Filed under: Area 51
Report about Tuessday May 29 (Week 2, day 5) part 1
…After this Mistress gave me another strange picture to edge to, this time it was the picture of a bitch bull mastiff (a dog). At first i couldn’t get anything done either, but after trying really hard i managed to edge to it. When i informed Mistress Andrea she had me tell everybody what i had edged to.
Now Minx linked me a picture to edge to, it was a picture of a pile of shit. I tried to do as told, but this imaged was such a turn off that i couldn’t do it. When i informed Minx of my failure she was upset about it, but gave me another picture to use.
This was another gross picture (Warning, this is a seriously nasty picture. —Ed. Note) but i didn’t want to upset Minx again. So i tried real hard and finally i seemed to get something done. i don’t know how i managed, but i managed to edge to it. After this edge Mistress Andrea gave me one last picture to edge to. This was a picture of a bound woman who was tied upside down on a chair while getting caned upon her feet. This was a nice picture to use. After this she gave me my instructions for the rest of the day:
1. Post my reports.
2. Make an apology to Minx
3. Take the box of tampons i b(r)ought to work and leave them in sight in my car
You know you have really arrived when your web site gets this kind of publicity. I wonder if this has ever happened to Brownstoner? Maybe I should ask him. I do have to question this mistress’s credentials, though. If I was to select a poopy picture for the above purpose it would have been this one.
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
After yesterday’s chance meeting with a victim of caulk theft, I couldn’t stop thinking about how nice Greenpointers really are. They may lack the polish of their tonier neighbors to the south (Greenpoint is more Coors Light with a ciggie than grenache in a glass), but these people will give you the shirts off their back. What’s more, the more felonious folks who take the shirt off your back understand how truly bad if feels to be robbed. They will even tell you so. I learned the latter recently in the December 15, 1892 edition of the Brooklyn Daily Eagle.
COOL BURGLARS IN GREENPOINT
Two of Them Arrested While Condoling Their Victim.
When it was learned today that the liquor store of John Hughes, 182 West Street, had been entered by burglars some time between 1 and 5 o’clock this morning, the police of the Greenpoint Avenue station were all more or less perturbed, for burglaries in that section of the city, although generally trivial, have been numerous of late and arrests have been few. This particular burglary small though it was, was of an aggravating nature. The burglars had smashed a glass in the rear window, pushed back a catch and made themselves at home. They stole bottles of liquor, boxes of cigars, packages of cigarettes and drank and smoked for some time, evidently, as signs of their festive raid were not wanting. They carried off the rest of their plunder.
Not until 10 o’clock was a report of the burglary made to the police. Immediately Detective Sergeant Donlon and Patrolmen Behlen were put upon the case. Half an hour later they arrested a man on the Freeman Street dock. He had been drinking from one the stolen bottles, and when he saw strangers approaching he threw the bottle into the river. He said he was Thomas Kiernan, 43 years old, a laborer at 61 Green Street. From information furnished by Kiernan the police set out in search of the other two men, and found them standing in the saloon which had been entered, coolly condoling with Hughes, the proprietor. They professed much surprise and indignation when arrested, but the police claim to have found some of the stolen goods in the pockets of all three men. The two men arrested in the saloon described themselves as James F. Gorman, ship carpenter, 25 years old, of 63 Freeman Street, and William Boyton, a sparman, 25 years old, of 51 Box Street. The police say that the three men are idlers, and have for some time been under surveillance.
So let me get this straight: these guys break into a saloon between “1 and 5 o’clock” in the morning and one is later found drinking on the docks at 10:30 a.m.?!? That’s one serious party.
One of the points of interest featured in Forgotten-NY‘s tour of Greenpoint was the monument dedicated to John Ericsson at McGolrick Park. After Kevin (Walsh) gave a general rundown about it (who made it, who it is dedicated to, when it was installed, etc.) a park patron pointed out a hitherto unknown feature for everyone’s edification.
Homeboy appears to be taking a shit.
No wonder people let their dogs crap with total abandon here. Can you realistically expect people to curb their dogs when a public sculpture is letting one rip for all to see?
At least this pile of shit doesn’t stink.
