Given all the times I have stood on the Smith – 9th bound platform and watched people check each and every pay phone for change, I am very surprised to see that no one has seen fit to filch this cigarette. Seriously.
I discovered these t-shirts for sale at the “Big D Store” on Manhattan Avenue and felt compelled to pass them along.
I’m not too sure how well “Bluto” (much less a Bluto sporting a “Black Power” salute) dovetails with the concept of “justice”. I was under the distinct impression Bluto was a bully and a masher. But given the paltry asking price of $4.99 (marked down from $58.00!) I suppose getting stuck on semantics is a moot point.
I have never understood why New York City is called this. If what I have seen over the years is any indication there are people sleeping all over our fair city. In North Brooklyn McCarren Park seems to be a napping spot of choice.
Unless one is homeless I cannot profess to understand this practice. Sleeping in public opens up one’s person to a variety of unsavory number acts. I learned about a number of such deeds from a Sargent at the Briarwood headquarters of the Transit Police several years ago. First you have the lush workers. These are the people who case drunks on the subway and steal their wallets. One evening “the Sargent” was on “lushworker” duty. He spied a rather intoxicated gentleman in a subway car and watched him.
Sure enough, someone ducked in and started to move in. When the constabulary came to the rescue what they found was completely unexpected; their “perp” was administering oral sex to this man. Both were taken into custody and the “recipient” was told what happened to him once he sobered up. One can only imagine the look on his face when he got the news.
Simply put, there are many reasons not to sleep in public. If being robbed or becoming the participant in some anonymous subway sex act is not enough to motivate people to be more mindful of their surroundings, maybe being watched with rapt interest by some drunk dude is. And that’s what I saw in McCarren Park last weekend.
The footage video does not do this scenario justice. I shit you not this chap spent a good ten seconds just staring at this woman. Had this man been in better control of his faculties who knows what he would have done? The lesson here is a simple one: a lot of criminal acts are crimes of opportunity. If you do not give someone the opportunity to commit a crime, it is very unlikely one will occur. McCarren Park is not your backyard.
I recently discovered an incoming link which (in my opinion) is one of the biggest compliments I have ever received. I was rather touched by it and feel compelled to share it here. Luke White writes:
If you can overlook the language (if you can’t, maybe New York isn’t the place for you?) this blog is a pretty much perfect encapsulation of the absolute insanity of Greenpoint. Greenpoint is the drunk six-foot-four eighty year old in a perfectly tied bowtie and with a faint intriguing stench about him who stands on the street corner stacking matchboxes and singing folk hymns…
Don’t forget the Polish elves frolicking in the vestments nature gave them, Luke. That’s why I pay the “big bucks” to live here.
God I love Greenpoint.
Filed under: Williamsburg
Last week I groused about how my husband is somehow incapable of placing recyclable items in the proper receptacle. Even if said container is a mere four feet away. I am not a big fan of rummaging through our bathroom garbage can. In fact, it really pisses me off.
So needless to say I was pleased as punch when I recently happened upon this rather extensive directive to recycle properly on Harrison Avenue.
Not only was the Mister in tow…
but this seemed to get through to him. Maybe I should try this at home?
Today I received an email from the Friends of The Greenpoint Library. The Greenpoint 100 is back and hopefully it will be the best one ever! Jen and Shara write:
CALL FOR ARTISTS
The Friends of the Greenpoint Library call for works to be donated by artists living or working in Greenpoint. The works will be sold to benefit the Greenpoint Branch of Brooklyn Public Library. We are accepting works in all mediums (maximum size 11X14 inches). All work will be sold for $25 each. The show will be juried by local gallery owners and prizes will be awarded.
Email contact information and .jpg to: thefriendsofgreenpointlibrary (at) gmail (dot) com
If you are one of the first 100 qualified artists to respond to the call, you will receive a reply with an ID number from 1-100 and the address of where your work must be mailed or delivered.
