Greenpoint
Lorven Pharmacy
Culture on the Cheap
Give me sangria or give me death!
The last evening of my mother’s visit my husband and I took her to Casa Mon Amour for dinner. Not only can I say that this was the first time in many, many years that I have seen my mother clean her plate, but the sangria was to die for. Seriously, that shit was like crack— albeit in legal, liquid form.
I queried Beatrice (the beatific proprietress of said restaurant) as to how she made it. Understandably, she was a wee bit vague— and I’m not the kind of girl that swills and tells anyway. All I’m saying is that I savored the little bit of vanilla bean I found in my beverage.
Anyhoo, we struck up a conversation and as I suspected, she has a background as colorful as her sangria. And the sangria having done its work all too effectively, I emailed her later to tell me more (about herself). Again. Beatrice writes:
I was born outside of Paris and moved to Douala, Cameroon when I was 15 days old (pity frequent flyers did not exist in those days). My grandparents started the trend of living in Western Africa in 1950 and all their children followed in one way or the other. By the time I was 6, we moved to Dakar, Senegal for a couple of years. Then it was off to Abidjan, Ivory Coast to spend a year with my grandparents when I was 7 (because my father had gotten a job in Akjoujt, Mauritania where there was no schooling, or hospital or much else for that matter).
My sister and I joined them months later to enjoy living in the Sahara Desert for the following couple of years. My father passed away in 1973, forcing the family to return to France. That was quite traumatic. I had already spent a couple of month’s vacation each year visiting my family in Brittany and in the immediate region of Paris, but at the age of 10 I was not quite ready for my first sight of snow, wearing heavy clothing or dealing with French life in general. I did adapt eventually and took full advantage of being a teenaged college student in Paris. For the following 9 years I visited most of my own country and love the differences from one region to the other. My heart still belongs to Brittany… although I have also traveled some in Europe and to this day wish I would have the time to do more of that.
My first trip to the USA was a mixed bag of results, I went there with my French fianceé who wanted to move to Los Angeles; I hated the place. I can’t live somewhere where I need a car to get a pack of cigarettes. (Hee Hee! — Ed. Note). Thinking it was my first and last trip to the US before returning to Paris, I stopped in New York to visit some friends. I met my daughter’s future father on the last week, fell in love and within a year I had crossed the Atlantic to get married. I have spent the following 15 years between New York and my house in rural Pennsylvania, traveling once or twice a year to Paris or the Carribean. It was the beginning of a true love story with the region and its different culture. I realized that I now longer would feel comfortable in Europe but would never quite fit in the Anglo-Saxon culture either.
After my divorce, I spent 8 years with a Salvadoran man, and travelled all over the Caribbean, Central and South America. I was at the time running a Xmas decoration factory in Greenpoint. Unfortunately, we lost our production to the gigantic machine that is China, and that is how I ended up buying, renovating and making Casa Mon Amour the center of my life.
I don’t know what the future has in store for me, but I have always known that despite of my love for New York City, I will not grow old in such an harsh climatic environment. I fantasize that one day they will be a Casa Mon Amour Bed & Breakfast somewhere in the Dominican Republic or Central America. But time will tell… The only thing that is inside of me at all times, for have always lived like a wanderer, is that I don’t belong anywhere but feel happy everywhere.
The last sentence pretty much sums up Casa Mon Amour; the vittles (and most importantly, the sangria) there will make you feel happy everywhere too. Be sure to ask for the salsa, as it some of the tastiest I have ever had (other than my own, obviously). The fact that it is all very, very inexpensive doesn’t hurt either. Check it out.
Casa Mon Amour
162 Franklin Street
Brooklyn, NY 11222
(718) 349 1529
Miss Heather
P.S.: Oh yeah, once a month she hosts an evening of French cuisine. Word has it (because she told me) food from southern France (my favorite) is slated for June. Gotta remember to make reservations for that one!
The mother of excess…
Filed under: Area 51
is misery. Or so I read somewhere. I think it was in a fortune cookie.