P.S.: Speaking of bad manners, does anyone know what the deal is with this guy? I remember him from the demonstration that was held in front of the charred husk that is the Greenpoint Terminal Warehouse May 2006. He and his female companion (who constitute the organization Neighborhood Roots) made a mockery of what was otherwise a very peaceful event. I distinctly remember when Mr. Kupiec and his fellow harpie saw fit to heckle Martin Malave Dilan as he was making a speech. You know, you may not like your district’s Representatives but you should at least exercise some common fucking courtesy and let them speak.
Anyhoo, the reason I am asking about this gentleman is he saw fit to use Forgotten-NY‘s tour today as an opportunity push his agenda with Kevin Walsh and myself. There is a time and a place for everything— and this was neither the time nor the place for whatever this guy is pushing. What’s more, he didn’t even pay the paltry $5.00 to attend the tour. What the fuck is this guy’s problem? Didn’t his mother teach him anything!?!
Lest this chap happens to be reading this: Kevin wants his five bucks. It’s the least you can do after trying to turn someone else’s walking tour into your own personal pulpit.
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
As many of you are aware, Sunday I co-conducted Forgotten-NY‘s tour of Greenpoint. I think most of the attendees will agree with me when I say that it was a very enjoyable (if lengthy) experience. Not only was I pleased by the high turn-out (of very nice and interesting people), but I am proud of my fellow Greenpointers for making them feel right at home.
Without argument, the above woman was one of my favorite (if accidental) highlights of the tour. We encountered her on Calyer Street just west of McGuinness Boulevard. You will notice that a sign graces her fence. Her companion was kind enough to model it for us.
As I have said many times before, Greenpointers are not afraid to speak their minds. When asked about why she put up this sign, my new Greenpoint heroine was more than happy to oblige. Apparently a friend of hers dropped off $70.00 worth of caulk at her house. He (or she) left it inside the gate. Before this woman could put her newly acquired cache of caulk to use, someone saw fit to steal it.
May they ROT IN HELL indeed! Why the fuck would someone steal $70.00 worth of caulk anyway? I hope she finds the perpetrator and kicks his ass.
Only in Greenpoint, folks.
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
I was dog-ass tired when I got off from work yesterday afternoon. Although my work day was by all accounts pleasant, I did get my fair share of dirty old men hissing “Hi mami” at me. If it was the intent of these men to piss me off, it worked; I was in a turd of a mood when I arrived home.
When I got to the front door of my building I noticed that the Superintendant’s daughter was having a feminist issues of her own.
Call her a modern day Valerie Solanas packing Crayola heat. Call her the Gloria Steinem of the six year old set. Call her whatever you want, but you sure as fuck better not give her any shit.
Especially of you happen to be male.
Hmm. She is probably a little too young to cut her teeth on “The Feminine Mystique”. I think I will get her started on her path to angry adulthood with a nice feminist coloring book instead.*
*A quote: â€œWe pledge allegiance to all-girl bands, pro choice rallies, and witchcraft.â€ This has got to be the most fucking awesome thing I have ever read. This should be on a t-shirt. Seriously.
Filed under: Area 51
Today I realized that there are a number of nifty things going on in my ‘nabe that I have failed to mention. Here they are.
Starting this weekend Cafecito will be selling fruit ices, juices, punch and mint limeade every Saturday and Sunday.
I tried their limeade today and it was fantastic! Tart, with just a hint of sweetness. Give it a shot, I doubt you’ll regret it. I have also heard their hot chocolate is wonderful, though this may not be the season for it.
1015 Manhattan Avenue (between Huron and Green Street)
Brooklyn, NY 11222
Casa Mon Amour
Few people seem to know that Casa Mon Amour hosts an evening of French cuisine each month. This month’s offering is French Provincial, my personal favorite. Those of you who are interested can R.S.V.P. via the above phone number. Caveat: best to do so sooner rather than later, they get booked pretty fast.
Pets on the Run & City Dog Lounge
It looks like north Greenpoint is going to get its first pet supply soon. I have no other details save that this store will be located at 989 Manhattan Avenue (between Huron and India Street).
That said, I would be remiss if I didn’t mention that the City Dog Lounge (located in Long Island City) does deliver to Greenpoint. My husband and I have purchased our cat food (and of course, cat litter) from here for some time. The proprietress, Hanna, came come off as being brusque but don’t let that put you off; she’s actually a very nice person. More importantly, she is painstakingly punctual when it comes to making deliveries. All you need to do is go there, set up an account and you’re good to go.
