Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
Some of you might remember my post about the exotic assortment of items congregating on the telephone line crossing Manhattan Avenue at Eagle Street. For those of you who don’t, here’s a photo of it to jog your memory.
Well, the powers that be behind this budding masterpiece have been bit by holiday spirit.
I call this ensemble Christmas gnome with pine cones.
Filed under: Area 51
As some of you might be aware, my parents are visiting right now. Despite the weather being less than spectacular, the Queen Mother and Prince Consort of Crap are getting the true Greenpoint experience. Case in point: something we found on Huron Street this afternoon.
Sorry, your call cannot be completed as dialed. Please hang up and try again.
Reach out and touch someone.
Filed under: Williamsburg
My buddy over at Bad Advice has been experiencing a very bad problem lately. The fly in Dategirl’s proverbial ointment is the rather fast and loose demolition being conducted next door to her property. The author of the aforementioned affliction is MMG Construction. Ms. Grasso and her funky bunch sure seem to get around.
In the wee hours of Thursday, November, 15, 2007 Dategirl wrote:
I’m really freaked out about what’s going on next door. They’ve knocked out my phone (the lines are laying on the ground across N. 11th!), the cable TV/internet and the building is rocking like, uh, a building is NOT supposed to when they’re working. Thank christ Con Ed and the water supply is underground. I’ve spoken to Marie Grasso (of MMG Construction— Ed. Note) several times. As you might imagine, she’s not been terribly helpful, though she did demand that the backhoe operator repair my cable tv with a roll of electrical tape. (Shockingly, that didn’t work.) I am losing my fucking mind over here
Later the same day The Gowanus Lounge wrote a post about her woes. I, on the other hand, contacted our State Assemblyman, Joseph Lentol via his web page. MMG was tendered a Stop Work Order that same afternoon.
And shortly thereafter someone saw fit to rip it down. Please click on the previous link: if for no other reason so you can behold the following turd of a comment for firsthand:
I really enjoy reading your site, as well as the other sites that like to whine and complain about development. Where do you get your information? It is pure fiction!
1. The contractor was never violated (!!!— Ed. Note) for an illegal mechanical demolition. You made that up.
2. The SWO sticker was taken down because the SWO was partially lifted.
You should get your facts straight before bashing people.
Actually “Anonymous” (if that is your real name), the contractors (and the developers who hired them) do most of the violatin’ hereabouts. The area in question, which I recently heard referred to (albeit mockingly, but I am certain you will pick it up as a new piece of sexy real estate jargon) as “McCarren Heights”, is being thoroughly sacked by space pirates. But unlike most corsairs (historically speaking) these privateers for the privileged (because there are simply not enough luxury condos to house them, poor dears) are operating with tacit written approval from a government. Our government, which brings me to this.
I received this in the mail today. WAY TO GO JOE!
Those of you who might be interested to know what Mr. Lentol’s district looks like prepare to be enlightened, because here it is.
The more astute observers among you might notice that the area highlighted in pink is experiencing a number of*, uh, growing pains*. If you live in the above pinkified area and gentrification is literally knocking at/beating down your front door, I would advise you to contact Mr. Lentol via snail mail at:
619 Lorimer Street
Brooklyn, NY 11211
Or send him an email (like I did) at:
lentolj (at) assembly.state.ny.us
In terms of constituent services, Lentol is the best. What’s more he really seems to care. Write him.
*It’s amazing how much outrage MMG Construction elicits from the media when her idiots bust up something a rich neighborhood. Can someone please explain to me why this woman is still in business? Who is she paying off and for how much? My curiosity is killing me.
Filed under: Williamsburg
I almost shot tea out of my nose when I noticed this hilarious bit of hooliganism. Williamsburg’s only XXX-rated tree can be found at 154 Bedford Avenue.
Happy Black Friday!