I do not question the veracity of the truisms tucked away these cookies— especially after my last visit to The Chinese Musician Restaurant about a month ago. Follows is my husband’s fortune:
The greatest danger could be your stupidity.
And here is mine:
Do you want to be a power in the world? Then be yourself.
Correct-a-mundo on both counts!
In the noise-riven hellhole that was my apartment today I put my mother(fucking) misery to work. Somewhere among the metronome-esque pounding of Mr. Johnson’s tool, a couple of medicinal brewski’s, one hot glue gun and my own obstinate(ly persistent) nature a mighty crucible was formed. And thus, out of my personal hell came forth two bad-ASSSSS clocks:
Check out Ganesh’s grill! The mother of excess may be misery, but the fruits of excess (READ: glitter, glam and rhinestones) are fucking FABULOUS!
Although (obviously) incomplete, I felt this one also merited sharing. After a good 2-3 hours of near non-stop pile-driving, this really brightened my day. I hope it does the same for you. The peeps down the block can make my ‘nabe 130 condo units uglier, but that won’t stop me from trying to make it beautiful.
One clock at a time.
Miss Heather
It’s BAAAACK!
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
On April 12, I received an email from the woman responsible for filming the YouTube video of Mr. Johnson’s tool at work. She wrote:
Thanks for passing that info along. I have to admit that was one of the worst days (noise wise) thus far…I’m not sure if it could get any worse than that! I’ve hardly noticed anything since then…so maybe that’s a good thing!
Inasmuch as I hate to tell this woman “I told you so!” (because she is a very nice person), I’m gonna do it anyway.
I
TOLD
YOU
SO!
As of 9:59 a.m. this morning it went back to work. Decked out in full patriotic fettle, no less. No act— however stupid, distasteful, annoying or morally ambiguous as it may seem— is wrong if it’s backed up by the good ol’ U. S. of Fucking A.!
Just ask our president.
So when my neighbors ask “What that’s awful noise?” I tell them (with tongue firmly planted in cheek) that it is the sound of FREEDOM— and if they don’t like it they should go to Cuba or North Korea with the rest of ‘dem freedom-hating, abortion-loving, baby seal clubbing commie bastards!
Having made my point, I think I will put together a little care package for my neighbor: a six pack of beer, ear plugs and a bottle aspirin. Fuck the aspirin, make that valium!
Miss Heather
UPDATE: For shits and giggles I called my buddy at The Gowanus Lounge on his cell. When his voicemail picked up I held my cell up to my living room window (so he could enjoy the PHAT beats). Here is his (email) reply:
Before you started speaking, I thought you had a Eurohell dance track playing in the background. Boomthwash boomthwash boom thwash. Like you were calling from some club that decided to open in midafternoon. Then I realized what it was. Yipes.
And here’s my reply to his reply:
Until about ½ hour ago I had ~$10.00 to my name. Now I have $1.00. $3.00 was spent on doing laundry, the other $6.00 was spent on a 6 pack of Budweiser…
Kinky Crudite on Calyer Street
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
Yesterday I saw— without argument— the strangest damned thing I have ever seen in my seven-to-eight years of living in Greenpoint. Those of you who are familiar with my ‘nabe (or the many fucked-up things I have seen here), know that this is really saying something. I did not get a photo of this item because it was loaded on the back of a moving truck with about 2-3 men in tow. They all had nonchalant expressions on their faces, which was sort of odd given the utter weirdness of the contraption they were watching over. I stood in the middle of McGuinness Boulevard gawking at it… and I seriously doubt I was the only one.
I am not even going to bother describing this thing. Instead, I have drawn a nifty little schematic of it from memory.
Given that this truck was headed towards Diamond Street (which is where this came from) it makes me wonder what kind of sick shit my fellow Greenpointers are into. I think I’d just as well not know…
Miss Heather
P.S.: Oh yeah, I’d like to offer up a heaping helping of congratulations to Jen Chung (of Gothamist) for being featured (and looking fabulous) in Wired Magazine. Way to go!
