Filed under: Area 51
I used to work in corporate America. I found it cloying to my creativity and downright painful. Physically and emotionally. Sisyphus in a cubicle (or syphilis in a testicle) may be a cup of tea for many, but not me.
Fuck professionalism: as a former cubicle monkey I can assure you an asshole is just that. An asshole.
Fuck business attire: this basically entails making women look like men— and outlaying a lot of money to do so. I don’t think so. As long as my AA cups are erect I’ll wear tank tops. And out of pure spite, I’ll still wear tankies after they’ve tanked.
Fuck civility: whenever a man smiles or winks at me I know he is up to no good. And I tell him so. In the most base and explicit terms.
I mention the previous because I love sorting stuff at the junk shop. Not only can I be nasty as I see fit, but I also find gems like the following:
Anyone know where this was shot?
Here’s a copper reading the newspaper at Central Park circa 1943.
And last, but not least, a burned out car from Red Hook/Carroll Gardens.
Filed under: Area 51
Crane Street studios will be hosting an open studio tomorrow and Sunday from 12:00 -6:00 p.m. On top of getting a sneak peek at the work(spaces) of over 100 artists, a silent auction featuring work by the resident artists of Crane Street Studios will be conducted as well. All proceeds will be applied towards printing and advertising costs for their twice-yearly open studio events.
It should be noted that Sierra Nevada and Dogfish Head Craft Brewed Ales are sponsoring this event so maybe be BEER will be in the offering? I can only hope so. Check it out!
My boss, knowing that I have certain *a-hem* eccentricities, sees fit to set aside items for me on occasion. While most of the time this entails homemade pornography he finds while opening boxes of stuff from estate sales and storage auctions, other times it pertains to my fecal fixation. So you can imagine my delight when I found the following waiting for me last Thursday.
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
I have a confession to make: I thoroughly detest the holiday season. In fact, there are only two things I dislike more than Christmas time:
- My birthday which follows shortly thereafter, virtually ensuring my friends will either be too tired or broke to trifle with it. I am certain the next one will be exactly like the last one— except I’ll be one year closer to getting sucked into the that cesspit called middle age.Certain in laws like to remind me of the previous fact. And I, in turn, I like to remind them that if I am “getting old” they are downright ancient. Fuck off Methuselah: if my own parents have given up on me becoming a “responsible adult” you should too. Take your shingles to the crypt and leave me alone.
- The fact people are putting up their fucking Christmas decorations earlier and earlier nowdays. Is it just me or is November 1 a little early to tear down quality street art and replace it with garish goop people like me do our utmost to ignore?
Excepting of course if someone manages to display something cool like this homemade “decoration” I found on Engert Avenue recently.
For the life of me I cannot tell you why, but there is something so right about a Greenpointer creating a holiday decoration out of a wheel rim and an empty oil drum.
I’m glad to see he (or she) has outfitted it with a theft-deterrent system as well.
As we learned in the previous post, when a prankster fills boxes of napkins with fraudulent solicitations for male companionship, many menfolk are more than happy to step up to the plate.
But what happens when it becomes time to part ways? Well, if you’re Painter Krueger you D.I.Y. that divorce! From the December 14,Â 1885 edition of the New York Times I present to you a tale of divorce, Greenpoint style.
That was mighty nice of him to invite his “former” wife to his wedding, don’t you think?
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
Since the Brooklyn Daily Eagle‘s online archives have been kaput the last several days, I have been busy searching the archives of the New York Times for this week’s tale from Greenpoint’s past. As I did, I came across two stories that bookend each other beautifully. Follows is the first; a tale of Greenpoint matchmaking gone wrong from the January 26, 1893 edition of the New York Times.
It just goes to show that men really haven’t changed very much the last 100+ years. Be it online dating in the 21st century or a simple solicitation tucked away in a 19th century napkin: they still insist upon seeing a picture of you first.
Stay tuned for the next installment featuring divorce Greenpoint style!
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.
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.
Good will towards men!
And Santa, please lock the door when you leave.
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.
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.