Greenpoint
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Culture on the Cheap
The Finger
Much has been made of the “Finger Building” of late, but what about its lesser known accomplice the “Finger Shit”? Well, I discovered it recently on 7th Street in the East Village.
The likeness is uncanny if you ask me. One for each pile driver. How appropriate!
Miss Heather
Hello Suckers!
Filed under: Area 51
Today’s selection of New York City history has nothing whatsoever to do with Greenpoint. As of the writing of this post I am listening to Magic’s pile driver pound away precariously close to the old bathhouse on Huron Street. The chair my fat white ass resides in is vibrating from the construction being conducted downstairs. Had I awakened in a different state of mind I might have exploited the latter, but the fact of the matter is I didn’t. And won’t. Suffice it to say I am a turd of a mood and today’s selection from the December 21, 1933 edition New York Times was picked because it amuses me.
Here’s a little background information on today’s subject. Her given name was Mary Louise Cecilia Guinan but she was better known as simply “Tex”. Her moniker arises from the fact she was born in Waco, Texas. Just like me. In January, no less. Once again, like me. We both had the horse sense to get the fuck out too; her, to a career in vaudeville later to become one of the most notorious speakeasy proprietresses in New York City and me, well, to whatever it is I am doing nowadays. Wikipedia has a very nice entry about her. I highly recommend recommend reading it.
Hers was a life that was interestingly —if not well— spent. The auction of her estate bears witness to this fact.
Speaking for myself, I find the synagogue chair of particular interest. As it would happen, I own a 19th century prayer bench. I haggled aggressively with the priest who consigned it too. Now it is one of the many very odd pieces of bric a brac that fill my apartment. The mirrored headboard that graces my boudoir isn’t broken though. Quarter inch thick glass is pretty resistant to wear and tear. I take great pride in my very practical approach to deviancy.
Those of you whose are interested in paying respects to Ms. Guinan can do so at Calvary Cemetery.
Miss Heather
Seeing Double at 110 Green Street
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
The above picture was taken at 9:00 a.m. this morning. Looks like 110 Green is getting in the 9/11 spirit by employing two pile drivers today.
How very patriotic of them… and very, very unfortunate for me.
Miss Heather
Giving The Finger to the Finger Building
Filed under: Williamsburg
Those of you who have ever wondered exactly how big of a farce our regulatory agencies (READ: the Department of Buildings) are, today’s your lucky day. Here’s an email I received from Phil DePaolo this afternoon. Enjoy!
In 2004, Mendel Brach and a partner, paid $7 million to two property owners, Scott Spector and Richard Brand, for a building on North Eighth Street, as well as air rights so a 220′ building could go up at 144 N 8th St. Residents have given it the name, The Finger Building for obvious reasons. The block that this building is going up on has been rezoned to M1/R6B Meaning anyone who wants to build on this block can only build up to 50ft, unless they add affordable units.
Prior to the Williamsburg rezoning in May 2005, these developers worked through stop work orders as documented by the D.O.B., worked weekends without permits, and worked all hours of the night on weekdays, so that the development could be grandfathered under the old zoning regulations, allowing them to build a much larger building than would be allowed under the new zoning. Despite numerous complaints and plentiful documentation by neighbors, and news media, the D.O.B. rewarded this illegal activity and vested the project. The question is, if by doing something improper, did the owners negate their vesting? And if they did, should the site have to comply with the new R6B zoning?
Developer Robert Scarano and Mr. Brach used land and air rights that they did not own in order to construct this building, so I believe the incomplete building must be made to conform to the new R6B zoning. So I request that the board reject this BSA application for 144 N 8th.
Here are the deets regarding the above-mentioned community board meeting for those of you who are interested in giving the “Finger Building” the finger.
WHEN: September 10, 2007
TIME: 6:30 p.m.
WHERE: 211 Ainslie Street (Corner of Manhattan Avenue)
Be advised that if you wish to speak you have to sign and submit their speaker’s form on or before 6:15 p.m.
Miss Heather
How To Pass Time Waiting for the L Train
Filed under: Williamsburg
My husband, being the astute observer of the world around him that he is, finally noticed those electronic signs charged with informing subway patrons when the next L train is to arrive. “The next train is to arrive in five minutes.” he stated confidently. “Uh, oh wait, now it’s three minutes.” My husband loves time tables. In a world riddled with uncertainty they provide the sense of order he craves. I, on the other hand, know better; that train will arrive when it damned well pleases.
What to do while you wait? Well, some folks at Metropolitan Avenue have found a way to battle subway waiting ennui.
Up for a rousing game of hangman?
I’m surprised to see that someone took so long to figure this one out. Then again, in my sick and twisted little world “dick” is the answer to many of life’s more vexatious problems.
Miss Heather
The Gruesome Twosome
Yesterday my husband and I went to Manhattan. Being the colossal klutz I am, I managed to utterly destroy my cell phone last week. The beginning of our jaunt in the city was spent at the Verizon store on Broadway securing a replacement. What happened next will be permanently ingrained in my olfactory memory.
As we were exiting Forbidden Planet my new phone rang. It was my buddy Rachael. Not knowing how to use my new toy, I hung up on her. She called back. I promised to call her back in a moment. And I did— but not before passing by some crazy homeless dude on 13th Street shouting at his reflection in storefront window while doing his best Kung Fu moves.
This guy was bat shit crazy. If a convention was held for insane homeless people, this chap would be crowned the craziest of them all. I took note and called my buddy Rachael. That’s when it happened.
OH
MY
GOD!!!
Gasping for air, I yelled into my cell phone:
Rachael, I have to call you back!
