue. A law office has since taken its place.
They’ll help you with the green card lottery.
In fact, they’ll help you with a lot of things. For a fee.
Ironically enough, the list only goes up to 53 points (insert crass Polish joke here— it’s okay, seriously, I am of some Polish derivation). I suppose the other 48 points pertain to the number of ccs the above chick had injected into her boobs and lips. Lets see what the remaining 53 points are, shall we?
Um, let’s see:
#23: My knee-jerk reaction is there is no one worthy of being blackmailed here, but reality says otherwise. Greenpoint is a David Lynchian world. Don’t go to Franklin.
#29: Is not jury duty required of American citizens? I heeded the call and got rejected. Mr. Heather admitted knowing Ron Kuby and was in like Flynn. So it goes, as Kurt Vonnegut would say.
#30: No one golfs in Greenpoint.
#36: If you’re hit by a bottle at a baseball game it’s your own damned fault. You clearly rooted for the wrong team.
#40: I’ve seen roosters, chickens and a goat. The only creatures I have heard of that wreck peoples’ gardens hereabouts are bipeds in four wheelers, e.g.; developers.
Miss Heather
Feel Good Super of the Year: 223 Devoe Street
I read this post on Curbed last week and was mystified. The “ostensible” S(t)uperintendent of my apartment building rarely leaves notes in my apartment building. Unless of course he is faced with a visit from the Department of Buildings at the behest of Marty Markowitz and a building full of very angry tenants. In which case his usual apathy turns to sanguine (and illiterate) written apology.
Gawker found the above missive amusing. One year (numerous HOT baths) later I do as well. Though I would have liked getting credit for this photographic memento of my misery.
As of the writing of this post I have heat and hot water— but no intercom. The brain trust who saw fit to install a HVAC exhaust unit in the space above the foyer of my apartment building severed the cables. They did a pretty bad job. I am not an expert on such matters, but when the ceiling gracing the aforementioned foyer collapses due to being deluged with condensation I think it is safe to assume incompetence was at play.
As Strother Martin wisely said in Cool Hand Luke:
What we’ve got here is… failure to communicate.
My apartment building is the benchmark for failed communication. By design. We have no on-site Super. He, his old lady, cousins, aunts and nieces flew the coop a long time ago. They knew a dump when they saw one and left.
As a consequence my fellow tenants and I are refugees on a rent-stabilized life boat floating in a sea of condo-fying land sharks. Our domicile/raft lists in accordance to the caprice of our “Superintendent”. Occasionally one of his hired “help” will endeavor to punch a hole in it— and that’s usually when we call the 311. Or 911. But I digress.
Yesterday afternoon I found an attempt at superintendent/tenant communication that made me feel so good I simply had to pass it along.
Who is the Super of this building?
More importantly, what are his (or her) salary requirements and is he (or she) willing to move to Greenpoint?
Miss Heather
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