City Dog Lounge
529 50th Avenue
Long Island City, NY 11101
They will be having a champagne party tomorrow from 12:00 p.m. through 5:00 p.m. Per their invitation:
Hello Alter friends & family!
Summer time is officialy here! That calls for a party. Come down to Alter this Sunday, June 10th from 12-5 PM for some free champagne, lots of great new mechandise, and recently marked down Spring attire. Check out our blog at: http://www.alterbrooklyn.com to see our mention in the most recent TIME OUT NY. They did a fab article about Greenpoint. Alter is also reviewed in this months issue of PAPER Magazine, yee-haw!
Hope to see you all on Sunday.
All our best,
Roy & Tommy
Yeah, I disagree with their opinion of TONY‘s article(s), but they’re amazingly talented and very nice chaps nonetheless.
109 Franklin Street @ Greenpoint Ave.
Brooklyn, NY 11222
Sunday, June 10th, is also when Forgotten-NY will conduct it’s 30th tour right here in Greenpoint. You can get all the deets here.
(Or, You’ll get it Miss Heather’s way and like it.)
Last December Sammy, a neighborhood fixture and all-around nice guy died. He was only in his fifties, and at first the was talk was that he committed suicide. This was later disproven: Sammy had a heart attack. A number of you may have made his acquaintance at the Salvation Army as he worked there for a number of years.
In this capacity he had to deal with some of the biggest SHITHEADS god has seen fit to create. I’m not talking about coworkers either; I’m talking about customers. He treated his clientele with the care and respect they so richly deserved: none whatsoever. When, for example, two women were fighting over a ceramic figurine, he grabbed it and threw it to the ground, smashing it into smithereens. Problem solved. The customers were what killed Sammy, not his less-than-spectacular personal habits, of this I am convinced.
I wrote the previous (woefully) belated obituary because this week of I have had the misfortune of interfacing with some seriously annoying— if not batshit crazy— people. Many of whom were ‘customers’. Follows is a selection of the worst offenders for your Shaudenfreud-fueled entertainment. Enjoy!
Crazy Old Broad
Location: Meserole Avenue
Crime: Being a crazy old broad on Meserole Avenue, which was where I also happened to be at the time.
As a general rule I avoid making eye contact with the old ladies that grace my neighborhood. A very short time after I moved here I learned that acknowledging their presence— much less SMILING at them— is effectively an invitation for them to waste the next 15-20 minutes of my precious existence. That said, accidents do happen. As I was looking both ways before I crossed the street I made visual contact. And just like the psychological vulture vampire she was this lady rushed right on over. Blathering indecipherable gibberish the entire time. It was Polish.
Woman: (entreating me in Polish)
I have learned that saying “WHAT” in a very loud tone anytime someone jabbers at me in Polish to be the quickest and most effective way to convey that I do not speak Polish. Until now.
Woman: You do not speak Polish?
Me: No, I don’t.
Woman: But you spoke to me in Polish a week ago!
This broad then commenced trying to argue with me about my alleged command of Polish and my unwillingness to share it with her. I walked away muttering “What the fuck is HER problem?”. It should be noted that have never laid eyes on this woman in my life.
Location: The Salvation Army on Manhattan Avenue
Crime: Being a fucking creep
Eddie is a fixture in my corner of the ‘hood. A number of you who live in north Greenpoint have seen him: a tiny little Polish man, always smiling, who wears thick plastic-rimmed glasses. I know Eddie’s name is not because I am friends with him; he is a former coworker on one of my best friends, Rachael. Former. Coworker. Eddie was fired for stealing merchandise and grabbing my friend’s tits. Little Eddie is a big fucking pervert.
I recently remembered that I almost forgot that The Mermaid Day Parade is coming up soon. In the interests of showing solidarity with my fellow oppressed Brooklynites, I have decided to attend. Being the Dog Shit Queen of Greenpoint, I realized that such an affair of state requires proper attire:
- A shit gown
- A shit crown
- A shit orb
- A shit scepter
- Shit shoes
- Shit accessories, etc.
After unsuccessfully searching a number of stores in the area for proper(ly hideous) Greenpoint apparel, I went to the Salvation Army. I noticed Eddie as soon as I entered the store. I tried to ignore him, but it was pretty difficult given he decided to peruse their selection of skirts and dresses. I found a particularly choice dress and pulled it from the rack so I could give it a thorough inspection.
