Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
No, this Greenpointer was not “coming out” to use contemporary parlance for openly admitting one’s homosexuality. This chap was extracted from a closet. Literally, and interestingly enough, unwillingly. In keeping with the particularly strange mojo my neighborhood has been giving off lately I present to you a very special coming out story from the April 24, 1949 edition of the New York Times.
Mrs. Makushak was a woman ahead of her time: that closet probably commands $600 a month now. Plus utilities and first and last month’s rent, of course.
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
I have long suspected that someone is in the business of stealing bikes and reselling them in Greenpoint but never had any proof to back it up. That is, until I discovered the below bike on India Street.
I happened across this bike September 26th while walking home. Noticing that a note had been affixed to the seat, I went in for a closer look.
The former owner of this “hot” bike, being the duly diligent person he (or she) is, even included an angry missive en Espanol.
Unfortunately it does not appear to have worked. As I learned when I walked by this bike again this four days later.
Mark my words folks: this is gonna get
very ugly muy feo.
Filed under: Area 51
This morning I received an alarming email from my neighbor and all-around casserole whiz, Emily. She writes:
There sure is a mushroom growing from my ceiling:
I’ll be frank. I have heard a lot of bad things about the Astral. Mostly that it is a total dump whose north-facing wing has a bedbug infestation. What I did not know, however, is the Super is too busy shooting amateur boudoir photography to do anything about it.
How did I find out this piece of information, you ask? Very simple: Eefers Googled her Superintendent’s name and this gent’s portfolio at “Model Mayhem” was the first item to pop up.
I wish I had learned about this excellent opportunity earlier. If I did, I would have contacted this guy. I could use a little extra money for Christmas shopping this year.
Photo Credit: The Thing. No, it is not the Super of the Astral. Sorry folks!
I have had my share of bad neighbors. Crack heads, manic depressives, filth-mongers, a wailing nympho* and a likely prostitute just to name a few. Thankfully, as of the writing of this post my existence is relatively nuisance free. Relatively.
You see, I have a neighbor who likes to talk on the phone. She also likes to smoke cigarettes or low grade weed while doing so. But she does not, however, like to smoke in her apartment (given how foul smelling that last spliff was, I can’t say I blame her), so she takes her telephone and smokes to the area behind her apartment.
I have listened, albeit unwillingly, to a number of her marathon telephone sessions. If the sheer amount of time she spends talking to people is any indication, she must be pretty popular. She sounds like a nice enough person— and that’s why I enjoy hearing the latest developments in her life. Mile stones like:
- Having a nose job.
- Getting a boyfriend.
- Bra shopping. For the record she likes under wire soft cup bras with no padding. Victoria’s Secret is her favorite place to buy under garments. Too bad I don’t know who her boyfriend is or I would tell him that. The holiday season is just around the corner, you know.
I mention the above anecdote because (after learning about it on Curbed yesterday) I have a confession to make: I am addicted to rottenneighbor.com. Last night I spent over an hour trolling bad neighbor horror stories and believe it or not Greenpoint has quite a few. By far my favorite (and easily the most disturbing) tale is the case of poor Brandon on Leonard Street. A disgruntled neighbor writes:
Brandon is a kid who live(s) with his grandmother and grandfather, (in their 40s), and grandma yells ALL DAY LONG, and when she is not yelling, Ralphie, their little yip dog, stands by the door and barks at no one. In addition to yelling at Brandon through the door intercom system, she yells at Brandon inside. Daily phrases include, “shut the F–K up, Brandon,” “get the F–K in bed, Brandon,” and “pick up your F—ING S–T, Brandon.” The all time favorite, however, was “you wanna’ go live wi’cha mom in the ghetto?” There is lots of dog feces on the sidewalk, and Brandon’s grandparents make life pretty unbearable at times.
Um, this sounds like something that should be reported to ACS. As for the dog feces on the sidewalk, well, I
see smell a field trip coming!
*This woman was like clockwork: 10:00, 12:00, and 4:00 (a.m. or p.m.) every Saturday. One night she was really on a roll. Her consort was clearly hitting all the sweet spots. Feeling impish, I opened up the window and mimicked every moan she made. Soon, my next door neighbor (a very nice woman who has since moved) joined in. For a full five minutes it was a non-stop chorus of moaning and “Oh Gods” occasionally puntuated with a “Yee Haw” and “Yippie Ki Yay”.
