Anyone who has lived in Greenpoint long enough will tell you that acknowledging the passage of time is strictly optional. Most of the residents here don’t. This is hardly surprising given:
- the retinue of old drunks who grace the intersection of Manhattan Avenue and Greenpoint Avenue on any given day. These men probably haven’t had a sober moment since Perestroika and they would just as well keep it that way. They’re going to keep on partying like it’s 1989.
- the seriously ‘retro’ fashion sensibility the Polish ladies espouse (and the boutiques that service their needs). Just like Jackie O, there is a certain timeless quality to the Polish woman: her clothes were just as unfashionable in 1985 (when they were undoubtedly manufacturered) as they are today. I do not want to give the impression that I take issue with this, dear readers. I rather like it.Speaking as a woman whose UNcoolness and advanced age (and by ‘advanced age’, I mean over 30) is it made clear to her on a regular basis, I find Polish women (such as the one shown above), rather comforting. You can rest assured the rear view of this woman is a mere crumb compared to glory to be beheld from the front. Among other things, her jacket was left open so as to showcase two Miss Krakow ca. 1967 snack trays lovingly swaddled in Lycra.
Contrary to what some Bedford Avenue hipsturd will tell you, getting older is not a crime. Wearing shitty fashion dating around the time of your own birth (and thinking it is cool) is. That’s why I like this woman; she is a walking, talking “Fuck You” in the face of youth. And if you 20-something year old nubiles don’t want to look at some fierce AARP cleavage— move!
- The fact that most of the holiday paraphernalia here has yet to be taken down —and I doubt it ever will be. In Greenpoint the party never stops.
And if that means I will continue finding stuff like this well into next fall, it’ll be one very happy New Year for me indeed!
I didn’t know Santa’s workshop made such toys. Needless to say I am going to be a lot more adventurous when I sit on his lap this year. No wonder Mrs. Claus is so damned happy: she doesn’t live at the North Pole: she sits on it!