- Will it fit? Yes!
- Is it really fucking ugly? Yes!
- Does it look like something a woman who has had a nervous breakdown would wear? Absolutely!
- Hmm… there appears to a blood stain on the front of it. SOLD!
As I was mulling over the previous pros Eddie decided I needed some help and started pulling dresses he thought I would like in. I told him in no uncertain terms to FUCK OFF. He did.
“But what about troublesome customers,” you ask? The previous two peeps are just a warm-up. I left the best worst for last. Here they are: the newest inductees into Miss Heather’s Crappy Customer Hall of Shame.
Before I continue, let me tell you a little bit about what I do. My primary responsibility is to sort and price jewelry. This is an enjoyable, but physically demanding task. The owner of the store gets most of his wares at storage facility auctions and estate sales, so when I get jewelry it is in boxes measuring 2′x3′x1′. That’s a whole lotta jewelry, folks. My standard mode of operation when given a new box of jewelry to sort is this:
- First I pull each of the individual bags out of the box and look them over in order to get an idea of what I have.
- Next, I pull anything that appears to be of real value, e.g.; gold, silver, antique, etc.
- Thirdly, I separate/disentangle the nice stuff from the hideous crap.
- The good stuff goes in the showcases, the shit goes in the $1.00 bin.
- Any vintage necklaces that are broken are placed in goodie bags for the local crafters to purchase and cannibalize.
Not a bad system, if I may say so myself. It is methodical and exploits every possible opportunity to make money by giving my clients what they want at a reasonable price. I work at a thrift store, after all and the purpose of such an establishment is to sell dry goods at low prices.
Despite my incredibly reasonable prices and bulk discounts there are people who doth protest too much. They say my prices are too high, I say they’re assholes. To use the word “chiseler” or “haggler” would infer that these people possess a level of intelligence they do not have. These wannabe thieves are some of the stupidest sons-of-bitches I have met.
Which brings me to the gruesome twosome I dealt with yesterday…
PREFACE: A week ago I found a small cultured pearl choker in a box I was sorting. While not exactly Princess Grace (or Lady Di) material, they were quite lovely. The clasp was sterling silver and had a number of high quality Austrian crystals inlaid in it. While such an item is not my cup of tea, I knew that I had something nice-ish on my hands that someone would really like. I priced it at $10.00, put it in the showcase and called my coworker over.
Me: See this, Chad?
Me: This is a pretty nice little pearl choker.
Chad: Is it real?
Me: Yes, but the pearls are not of outrageously fine quality. It is, however, a nicely crafted piece of vintage jewelry and I have priced it at $10.00.
Chad: So the price is non-negotiable?
Me: Exactly— and believe you me, some ASSHOLE will come in here and try to chisel down the price. Don’t let them.
In hindsight, I should have said the previous. I had cashed a check with my mouth that my ass I was not prepared to cash. Kismet saw fit to plague me with two assholes for the price of one.
Customer(s): Parental Units visiting their son who lives in Williamsburg (!)
Origin: South Africa
Source of dispute: the price for a pearl necklace
Crime(s): Being cheap, devious, clueless, making the (erroneous) assumption that I am rock-ass stupid (like they are) and insulting my home: New York Shitty.
Cheap: When this couple came in I immediately got suspicious. They wore giant smiles and were being very polite. No one here (in Greenpoint) behaves in such a manner (or if they do it is probably because they are fucking INSANE); these people were up to no good whatsoever.
The wife proceeded to have me pull a number of very cheap items from the case: a $1.00 bracelet here, a $2.00 necklace there, you get the idea. It has been my experience that most people who do this sort of thing seek to confuse me into losing track as to what I have brought out. That way they can pocket a piece or two without my noticing. It doesn’t work. I may not remember what year it is sometimes, but I know damned well when a piece jewelry is MIA.
After five minutes of fuss and much tut-tutting this bitch went in for the kill: she asked to look at the aforementioned pearl necklace. Whispering silently under my breath, I showed it to her.
Upon noticing the outrageous price of TEN WHOLE FUCKING DOLLARS the first words that exited her piehole were:
Why is this so expensive?
I took a deep breath and replied:
Because the necklace you have in your hand is comprised of cultured pearls and has a very nice sterling silver clasp. It is an exceptionally well crafted piece of vintage jewelry.