What can I say? I AM from Texas after all.
Filed under: Area 51
If so, someone in Flushing would like to talk to you. Flakito is sorely missed.
This gem comes from Lisanne over at Found in Brooklyn. She writes:
Hey Miss Heather……..i saw this flyer for a missing albino ferret in Flushing today and thought of you for some reason, don’t know if it’s your thing but the weird thing to me was that all the numbers were pulled off the flyer, so i guess a lot of people have seen it running around…if you have a slow news day thought you might have some insight…
There is never a day in Miss Heather’s life when she is too busy to spread the word about Flakito the fugitive Flushing ferret. Please help this special pet (who even eats “special food”) find his way home. They’re even offering a $100 reward.
Thanks again Lisanne for this excellent find!
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
It has come to my attention via the fabulous Brooklyn11211 that hizzoner is coming to the Garden Spot this week! He writes:
This is a once-in-an-administration opportunity for the community to get its key issues in front of the Mayor, and to put some Commissioners (ahem, DOB) on the spot in front of their boss. If the past is any guide, though, the Mayor will be presented with a huge laundry list of issues, some of which he won’t even have control over, some of which can only be answered in platitudes… What we need is a list of 5 to 7 key areas that can be pounded over and over again (my vote: construction, affordable housing, parks, environment, contextual zoning, landmarks and transportation).
This is an excellent idea which merits following through. Speaking for myself, I have much material to choose from construction-wise. The above cement truck FALLING on a house while violating a stop work order last week is my current favorite. It takes a special kind of imbecile to pull that off.
Seriously folks, this is the time to let our mayor know we are fed up with the developers’ total and utter disregard for our personal safety and quiet enjoyment of our homes. We live here. We have rights.
I repeat, A TRUCK FALLING ON A HOUSE! This is beyond ridiculous. Greenpoint is a neighborhood, not The Wizard of Fucking Oz.
Where: Polonaise Terrace, 150 Greenpoint Avenue
When: Thursday 4 October 2007. 7 pm.
This evening I had the pleasure of reading a turd from the above shit heap of a newspaper. It was forwarded to me via the Newtown Creek Alliance. They wrote:
I’m sorry to see the nature walk is getting severely trashed.
Initially I was going to write back and say “What do you expect, it’s The Brooklyn Paper?” I decided against it. I think my fellow Greenpointers should see how utterly shitty their product and journalistic standards are. For this reason I present to you, dear readers, the following article from the September 22, 2007 edition of The Brooklyn Paper…
Something stinks â€” hey, itâ€™s this park!
Up for a nature walk? The newest one is right there next to the sewage treatment plant.
This counterintuitive park project comes courtesy of the Department of Environmental Protection, which spent $3.2 million to build a gorgeous walkway next to the Newtown Creek sludge plant.
No, itâ€™s not a joke â€” though some locals are treating it as such.
â€œI say we toilet paper their park â€” after all, they made our neighborhood smell like a toilet,â€ wrote one poster on Curbed.com, which labeled it â€œthe crappiest park in Brooklyn.â€
Other posts took advantage of the irony to use a common barnyard expletive that is often used as a slang term for feces.
The DEP wouldnâ€™t dignify those kinds of potty-mouth comments, but did say that the park will be a wonderful amenity for the community and that most people will appreciate it.
The plant, which is known for those funky (both stylistically and, it must be said, odoriferously), egg-shaped domes, occupies a few dozen square blocks along the oil-filled creek north of Greenpoint Avenue.
Would-be nature walkers will enter the pathway from Paidge Avenue and Provost Street, and enjoy landscaping that includes trees, shrubs, waterfront seating, wetland grasses and perennial flowers and plants â€” plus a wall separating all that nature from the sewage plant on the other side.
The pathway is just the first phase of a DEP effort to provide access to the waterfront, the agency said. The next two phases will be completed over five years and extend the path all the way to North Henry Street.
It couldnâ€™t come at a better â€” or worse time. The federal Environmental Protection Agency reported last week that a massive oil spill that has been seeping under the Newtown Creek area since the 1950s may be twice as big as once suspected.
The DEP will unveil the first phase of the Greenpoint Nature Walk along the waterfront that separates Brooklyn and Queens next week.
Something Sucks â€” itâ€™s The Brooklyn Paper!
