Filed under: Bushwick
From Jefferson Street.
If there is indeed a City of Dis, I am certain Karl Fischer “architect” designed it.
Case in point:
This is 198 Franklin Street.
This is 198 Franklin on Karl Fischer. (My hell.)
Thatâ€™s what makes parts of Brooklyn so special. You have all of these rowhouses, townhouses, smaller-scale developments, more neighborhood-friendly developments. You have more open space. The quality of life in this way is going to be preserved in Brooklyn.
Which “parts of Brooklyn” are “so special”, Karl? Clearly Greenpoint and Williamsburg are not among of them. Unless filling your wallet at our aesthetic expense makes us special— in which case Greenpoint and Williamsburg are:
If you (or the little wizards under your employ) did any research or “Googled” 198 Franklin Street Karl, you’d know India Street runs eastward— not westward as your rendering depicts. Here’s a primer.
The above automobile is using India Street incorrectly.
The man driving this heating oil truck has the right idea. I’m certain the upscale tenants of 198 Franklin will love the hum of trucks and savor the scenic views of photographic/pornographic indiscretions next door.
From the balconies you designed Karl, the “NEW Greenpoint affluent influx” can sip drinks and watch their neighbors demonstrate and conduct sleep-ins next door. What a deal!
I assure you, Mr. Fischer, it is a minor inconvenience. These displaced people renters only demonstrate quarterly.
P.S.: The trees and upwardly mobile honkies are a hoot, by the way. Last time I walked by 198 Franklin I watched a bum sniff a gently-used bottle of Smirnoff Ice. It was not up to snuff. At ten in the morning, anyway. I’m certain your condo will make this location (and the local potions) more enticing.
(…in all the wrong places.)
Waiting for the G train can in and of itself be a chore. This task is not made any easier when I am forced to look at this lady.
And look at her (“twins”) I have for the better part of two months.
I can only hope the above commentary is true. Now that the writer’s strike is over maybe they will dispense with this affluenzic clap trap.
Time and time again I wonder to myself why our society has such a fascination with wealth. Seriously, who could possibly find this drech interesting? Nobody I know does. Well, I recently got the answer to the aforementioned question on the Manhattan-bound platform of the L train at Lorimer Street.
Filed under: Bushwick
From Central Avenue.
From Humboldt Avenue.
This morning before Mr. Heather left the house he leaned over my side of the bed, kissed me and announced:
To wit I groggily mumbled: “Go away.”
Most of you reading this are too young remember the following public service announcement. I don’t— I wasn’t even born yet. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t worth playing a few times at your desk for the edification of your coworkers. Be sure to crank up the volume and don’t be surprised if you find yourself singing along. This little ditty is very catchy.
I can kick myself for not writing down the address where this lovely mural is located. Then again, I was walking in a snowstorm and consequently had other things on my mind. Today many of you will be busy making plans for Valentine’s Day. In between making dinner reservations and buying flowers please take a moment to give thanks for the many contributions African Americans have made to our country.
Happy Black History Month from New York Shitty!
I can’t say this is my favorite holiday (in you you haven’t noticed, I’m not really a box of chocolates and bouquet of flowers kind of gal), but even I can’t resist posting this amorous parking meter.
Lovely Rita meter maid, nothing can come between us,
When it gets dark I tow your heart away
Standing by a parking meter, when I caught a glimpse of Rita,
Filling in a ticket in her little white book
In a cap she looked much older, and the bag across her shoulder,
Made her look a little like a military man
Lovely Rita meter maid, may I inquire discreetly,
When are you free to take some tea with me?
Filed under: Bushwick
When I awoke this afternoon (Yes, you read me correctly: I was up quite late doing some prep work for tonight’s dinner— which will be chana dal with mint sauce. Yummy.) I was shocked to see how many hits my post about “New York City’s ugliest new building” had received. When I write the previous my intent is not to boast, rather, I am shocked so many people would want to look at something so soulless and depressing.
Let’s face facts: the world can be an ugly enough place already. Why do the developers responsible for these building see fit to make matters worse? It’s probably just plain ol’ greed, but life is about a lot more than money. For this reason I am going to share something of a decidedly more upbeat nature today.
And you’ll be hard-pressed to find anything more cheerful than this great house on Grove Street.
The shrubbery is spray painted silver.
Not only is the fence painted sky blue and festooned with flowers and tinsel…
but the garbage cans are painted to match!
How could a person possibly feel unhappy in an environment such as this? There are only four words to describe how the above photograph makes me feel:
This is what greeted me when I exited the M train at Seneca Avenue last weekend. First they’re invoking the Illuminati and Satan, then they ritually sacrifice a minivan. Methinks I might have been all wrong about Ridgewood: it is QUITE an interesting place.