Accepted artists’ work must be received by Friday September 26 to be included in the exhibit.
Last year this event raised $1,300. I participated and I not only had a lot of fun, but I also got a really beautiful photograph for a mere $25.00 and supported a great cause. Are you going to be one of the Greenpoint 100?
The juried show is scheduled for Saturday, October 4 starting at 11:00 a.m.
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
From Manhattan Avenue.
There has been much speculation as to where Mr. Bush was after those airplanes hit the Twin Towers September 11. Was he hiding out in some bunker waiting for World War III? Was he kicking back in the paradise that is Waco, Texas? Where was Bush when we needed him?
Yesterday, August 24, 2008, on Lee Avenue I think I might have found the answer.
Carla was kicking back at 1070 Park Avenue until the dust settled. Changing his birth year to 1968 is an inspired move; that pretty much throws draft-dodging allegations out the window. But the last name “Frankel”? Really.
Georgie Boy has successfully passed himself as being a Texan. He is a pretty bad looking woman, but given how much he favors his mother it is a plausible ruse. But an Upper East Side Jewess? That’s pushing the envelope a little.
I am getting sick and bloody tired of this “I’m a real New Yorker and I hate gentrifiers” diatribe. Exactly who is a Real New Yorker you ask? That is debatable. Who is a “gentrifier”? This is an easy question to answer: unless you are of 100% Native American birth (or descended from slaves) you are, indeed, a gentrifier.
There were a great many people in Europe who didn’t find their situation satisfactory so they moved to the “New World”. Plymouth Rock didn’t have a Starbuck’s so they built one. In a manner of speaking. Their Native American neighbors accepted them. At first.
But then they (and by “they” I mean “we”) got uppity. We wanted more— we wanted “civilization”. We wanted “ownership” of land. Something our “savage hosts” did not see fit to give us due to their nascent anarcho-syndicalist leanings (I won’t call them “Reds” because that would be racist). As a result there were fights. Battles even. But we won, albeit it in an insidious manner: disease. Smallpox and syphilis mostly.* Good for us.
I am piecing together a very informative and entertaining presentation to illustrate this fact to those who are unable or unwilling to accept the fact they are gentrifiers. In the meantime I’d like to share this touching tale of gentrifier acceptance from (where else?) GREENPOINT.
I went off on this piece of advertising back in April. In a nutshell:
- I found this developer’s claim of 240 Richardson Street as being in the heart “East Williamsburg” (or anywhere else for that matter) tenuous at best. It’s Greenpoint— but you know Garden Spot of the Universe (oil spill, waste treatment plant and all) isn’t “sexy”. They’re aiming for “L” appeal.
- “Village” suggests a friendly and collegial atmosphere. Something clearly lacking in this corner of Greenpoint.
Back in April this woman called her new neighbors “fucks”.
Now she has seen fit to address them as “pigs”.
It is a small— but significant step— in Greenpoint gentrification. Before you know it we’ll all be holding hands and singing Kumbaya.
Photo Credits: “pigs” and “fucks” Lisacat.
*For those of you who harbor guilt, no worries; they gave us chlamydia.
I wrote about this lovely renovation abomination back in May. It even moved me enough to attempt a definition. Here it is:
Crapification (crapâ€™-if-fic-ka-shen) n. Restoration of a deteriorated but otherwise tasteful old building with a total disregard for aesthetics and/or context. â€”crapâ€™-i-fyâ€™ v. (ified, fying, -fies) See: the building at the southeastern corner of Penn Street and Harrison Avenue in Williamsburg.
I am pleased to announce that as of August 24, 2008 this building has surpassed my expectations…
in terms of abject hideousness. Note the careful placement of air conditioning boxes. Will they be Fedders? I can only hope so!
My question is what happened to the building behind the crap? Looks like they demolished it if you ask me. Was this legal? I don’t know. No one seems to care so why should I?
Besides, just look at this great balcony!