It’s easy to criticize a park when you (and you know who you are) are sitting on your fat ass in Park Slope trying to figure out how to capitalize on the Garden Spot. It’s “hip”. It’s “young”. It’s so… not you, Brooklyn Paper.
Is it just me or does the
Smells like Teen Spirit North Brooklyn edition of The Brooklyn Paper sport very little content actually regarding North Brooklyn? It’s usually a few week-old stories and a bunch of other stuff we could care less about. All they— and by they I mean The Brooklyn Paper want to do to is up their circulation numbers so can boost their advertising revenue (yes, I worked in publishing once, surprise!). The fact they are using us to do it makes me angry to no end.
But back to journalistic integrity (or lack thereof). We all know using a comment board on someone else’s blog (READ: Curbed) is the best way to get the word on the street in Greenpoint. A community which, inconveniently enough, is largely populated with blue-collar people without Internets. That’s why unsubstantial shit like the following makes it to print:
I say we toilet paper their park, after all they made our neighborhood smell like a toilet.
God forbid a reporter from The Brooklyn Paper actually set foot in the
Garden Garbage Spot and ask us, the revolting peasants we are, what we think. That would entail riding the G TRAIN and doing ACTUAL REPORTING. We might prove to be intelligent. Or find The Brooklyn Paper to be a joke. And we do, by the way.
As a Greenpointer (who converses with other Greenpointers every day) here is a general consensus of what we think the park:
- Yes, we think a park next to a sewage treatment plant is funny. Who wouldn’t?
- Do we think it is a P.R. ploy by the D.E.P.? DUH!
- North Greenpoint has no parks whatsoever. A few of us have the temerity to like it. It is all we got. It is better designed than most of the condominiums going up around us, but The Brooklyn Paper wouldn’t print that. They didn’t see fit to print this either:
More thought, design, materials and over all aesthetics have been put into this Taj Mahal of Poop Processing than all the crappy chrome and glass condos all over the G-point & the Burg.
Somehow the crack reporter for The Brooklyn Paper saw fit to overlook this comment (also from Curbed). I wonder why?
The truth of the matter is a number of things make my neighborhood stink. You have the waste treatment plant, sewage overruns, illegal dumping and Newtown Creek. You cannot separate one from the other. I can, however, state with certainty that The Brooklyn Paper’s attempt at capitalizing off Greenpoint’s misfortune (and ridiculing us in the process) reeks the most.
And as any Greenpointer knows, shit floats.
P.S.: Those of you who want additional giggles at this paper’s expense should read this article. For reasons beyond my comprehension it turned up on outside.in under Greenpoint. It is about how local video stores are suffering at the hands of Netflix. Strangely enough, Photoplay, a Greenpoint institution (which recently expanded into a larger space) is not mentioned. Hmm.
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
I did not go to the Brooklyn Blogade meet-up in Bedford Stuyvesant.
Sometimes you gotta quit blogging and start living. That’s what I did yesterday. My husband, best buddy Rachael and I went to the Atlantic Antic. Mr. Heather wanted to see buses. He saw them. Rachael wanted to consume all manner and variety of artery-clogging meatitude with the Mr. H. She did. What did I get?
A key lime pie beyond compare.
A self-absorbed bitch and her less attractive sycophant (engaged in the all too pervasive discussion about who was fucking who) bumping into me and spilling sangria on my shirt. Thankfully for them, my love of the movie Falling Down overrode my desire to get in their face.
Bad news. Your trust fund just tanked. And you’re
gonna dieforced to live like the rest of us, wearing that stupid hathair cut. How does it feel?
But enough negativity. Let’s talk Greenpointivity… and Atlantic Antic had it!
The fine fellas from Greenpoint’s very own Wine Cellar Sorbet were in effect. Don’t let the above photo fool you, they were…
Very, very busy.
Why? Because their product is fucking fantastic! The co-proprietor, Bret, did not recognize me at first (because of my constant hair color-changing, reclusive and overall chameleon-like behavior).
Hi, I’m Heather.
Bret (crazy busy): ?
Me: Miss Heather of Newyorkshitty.
Bret: I didn’t recognize you. You changed your hair!
High fives were exchanged. Sorbet was consumed and my husband, the Prince Consort of Shit, paid for it. It was delicious.
Click here to learn where you can get your own.
P.S.: You can check out my Atlantic Antic pix here.