Devious/Underestimating Miss Heather’s Grey Matter: Her first attempt at haggling quashed, she decided to take a more subtle approach and talk me up a little. She told me that she and her husband were from South Africa and they were visiting their son who lives in Williamsburg. She said the necklace was going to be a gift for her daughter back in South Africa, etc. She was really laying it on really thick thinking I would care. (I didn’t: this broad can afford the airfare from South Africa to New York Shitty, a $10 necklace should not be an issue to her.) The whole time she was rolling the beads between her fingers and giving meaningful looks to her husband.
I think I forgot to tell you something, dear readers: the reason I was hired to handle jewelry. I possess what they call a “good eye” when it comes to sorting the shit from the Shinola. I was not born with this ability; it was acquired after attending jewelry trade shows for over 15 years. This woman didn’t know it at the time, but I knew what she was doing. She was verifying that these were cultured pearls. Unlike cheap plastic baubles, cultured pearls will warm to the touch. This is because the centers are made of glass.
She asked me is I could be more flexible with the price and I said no. She then proceeded to complain that it was an awfully small strand and it may not fit her daughter. At this point I tuned them out and started detangling necklaces. If there is anything positive to be said about having 110 Green’s pile driver slog away for weeks on end it would be this: I have acquired the ability to concentrate under the most cacophonous of circumstances. This broad wasn’t shit compared to being awakened at 6:40 or 7:00 a.m. in the morning, day after FUCKING DAY, by window-rattling pounding. Nietzsche was right:
What does not destroy me, makes me stronger.
Or at least give me the wherewithal to put this bitch in her place, sort of.
Clueless: After (finally) figuring out that I was not about to budge on the price, my new friend decided to see if my coworker Chad would give her one more to her liking. She did this when my back was turned. All because I had ceased to acknowledge her presence doesn’t mean I wasn’t listening: I was.
I jerked around and looked them squarely in the eye.
RIGHT IN FRONT OF THEM, less that TWO FEET AWAY I said:
Chad, I cannot fucking take these people anymore, you deal with them.
Then I walked off and went back to sorting jewelry.
Did this faze them? NO!!!
It was like Dawn of the-fucking-Dead and I was under siege by two SIMPERING cheap-ass zombies. I could have doused them with gasoline and lit a match; they were going to get that fucking bracelet for UNDER TEN DOLLARS if it killed them. And I wanted to oblige them regarding the latter.
Thankfully, Chad defused the situation. After TWENTY MINUTES they relented and paid the asking price (and then only because he tossed in a book for free).
Did their onslaught of ass end? No way, Jose!
You see, they had just gotten done visiting their son in Williamsburg and were checking out the local points of interest. They wanted to know how far Long Island City was from our store. Chad said it was probably about 20 minutes walking distance from the store. I (foolishly) suggested (in the hopes that they would GO AWAY) that they take the G to Court Square and proceed west. To wit my nemesis said:
No way, it’s too dangerous.
*A-hem* Let’s think about this:
- These people hail from South Africa.
- South Africa (though not on par with D.R. Congo, Sudan or a number of other troubled African states) is not a very nice place:
- Unless my memory fails me, the odds of being raped there for a woman are near 50/50.
- The AIDS epidemic was left to flourish because this country’s leader (until recently) didn’t believe a relationship between HIV and AIDS existed and blocked the import of retroviral medication.
- As with any other place that has a deep division between rich and poor, violence is not uncommon there. In fact, it’s commonplace: that’s why the more affluent folk live in fortified compounds.
And these people have the temerity to say the G train is dangerous!?! UGH. Lest any of you harbor thoughts about calling me racist, let me tell you this:
- These people were not black.
- I am of the opinion that most of (South) Africa’s problems stem from the actions of white people.
So there have you. NEEEEXT!
Customer(s): Two brothers
Source of dispute: none that I can think of
Crime(s): Coming in after the previous couple left, patronizing me, leering at me
Picture the Festrunk Brothers. Now imagine the Festrunk Brothers as a pair of Septuagenarians. POLISH Septuagenarians. One of whom has Alzheimer’s Disease. Uh-HUH.
Contrary to what you are probably thinking, the brother with Alzheimer’s was not the issue. Even if he was, I wouldn’t pick on him. That’s mean. Miss Heather’s heart is as big as the turds she assiduously photographs. And I have beheld some mighty big ‘uns.