Filed under: Area 51
Astral Apartments, November 21, 2007, 1:15 p.m.Â
Filed under: Area 51
Since I am a vegetarian, I abstain from roasting fowl. Slaying an animal with two legs, wings and a brain the size of a pecan strikes me as being inhumane. However, I am perfectly at ease roasting FOUL: the delightful and very dysfunctional group of people (whose legume-sized brains are rife with greed) who manage the Astral Apartments:
1. Pistilli Realty
2. The ever-famous Porno Super
One would presume this delectable shit hole would merit some civic-oriented reporter’s (or television crew’s) attention. It has all the elements of a good story:
- A beautiful building, a historic landmark no less, going to shit because…
- the owner of said building (Pistilli Reality) has (in all likelihood) leveraged it in order to construct a shit heap of Co-ops that look like a Jawa Sandcrawler.
- And under Pistilli’s employ is a Super who seems reluctant to fix anything. Probably because he is too busy doing softcore porn shoots on the premises*, drinking beer at the front of the building and schmoozing with his buddies.
Alas, it didn’t. Clearly the media cares not to be a watch dog in the public’s interest anymore: they prefer to alarm them about street sneakers instead. No worries, a myspace group has been formed for people afflicted by the malfeasance of Pistilli Realty. My informant writes:
I am one of the many tenants of the Astral. I have recently been forced out of my apartment due to bedbugs and I was hoping you could post this link on your blog. It is a group I’ve started for tenants of the Astral to talk about all of the problems we’ve been dealing with.
If you live in the Astral and are experiencing problems regarding maintenance, bedbugs, or dislike watching half naked chicks posing on the banister of your stairwell, please join this group. The only reason this situation has persisted as long as it has is because:
1. Lack of communication between landlord and tenant. As rent-stabilized tenants you have rights, they are outlined in your lease rider. What’s a rider you ask? It is a document outlining how the rent was calculated for your rent-stabilized apartment (in accordance to increases dictated by the state) and informs you as to what legal recourse you have in the event of:
A. Poor maintenance (HPD, DOB, DHCR)
B. Harassment (HPD, NYC Department of Human Rights)
C. Rental overcharge (DHCR)
Shortly after I saw this truck pumping heating oil into the Astral I learned from a tenant that she had been without hot water for two days. Not only is this disgusting, it is illegal: landlords are required to have hot water at all times. Period.
2. Lack of communication between tenants. The reason shitbags like Pistilli get away with this shit is because they count on ignorance and lack of communication between their tenants. Simple as that.
3. Educate yourself:
Department of Housing and Preservation and Development : all public housing and rent-stabilized apartments are (ostensibly) under their supervision. Don’t let the 311 operator bullshit you.
Department of Buildings: WORTHLESS.
The above (blurry) image is of 143 Huron Street. They were erecting scaffolding until 9:00 p.m. last night. I have called 311 repeatedly about after hours construction. My last complaint was October 16, 2007. It has yet to be investigated.
4. New York’s Bravest (F.D.N.Y): While I do not want to encourage people to call the fire department for housing-related stuff, I’d be remiss if I didn’t point out that the F.D.N.Y. has the authority to report safety hazards to the Department of Buildings. Last year I watched the dickhead behind my behind my building rip the roof off the first story of his building with nary a permit to be found. The Department of Buildings didn’t seem to care, so I called the Fire Department. Why? In so doing he eliminated a second means of egress for three of his tenants. Their fire escape lead into a 20 foot abyss. For 48+ hours.
It got followed up. FAST. Unlike the Department of Buildings, the F.D.N.Y. seems to care about people.
5. Communicate with your neighbors.
Who am I to write the previous, you ask? I have been there— and then some. Greenpoint is full of unscrupulous landlords. The Astral is the most notorious. Has been for a long time…
Models Must Arrive on Time,with Clean Hair and Nails Done.
2-Please put your cell phone on vibrate during the shoot
3-Automatic Cancellation if I don’t receive a callback or confirmation call at least 24 hours before the shoot.
This week has been a sore reminder to me that there are two distinct groups of people in this world:
- The ones who create and/or innovate and
- the parasites who (having no talent or wherewithal to speak of) feed off of them.
To plagiarize or not to plagiarize?
