Friday is July 4th, a time of celebration, fireworks, barbecuing and beer. Getting ready for said festivities is scarcely as, well, festive. In addition to my usual routine this week I have been hastily prepping the apartment for visitors who are unacquainted with the usual “state” of Chez Shitty: total and utter chaos. And I wish to keep it that way.
Therefore, out of sheer laziness I am going to bring back one of my favorite stories about Greenpoint and fireworks. I originally posted it back in March of 2007, but some stories are simply too good (and by that I mean, too Greenpoint) to get old. Enjoy!
For reasons I will go into another time, I have been spending a lot of time researching Greenpoint history of late. As I parsed through page upon page of old newspapers, I came to the realization that this neighborhood has not changed much over the last 150+ years. Greenpoint is a strange place; its inhabitants are even stranger. Yet, by the grace of god, not much in the way of serious criminal activity goes down here. But when something does happen, you can bet your bottom dollar:
- It will be a doozy.
- Alcohol consumption and/or arson will be involved.
Take the following gem of a crime blotter entry I found recently from the Brooklyn Daily Eagle:
Arrested on suspicion is not a satisfactory explanation to Miss Heather. I needed closure and I wouldn’t rest goddammit until got it. I did: courtesy of the “Brooklyn Intelligence” section of New York Times published the same day!
Not only does Mr. Wendt deserve induction into the Best Friend EVER Hall of Fame (if there is such a place), but this has got to be one of the most inspired acts of revenge against a former employer I have ever read. Someone should make a buddy movie based off this tale. I think Will Ferrell has the acting chops to depict Uriah Hoare with dignity and respect he so richly deserves.
Uriah Hoare, on the behalf of everyone who has ever wanted to rip their (ex) boss a new asshole, I salute you.