This dynamic dual epitomized the crisis one faces when (he or) she has to balance compassion against his (her, MINE) NO BULLSHIT rule. While:
- I really feel for the one brother who has chosen to take care of his afflicted sibling. My grandmother had to do the same thing with her older sister. It’s hard.
- I think it is wonderful that this gent takes his brother on walks and tries to keep him active instead of just dumping him into some “home”.
- I am really touched by by how much this man cares for his brother.
- I do not mind the odd things this individual says/does. He can’t control his actions.
- I do mind being patronized by a horny old geezer that is capable of self-control.
O.G. (looking at me): Welllllllll, I see we have a lady working here now.
Me (to Chad): There’s a lady in here!?! Where the hell is she because I didn’t see her come in.
O.G.: I am talking about you.
Me: I ceased being a lady a long time ago. I’m married now and don’t give a SHIT.
Last, but hardly least.
Customer: Old woman
Source of dispute: Unintelligible
Crime(s): Insanity, being really fucking loud
Sometimes you can look at a person and just know something is really, really wrong with them. Such was the case with this woman. I had bent over to pick a box up and lo, there she was smiling at me. Uh-oh.
This woman was probably in her eighties. Unlike a number of the cute little old ladies that visit the store on occasion, this woman did not have a command of make-up (two circles of pink rouge with bright pink or red lipstick). She looked like a cross between a Babushka and Baby Jane. She behaved entirely like the latter.
After hassling me to look at several necklaces she started asking me about other items shewas looking for. Or at least I think that was what she was doing; I couldn’t understand much of what she was saying. She spoke a form of Polish-inflected English I had yet to learn. I do not speak “Batshitfuckingcrazy”.
She asked if we had pajamas. Chad explained to her:
- We had clothing.
- Pajamas are a form of clothing.
- Clothing is located in the back of the store.
- She should look for pajamas in the back of the store.
This got her out of our hair and I proceeded to help another customer. Ten minutes later, she starts shouting. Chad ignores her. She continues yelling. Chad slowly walks back to see what her problem was. This is when she started SCREAMING. She sounded just like a toddler. An eight-something year old toddler that was on fire.
Was she hurt? No.
Was she having a heart attack? No.
She wanted to know the price of a men’s button-down shirt. Uh-HUH.
Chad quoted her $1.00 for this item. After some thought (this is a serious investment, folks) she purchased it and left.
I turned the customer I was helping and said:
And some say Greenpoint is the next hip hood. It won’t be as long as there are people like that living here.
Customer (sarcastically): But Time Out New York said…
Anyone out there looking for some affordable studio space, listen up! I found something today that might be of interest to you.
$650 for 400 square feet of space and eastern exposure? Not bad! But you know, the name “fluxusreadymade” sounds familiar to me. I think I came across it a few months ago…
Oh, that’s where I found it— in my very own inbox! Silly me.
I find it pretty amusing that the very person who sent me this nastygram may very well be a landlord. Of course, this newfound and very fascinating piece of information would have gone unnoticed had Bert bothered to take his own advice, e.g.; don’t shit where you eat.
Can you imagine what it must be like to be this guy’s tenant— or worse yet, his ROOMMATE? Whatever you do, for god’s sake don’t drink the man’s milk! He’ll probably go postal.
Filed under: Area 51
Have you ever wondered about what happens when your landlord doesn’t pay his electricity bill? You get a letter in a rather mean looking envelope telling you about it. I know this because I got just one such letter yesterday.
I thought it was very thoughtful of Con Ed to suggest that I can apply for service in my name or pay my landlord’s balance for him. I actually considered doing the latter, but then I realized $189.09 is a lot of money to a schmo like me. Unlike my landlord, I do not own a chain of laundromats in Manhattan. I guess June 17th I’ll find out what will happen next. Given that this building has gone without electricity before and we once went without hot water for an entire week, the prognosis isn’t looking good.
P.S.: Con Ed also sent a letter to the Superintendent of our building. He saw fit to return it sender.
I saw this flyer on Greenpoint Avenue last weekend. Given that I have seen chickens and a goat here, I had a hard time feeling 100% certain that this was a joke. I later deduced that it was, but that still doesn’t change the fact that I found someone losing a pet rat and putting up flyers about it to be plausible. In Greenpoint it is, anyway.