Speaking as a person who is firmly grounded in group #1, that is a question I have never had to ask myself. No sir. I actually took the numerous warnings I received from my graduate and undergraduate professors about this practice seriously.
This doesn’t mean I do not find the issue on my doorstep, though: I do. With increasing and alarming frequency. To this end I have created the following worksheet for wannabe journalists who— through their own incompetence, laziness or simple lack of ethics— wish to be very real plagiarizers of New York Shitty!
Please be a dear and let me know what you plan on “appropriating” so I can prepare myself to find it your publication. Miss Heather hates surprises. And let’s face facts: it’s the least you can do after profiteering off my labor of love. I even made most of this worksheet multiple choice so you needn’t waste your valuable time by having to think… or WRITE!
All you have to do is save the above jpeg to your desktop, fill it out and return it to me, Miss Heather, at:
plagiarism (at) newyorkshitty.com*
I thank you in advance for your immediate attention to this matter.
*This is a real email address.
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
I was really beginning to miss ol’ Chopper. Even though he has gone on to that Park Slope changing station in the sky, his act of heroism will never be forgotten. I have recently found myself waxing sentimental about Chopper more and more of late because with the holiday season coming up, I sure could use him.
I have the presence of mind to know somewhere in my immediate future I will attend a holiday celebration that will utterly suck. Most parties (even shitty ones) have hummus. Take one denture plate, a bowl of creamy, delicious hummus and a roomful of people you could care less about and you have the recipe for hilarity— Miss Heather style.
The previous having been said, you can imagine my glee last week when I opened up a box at the junk shop and found this.
Ho! Ho! Ho! It looks like it might be a Merry Christmas for Miss Heather after all!
As I have mentioned on a number of occasions, we Greenpointers loves us some teeth. This is probably because in order to bite a cop, one’s landlord, and/or a ghost, one must have a good set of them. Well, after knocking around the newly revamped Brooklyn Daily Eagle online archives today I learned that creatures who sport a nice set of teeth also happen to fancy us.
Case in point: have you ever wondered what a bunch of Greenpointers would do with an alligator? If so, today’s your lucky day! From the July 1, 1865 edition of the Brooklyn Daily Eagle I present to you a tale about a critter with a tail (and “formidable rows of sharp teeth”). Ladies and gentleman, meet the Greenpoint Gator!
That’s mighty nice of Mr. Wallers to display this presumed alligator in his shop for all to enjoy. I say “presumed” because unlike those wannabes in Marine Park, we Greenpointers don’t need any fancy fake Nessies gracing our
Gator Garden Spot. We have a real one.
But don’t take my word for it, read this article from the December 13, 1860 edition of the Brooklyn Daily Eagle and you too will become a believer!
If two cops say they saw something it has to be real, right? Methinks these two fine officers might have had a tibble or two at Ye Olde Grog Shoppe while on duty. Then again, if any neighborhood in New York City would have a living breathing sea monster in residence, it would be Greenpoint. It’s not a normal creature could live in our waterways.
Filed under: Area 51
Before I go into today’s tome I would like to thank the fine folks at Fox Television and the New York Post for showcasing one of my recent finds yesterday. Yes, dear readers, you heard me right. You see, my parents are coming up soon and our apartment is in shambles. It’s downright disgusting, truth be told. One of the few times I will engage in housework is when I am seriously pissed. Since I am rarely in such a state, Chateau de Ghetto is usually dishevelled. Not anymore.
When my husband came home last night he noticed the hallway had been torn apart, swept and mopped and the bathroom got a going over that would make even Joan Crawford proud. He said:
Me: The fucking Post stole my story and those fucking sneakers are going to be televised tonight on Fox News, that’s what!
Knowing full well of my predilection for rage-induced cleaning, he didn’t ask any more questions. Mr. Heather understood. He handed me a bottle of red wine and made himself scarce. My husband is a very wise man.
Anyway, I am back to my more or less usual beatific state today and want to kill two long overdue birds with one stone: writing the following post and letting my mother know that we picked up her package from the post office. Here we go.