Night Smelling Committee
Filed under: 11101, 11222, 11354, Blissville, Blissville Queens, Greenpoint, Greenpoint Brooklyn, Greenpoint Magic, Long Island City, Long Island City Queens, Maspeth, Maspeth Queens, Newtown Creek
A weekly feature I have inaugurated of late (albeit irregularly to date) is featuring an odd, provocative and/or strangely relevant chunk ‘o’ Greenpoint history for all to savor.
To steal a phrase from my buddy Judy McGuire, Man, oh Manishevitz do I have a fun tale of “Oy vey” before the l’oi ill’splay to share today. Oil spill or otherwise, Newtown Creek stinks… even back in 1892, when the Mayor of Brooklyn came down to inspect the stench personally. The following article is from the August 27th, 1892 edition of the Brooklyn Daily Eagle. I have taken the liberty of condensing this VERY VERBOSE article and bold-facing my favorite passages. Enjoy!
SMELLS FOR THE MAYOR
Two Newton Creek Samples Were Quite Enough
His Honor’s Brief Trip Upon the Slimy Stream With the Health Commissioner, the Corporation Counsel, Alderman Fitzgibbon and a Committee of Citizens— Relief Promised.Mayor Boody had cold and rainy weather for his visit of inspection yesterday to the much complained of factories on the shores of Newton Creek. The citizens from the Fifteenth and Seventeenth Wards who accompanied him would have been much better pleased over a heavy and sultry day. The smells would then have been at their worst, so far as the daytime is concerned, for after all it is at night that the vileness of Newton Creek odors is most apparent and oppressive. As it was Mayor Boody in a very few minutes yesterday got quite enough of creek smells and was more than satisfied long before the committee of citizens was.
The mayor, accompanied by Health Commissioner Griffin and Corporation Counsel Jenks, was driven in a carriage to Chapman’s docks at the head of Grand Street. He was met there by the committees of eastern district citizens. The only other representative of the city govenment was Alderman Fitzgibbon, who accompanied the Seventeenth Ward delegation and whose home is within the district invaded by the noxious smells…
Alderman Fitzgibbon and other members of the party welcomed the mayor, health commissioner and the corporation counsel and escorted them to the steam propeller Mascot. It was raining smartly then and a stiff breeze was blowing, but the heavy, sickening odor from the neighboring fertilizing factories and from the filthy creek itself saluted Mayor Boody’s nostrils even before he left his carriage. Health Commissioner Griffin bore the smell like a veteran, but Corporation Counsel Jenkins looked unfeignedly sick from the start. The smell seemed a little worse than he had prepared himself to meet.
Through the slimy waters the boat coursed, while members of the committee sitting in the wheelhouse with the mayor told him they were sorry the tide was not low, for then the smell would be many times worse. Mayor Boody, intimated, with a laugh, that the situation as it was seemed sufficiently atrocious. A stop was made at Cord Meyer’s bone boiling establishment on Furman’s Island, only a hasty and superficial examination was made, but the smell was such that Mr. Jenks turned away in disgust and gasped for fresh air. The mayor tried hard to conscientiously sniff all the odors that were to be caught, but began toshow signs of not relishing the task. When the party re-embarked the boat steamed to Andrew Wissel & Co’s place, also on Furman’s Island. Wissel has the contract to remove offal from King’s County, and out of his unsavory stock he manufactures fertilizing preparations. Wissel’s son in law, a young man of pleasing manners and speech, tried hard to convince Mayor Boody that the atmosphere was not polluted, but the mayor’s nostrils were as wide open as his ears, and with a significant sniff and a still more more significant look he started off towards the boat.
