Happenings at 209 1/2 Eckford Street

Saturday was one of those days when my husband and I could not agree on anything. Even the route for walking to Grand Street was the source of much debate. I wanted to use Kent Avenue, Mr. Heather preferred Diamond or Newel Street. My being pretty adamant about avoiding Karl Fischer’s giant green monstrosity forced us to reach a compromise: Eckford Street.

This street too has its fair share of eyesores, but for whatever reason I seem to find them a little more tolerable than their companions to the east. In fact, I find Crater Lake hilarious in its own dark way. But back to my story.

When we reached 209 1/2 Eckford, arguably one of the ugliest sights on this street, I noticed something was amiss.

Intrigued, I went in for a closer look.

Bridge Realty, part of the unholy alliance that has blessed Greenpoint with such monuments to fine architecture and good taste as Belvedere I (through infinity), has been performing a little work on this “fixer-upper”.

Slip shod work.

Is that hole supposed to be there? Just curious.

And in keeping with the pervasive atmosphere of lawlessness that is the Greenpoint development feeding frenzy, the previous came to pass without the issuance or posting of the appropriate permits.

But the story does not end here, dear readers. No sir. Upon crossing Norman Avenue— which is only a short distance from 209 1/2 Eckford Street, I beheld something I have only seen in Greenpoint twice before. Excited, I immediately started taking pictures of my discovery. My husband even tore himself away from futzing around with his new cell phone to see what the subject of all my fuss and photography was.

Me: Sam, this is the third time I have seen one of these cars! It’s like seeing Bigfoot, Sasquatch or the Yeti! I wonder what it is doing here?
Sam: Maybe the guy lives here?

Excellent point. The driver of this car may very well live in Greenpoint. It’s not like he (or she) performs much (if any) work here.

Miss Heather

Greenpoint’s Very Own Imperial Storm Trooper

Like most people who were born in the 1970’s, I was raised on the Star Wars Trilogy. The REAL Star War Trilogy, that is. Not the recent trio of clap trap whose sole purpose for creation seems to be fleecing and disappointing the movie-going public.

I always found the Deathstar to be particularly fascinating. Not unlike Randal from the movie Clerks, I still find myself asking a lot of questions about what it would be like to be under the employ of the Emperor and stroll the corridors of this stylishly evil space station. For example:

Did Darth Vader offer a 401-K?

Were the storm troopers given an allowance so they could Simonize their helmets?

Did Robert Scarano design the Deathstar?

And most important of all in this day of OHSA:

Was the Deathstar a smoke-free workplace?

I do not know the answers for the first three questions, but I did learn the answer to the latter-most one. This very evening on Franklin Street, no less.

No.

Who knew Greenpoint was the destination of choice for furloughed storm troopers? Then again, since the Garden Spot has the dubious honor of being one of the most vice-ridden neighborhoods in Brooklyn, maybe makes them feel more at home? Smoke ’em if you got ’em boys! We won’t judge you.

Miss Heather

More Subway Poster Fun on the Crosstown Local

(Or: “G” stands for giving it to the man)

I do not leave Greenpoint much nowadays for the simple reason I do not need to; I live and work here. Last night I left the confines of the Garden Spot to behold the Shit Crawler in all its super-sized projected glory in SoHo. This journey required that I ride the G train.

As my husband and I waited on the Smith – 9th Street bound platform, I beheld this newest bit of Greenpoint subway poster graffiti.

I chattered and giggled to myself as I shutter-bugged the shit out of this poster. This is one of the most hilarious modifications to a subway poster I have seen in quite a while. So simple, yet so effective. The police officer who happened to be walking by as I took the above photograph appeared to agree: he was laughing his ass off.

On the way home I spied the above sullen morsel of revolt at the Nassau Avenue platform of the Queens-bound G. Earlier in the evening I had mentioned to my husband that I found the use of the word “commitments” in these advertisements amusing. Whenever this word is invoked the first thing I think of being committed.

To an insane asylum.

Miss Heather

Another Question “For Ask A Greenpointer”

Thankfully this one is of a more, a-hem, civil caliber. It comes from my buddy Icky. He writes:

When I lived in Long Island City (back in the warehouse days), for the price of a glance directly across Newtown Creek, you would be treated to lights, music, and and eyeful of carnival rides. Seemed to be on-or-close-to the creek. Must have been about ten years ago, and it happened more than once. What was it, and where was it?

I too was once treated to lights, music and an eyeful of carnival rides. Once a year, three nights in a row and until 11:00 p.m. at night when I lived on Clay Street. The name of the carnival in question is The Greenpoint International Festival. It was located on Manhattan Avenue between Clay Street and the waterfront.

On a lark, my buddy Rachael and I went to this festival in 2002. We were supposed to meet a friend there. Since we arrived early, we decided to check out one of the vendor’s tables. He was selling earrings. I remember this distinctly because as I was bent over looking at a pair of baubles I was slammed onto the table by two young bucks engaged in a fist fight. That was the last year they served alcoholic beverages.

The lack of fire water the following year seemed to reduce the number of violent incidents. The decision to conduct a dry carnival also had another unforeseen consequence: it significantly (and adversely) impacted neighborhood interest. The last The Greenpoint International Festival was held in 2003.

Miss Heather

Putting Some “Green” Back in Greenpoint

Contrary to the moniker given it by none other than Pete McGuinness, Greenpoint does not have much in the way of foliage. When compared to her sisters to the south, “the Garden Spot of the Universe” comes off looking pretty threadbare. But let us not confuse quantity for quality. We Greenpointers are quite ingenious at making the most of what we have. Case in point:

Got a rather tall stump gracing your property? No problem. Just head to the 99 Cent Store and buy a garland and a roll of packing tape. $1.98 (plus tax) and a little elbow grease later, viola, you have a Green Street Maple!

Miss Heather

Behold, 295 Russell Street!

As I mentioned in this post, I found the (above) purported mailing address for Square Box Realty (the fine folks who brought us the 53 Java Street house/truck smack-down) both curious and amusing. Enough so that I went down and checked it out their digs with my own eyes. Here it is, their Brooklyn pied a terre.

That half-open garage door looks inviting. I think I’ll head over and take a peek!

Hmm, this looks a little rough. Maybe they’re redecorating? I bet they are bickering over the right shade of Martha Stewart paint to use at this very moment!

Um, hello? Anybody home?

It’s sort of ironic when you think about it. The lights are on at Square Box Realty, but clearly no one is home. Just like the agency that recently saw fit to let them continue working at 51 Java Street.

Miss Heather