My mother recently returned home from a trip to Sedona, Arizona. As is her habit, she called me to let me know she had arrived home safe and sound. Towards the end of our conversation she advised me that she had purchased something for Mr. Heather.
I just saw it and thought of Sam.
Make a note of this, dear readers, as it will become relevant later in the story.
Well, a week or so goes by and we get a notice from the Postal Service that a parcel was awaiting pick-up at the Post Office. Remembering what my mother had told me, I advised Mr. Heather this package was for him. Early Saturday afternoon he headed to the ever-delightful Greenpoint Post Office to pick it up. At 1:00 p.m. he arrives at the junk shop package in hand. It was a smallish thing, maybe 8″ by 4″ by 4″.
Wanting to know what was inside, he opened it right there while Larry da Junkman and I watched. It was the item featured at the beginning of this blog post, folks. A rather small, but nasty looking knife.
Larry: Why would your mother buy Mr. Heather a knife?
Mr. Heather: Yeah, what is this about?
Me: Beats the shit out of me. Ask my dad, maybe he’ll know.
Later, back at our manse of merde, I re-examined Mr. Heather’s new toy.
Me: So what do you use this for anyway?
Mr. Heather: I think it is a de-boning knife.
Me: Why would you need a de-boning knife? It’s not like you’re allowed to cook meat in the apartment. How do you use it?
Mr. Heather (grabbing my wrist): You see, you use it like this to cut the tendons…
Me: Stop that shit, you’re freaking me out! Do it on yourself.
Mr. Heather: Okay. As I was saying, you… (goes into a full mock demonstration on how to use the above instrument on himself).
Me: That’s more like it. Now I’m learning something.
Mr. Heather: What are you going to do with it?
Me: If you wake up late one night and see me standing over your side of the bed you’ll find out.
Mr. Heather: I wonder why she sent me this?
Me: I dunno. Did you tell her that you took a life insurance policy on me? Mr Heather: Actually, I did. I’m taking out another one too.
Me: That explains it.
Did I mention my parents are flying into New York City Thanksgiving Day?
UPDATE, 11/21/07: Per my parents this instrument is used to remove skin from animals. They thought we could use it as a cheese knife. Yummy.
P.S.: No disrespect intended, mother. The reason we haven’t called to thank you is frankly because we do not know what to say. That said, thanks.
Oh wait, they should be thanking me!
Why didn’t they just hire me to write this article? Oh wait, I do not have a journalism degree. Not only am I not qualified to “write” but I haven’t been schooled in Blog-Trolling 101— which is clearly one of the tricks of the trade print journalists employ nowadays. Why bother finding this stuff on your own when a blogger can do it for you? For free, no less! It’s like having hundreds of involuntary unpaid interns at your every point and click. Ingenious!
The folks at the Post could have at least given my humble blog a nod— but I suppose some of their readership might have found my URL objectionable. That’s sort of ironic because I find having my blog used as the source for a story (And let’s face facts, IT IS— the timing is simply too uncanny to be a mere coincidence.) without citation, well, OBJECTIONABLE. Way to go New York Post! You just ensured that the New York Daily News will get my business from now on.
In closing I would like to share a quote from a friend of mine. It is regarding her getting married at the age of 20 to a man much older than her:
He was okay with fucking a teenager, but he couldn’t bring himself to marry one.
This man was perfectly okay with screwing someone who was underage, but the notion of actually marrying one was distasteful to him. Thus, they waited until she turned 20. Frankly I fail to see the difference. But clearly in this man’s peculiar world view there was.
Sort of like having hack journos use my blog as a source without citing it. I am beneath them and yet totally “fuckable”. Or perhaps I am “fuckable” because I am beneath them? In any case, I prefer to be taken out to a nice dinner first. I might be easy but I ain’t cheap.
Maybe when I become a “grown up” journo/writer they’ll welcome me into the family?
Photo Credit: Matthew McDermott, New York Post (See? I just cited the provenance of the above photograph. It’s not that difficult. Really. It’s so easy even a
caveman blogger can do it.)