A whole creek full of stench producing establishments remained, but Mayor Boody asked to be taken back to the Grand Street dock, where his carriage awaited him, “I have had enough of this,” he said. “I realize that you have a grievance and I want to live to help you.” “It is a crying shame.” said Corporation Counsel Jenks. The he stopped suddenly and listened without comment to members of the committee who explained that the odors which had sickened him were nightly pervading miles of Brooklyn thoroughfares and ruining the comfort and the health of thousands of people. The health commissioner had little to say, but both the mayor and corporation counsel freely promised to do what they could to abate the nuisance. “We will use all the power possible,” the mayor said in substance, “but it is your duty also to exert yourselves. A nuisance exists here and it is for you to prove it a nuisance. Everybody who suffers from this nuisance should be prepared to come downtown and testify against it. The trouble has been that when two or three citizens came down to testify that these smells were a nuisance the other side invariably presented a greater number of witnesses who were willing to swear that no nuisance existed.”
The mayor and his party were cheered by the delegations as they re-entered their carriage. Afterward some of the delegated sailed the length of Newton Creek and paid a brief visit to Rosenberg’s fat rendering and bone boiling establishment near Calvary Cemetary Bridge. At no time during the afternoon, however, was anything like a thorough examination of the alleged nuisances on the creek shore made.
In the evening an executive meeting Seventeenth Ward citizens was held at 101 Monitor Street. Henry T. Steinhaner presented a report of the mayor’s visit to the creek and also reported, with much detail, the result of several night trips which have recently been made by Seventeenth Ward citizens to Newton Creek factories. This report is not to be made public… the intention being to use it in the courts as evidence. Members of the night smelling committee say, however, that their experiences have been quite stirring at times, and that some day they will make interesting reading.
And they have! It is interesting (and a little depressing) to learn that even in 2007 nothing has really changed. Same shit, different century.
Miss Heather
Greenpoint likes to throw them some D’s
Yesterday evening after meeting a buddy of mine for dinner, my husband and I decided to walk home. This seemingly insignificant decision netted me a real prize.
I found this trace of turd terrorism in the barren no man’s land between north Williamsburg and Greenpoint: Berry at N. 11th Street. Moving forward, I would like to suggest that this poster be used as the demarcation point between the two ‘hoods because throwing one’s (or someone else’s) “D’s” into another person’s face is exclusively a Greenpoint avocation. While anthropologists fret over our simian brethren’s ability to make tools, we are furiously throwing the fiercest fucking D’s on the East Coast! Long live the Devolution!
Miss Heather
P.S.: Although dung throwing is perfectly acceptable, be advised that Greenpoint has an explicit anti-fart policy, so mind your fucking manners.
Greenpoint just got a little bit bigger…
Filed under: Area 51
I am happy to announce that Larry Fisher and Dawn Babbush (the husband and wife co-proprietors of The Vortex) had a healthy baby boy this morning. Not only did he arrive on the exact date the doctor projected, but labor lasted was only 10 minutes. If my mood today was any indication, I bet this little fella was jonesing to get out and enjoy some (long awaited) New York City sunshine.
On a related note, Larry and Dawn did not close the The Vortex (which was located on Manhattan Avenue between Eagle and Dupont Streets), they simply relocated (because their landlord got a wee bit too greedy and doubled their rent). You can get your fix for fine vintage goods, knick-knacks, records, Fatty and Champ at:
The Vortex
222 Montrose Avenue (just off the Montrose stop of the L)
Brooklyn, NY 11206
Greenpoint vinyl fetishists, don’t despair: The Thing (at 1009 Manhattan Avenue) is alive and well. And some competition has just moved in a block away at 181 Franklin Street.
Looks like it will be a little while before these guys are ready to open, but it makes me happy to see that Franklin Street is thriving… AT LAST! Believe it or not, there was a time (not too terribly long ago) when Franklin Street was the main shopping district hereabouts, not Manhattan Avenue. I thought it would be fun to throw out a bit of trivia for youse guys to banter about at cocktail parties (or use as a ‘ringer’ for bar bets— my personal favorite).
Speaking for myself, tonight I will be busy calibrating a new set of KICKASS clocks I am:
- going to place for sale on Etsy (provided their ‘thought police’ does not take offense at them) and
- cooking up a little something extra special for BARC’s upcoming sidewalk sale.
Miss Heather
Thrift score!
Filed under: Area 51
The biggest perk that comes with helping out the local thrift store a couple days a week is that I get first whack at all the new stuff they get. For me, this usually means the occasional piece of costume jewelry or some sorely-needed art supplies. Today, I got the mother of all thrift scores. Here’s how it happened…
As I was sorting through jewelry Franz, my evil cohort, started reading aloud a framed letter he found:
Thank you very much for your most thoughtful note offering your support, prayers and concern for our family. It has often been said that in difficult times we especially appreciate the simple acts of kindness and decency, which touch the soul.
While my decision to announce my resignation has significant public consequences, it was first and foremost a personal decision, which reflected the need to pursue right course for our State and family…
At this point I looked up and shouted:
Who the fuck is this? Jim McGreevey!?!
Give that woman a Kewpie doll!*
I’m not too sure where I am going to hang my newly-acquired and priceless (‘cuz I didn’t pay a red cent for it) piece of New Jersey history, but I am very tempted to bully my husband into placing it on his desk at work. In all likelihood it’ll probably wind up in our bathroom next to the to the toilet (so as to provide reader material for our visitors).
Miss Heather
P.S.: The other perk of working there is that I can drop as many f-bombs as I want and my co-workers have my back. Just today I let one slip much to the consternation of a customer, who I will call “Momma” (as in Throw Momma from the Train because that’s who she looks like).
Momma: I hate that kind of language!
Me: (Silence. There was no way in hell I was going to apologize for using a word whose many conjugations I hear on the street at least 5-6 times day.)
Franz: I think I will put on some Madonna.
Me: Yes, please do put her on. I have been craving her music of late, but simply have not gotten around to listening to it at home.
Although I do enjoy listening to Madge on occasion, I knew the likes of “Lucky Star” or “Ray of Light” was not what my co-worker had in mind. Franz then proceeded to put on a song that is little more than a mash-up of Madonna saying the word “fuck”. Over and over. Momma didn’t like this very much. After plopping down $2.00 for a book she left in a huff uttering some self-righteous bullshit about how ‘the customer is treated last’. This didn’t stop her from coming back 20 minutes later to buy another book.
If you ask me, this broad should have taken that $4.00 and parlay it towards a box of hair dye instead. This woman was rocking some serious ‘bridge and tunnel’ hair, if you know what I mean. Revlon’s Colorsilk only costs $4.00-$5.00 a box, for fuck’s sake! Two inch long white roots with Lucille-fucking-Ball red tips is UGLY! If she doesn’t fix that shit by the next time I see her I am going to stand behind the counter and aspirate f-words until it polishes enamel off my teeth.
*Being a former Dallasite, let me tell you a little something about Oaklawn Avenue. It is the main drag in a section of Dallas called, appropriately enough, “Oaklawn”. “Oaklawn” is Big D’s answer to San Fran’s Castro District— or Chelsea in New York City. Interesting, eh?
Brownfinger
As I was parsing through my inbox this week I came across a compelling question from one of my commentors. Dupreciate’s email read as follows.
While we’re chattin, I was wondering if you’ve seen this short/doc series yet:
http://www.vbs.tv/shows/index.php?show=Toxic%20Brooklyn
Has less to do with dog poop and more with crude oil – interested in your take on the ordeal.
While I could have answered his question in two or three sentences, I was feeling chatty and contemplative this particular morning. As a result, “Dupreciate” got a two to three paragraph missive that eventually degenerated into a balf-baked Socialist/sociological rant to savor over his lunch hour. While far from perfect, I believe this tome merits sharing. Here it is, in all its abject glory…
Hey, I just watched episode #2 of this series and got the general gist. Although I do not make it very explicit on my blog, I am appalled by all the irresponsible development going on both in Williamsburg and Greenpoint. Although the previous sentence may sound like some vague bullshit statement, I chose my words (READ: irresponsible) very carefully, as it encompasses a variety of very troublesome issues, not just the oil spill. Here are a few of them:
Simply put, the practice of trusting the developers police themselves needs to stop. If Scarano and the number of properties damaged by shoddy construction practices (like 106 Green Street) does not attest to the need for strong government intervention, nothing does.
If these very people cannot be trusted to erect a building that is in compliance with building code and zoning laws, why the fuck should we expect them to give a damn about the environmental hazards that may or may not be present underneath them? Soil testing (as I understand it) is not mandatory. It should be. Petroleum is not the only toxin that we should be concerned about. For example, there was once a Paris Green manufacturer near McCarren Park. I do not expect you to know what “Paris Green†is, so I will tell you: it is a very toxic paint that was popular during the Victorian era. If my memory serves me correctly, arsenic is one of its by-products. Or it was cyanide? I do not remember which.
If you want to scare yourself shitless, go through the Brooklyn Daily Eagle archives and run a search on all the industrial accidents that have occurred in the north Brooklyn area. Mind you, that’s only what merited reporting. This does not include 150 years+ of surreptitious illegal dumping.
About a year ago I read an interesting book about how the slums in Detroit came into existence. Although there were a number of city-specific factors at play (like the demise of the American auto industry), there are others that I find relevant to what is going on not only in North Brooklyn, but in NYC at large. I am talking about the destruction/neglect of affordable rental property. One of the biggest mistakes Detroit made was its (over)development of properties for sale at the expense of rental property. They let the inner city decay as the ‘burbs flourished.
I strongly suspect the ‘luxury housing’ that is being built here is going to make slums flourish as well. Once you render a neighborhood prohibitively expensive to the middle class (which is the backbone of Manhattan’s workforce— and I consider any family whose yearly income is $45,000 – $100,000 as being ‘middle class’), they move further out. This completely undermines the purpose of rent-stabilization— which is largely responsible for PREVENTING New York City from becoming another Detroit. Pardon my pinko thinking, but once a city begins to neglect the core of its worker-force, a whole lotta bad is going to follow.
Speaking for myself, the properties that have been razed in my ‘nabe have facilitated crime. About ¼ of my block has ceased to exist, and the result is my having to shoo junkies from hanging out on my stoop. Magic Johnson’s condos are not going to fix this social problem. If anything, it is only going to make it worse. I find it impossible to believe that they are going to dredge up 130 families to buy into this monstrousity. So, the property (and many others like it) will probably have high vacancy rates. High vacancy rates = high crime.
All the while, the working class and elderly (who sorely need housing and add value to the neighborhood at large) are being driven out in droves. This is more than a little depressing. My husband and I often wonder if/when we’ll be next. I hope this long-winded socialist tome has given you a clear picture of my take on this subject.
H
I am neither a city planner nor an economist, but it doesn’t take a so-called expert to recognize the rapacious land speculation that is going on in north Brooklyn (or all of Brooklyn, for that matter). Not unlike the barons of industry before them, these land jobbers are squeezing our neighborhood down to the last dollar, quality of life (or inadequate infrastructure) be damned. Thus, the finger buildings will continue rise until it is no longer in the developer’s financial interest to build them.
Even Williamsburg’s canines have caught ‘finger fever’. I guess the real estate there has gotten so expensive, even the dogs have to maximize their air rights.
I found this ‘Turdhenge’ at 111 N. 4th Street. Note the mezzanine on the turd to the right. Not to be outdone, Greenpoint has also gotten high-rise hysteria. As I noticed at 200 Franklin Street yesterday.
I wonder if this ‘product’ is part of the new waterfront (re-zoning) I have heard so much about?
Miss Heather
R & R
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
Having completed my day’s work, I am headed up to the roof for a little R & R. The sunblock has been slathered, the refreshing beverages selected and reading material pulled. My sunglasses are perched atop my head itching to be put to good use.
Those of you who have ever wondered why I put up with sporadic hot water problems, a Superintendent who is a blithering idiot, or the hipster junkies who like to loiter on my stoop, look at the above photo. When you have a view like this (as I do), you learn to let a few things slide.
Off I go!
Miss Heather
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