Not only was this dude the most insane homeless person I have ever beheld, he was the creator of the MOST MALODOROUS PILES OF BUM SHIT I have ever whiffed. The above photographs do not even come close to conveying the horror my nose experienced. Even 24 hours later the sight of these shits make me throw up a little.
Miss Heather
How Would Jesus Drive?
Filed under: Area 51
Per this van (parked at Union Square), the son of god would never tailgate. I seriously doubt he would cut anyone off or double park for that matter. In a nutshell, Jesus would never cut it as a cabbie in New York Shitty. He’s too damned considerate. Unless of course, he took he own advice to heart, e.g.; it is much better to give (the finger) than to receive (the finger).
I learned how to drive in Texas. Jesusland. Operating a motor vehicle in Texas is not unlike playing Pole Position on meth: 10-20 miles over the speed limit is the norm. To do otherwise is to invite a confrontation. This is why I will never, EVER drive a car here. The manner in which New Yorkers use (and abuse) automobiles boggles my imagination. They can’t even parallel park for shit— and speaking as a pretty crappy parallel parker— this really means something.
Husband (while strolling along 7th Street in the East Village): Check out this guy, he can’t park for shit…
Me: (craning to look)
Husband: He has such a little car…
Me: and such a huge space to park it in— I bet it’s exactly the same when he fucks that broad sitting in the passenger seat.
The previous piquant observation netted my person dagger eyes from a male bystander. Perhaps my cutting remark hit too close to home? I don’t want to know. I have often been asked why I don’t want to live in Manhattan. I used to think I couldn’t handle Manhattan life but now I believe that Manhattan lifers couldn’t handle me. This is why I live in Greenpoint.
Lest any East Village-going cooters in need of rehabilitating are listening, help is on the way!
This decanter cum urinal/Kegel-sizer is for sale at Astor Wine & Spirits. While your hubbie takes 20 minutes to park his compact car in a 15 foot space you can pump your junk— or while you’re taking 20 minutes to park your compact car (in same said space), he can take a whiz. At $79.99 this item is a bargain at twice the price —and vice.
Miss Heather
Return of the Shit Crawler
Yesterday I found a most exceptional pile of poop. After several weeks of paltry fecal offerings (diarrhea, mostly), it finally happened. The Garden Spot produced a bowel movement worthy of being called the “Dung of the Day”. This sculptural pile of poo also proved to be a perfect canvas on which to create my entry for Third Ward‘s Art Ate New York competition.
I rushed home to get my supplies. My husband was nowhere to be found. Thinking quickly, I called him on his cell phone.
WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?!?
I bellowed. “At the Black Rabbit.” he said. I should have known better; when all else fails the Mister can usually be located on a bar stool. “I found the PERFECT pile of shit for my project! HURRY UP AND FINISH YOUR COCKTAIL! I will be down there to get you in ten minutes. We need to act fast!”
Heart racing, I swung by the Black Rabbit and collected my husband. We made double time to the intersection of Noble Street and Manhattan Avenue (where the above merde morsel was located). I heaved an enormous sigh of relief when I discovered it was still there. Not wanting to waste any more time, I got right down to business. Soon enough, I had an audience.
A woman eating a tomato (whose curiosity was piqued by the sight of a blue-haired chick in a kilt crawling around on the sidewalk) approached. When she saw my creation she laughed— as did numerous onlookers. Save this guy.
Though clearly confused, he did nothing whatsoever to stop me. That’s what I love about Greenpoint: people leave you the fuck alone. Which is a good thing given that this, my latest opus, came out so smashingly it would have been a crime to interfere with its creation.
Looks like a stray droid is at large on Noble Street.
Much to the dismay and amusement of the local populace promenading along Manhattan Avenue. People who, amusingly enough, seemed to walk in single file. Perhaps to hide their numbers?
Miss Heather
Something’s Red in Greenpoint
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
I saw the above advertisement while taking the G train home last night from Clinton Hill. While the previously named ‘nabe may be the “bloggiest”— and I would be remiss if I didn’t state that it does have a certain charm— but the truth of the matter is I found it kind of boring. That is, until I saw a Vladimir Lenin quote about Beethoven’s Appassionata being used to advertise a church. I silently fumed the entire ride home.
The fine folks who frequent the Clinton-Washington stop of the G can keep their blogginess. They can keep their fancy-pants old houses too. When the revolution comes, I will be in Greenpoint raising holy hell with other pissed off people like myself. Fellow travelers commuters like the mastermind behind this.
As you can probably deduce, this is located on the Queens-bound platform at Nassau Avenue.
Along with this.
This.
And this, which includes…
this. I wonder what Balzac would say if he knew that some very, very angry person was quoting him via Sharpie marker on subway posters hawking affluenzic television programming? I cannot help but believe it would make him smile.
Of course there’s always room for the more proletarian ball point pen, like this Op-Ed piece from the Greenpoint Avenue station.
If you want to see the violence inherent in the system, come to Greenpoint. Help! Help! I’m being repressed!
Miss Heather
UPDATE, 9/9/07: Here’s some more subway social commentary from the Greenpoint Avenue platform of the Smith and 9th bound G train!
Corruption may not be sexy, but it’s damned convenient. To developers in north Brooklyn anyway, just ask the D.O.B.
The Latest (g)Rumblings at 110 Green Street
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
Last night as I was sipping my margarita at Casa Mon Amour a woman I know from 106-108 Green Street happened to walk by. The first word out of her mouth was not “Hello”. “How are you doing?” or “What’s up?” were not to be heard either. Rather,
So how do you like the noise?
was how she initiated our conversation. Yes, she was referring to 110 Green Street.
“Lovely as always.” I said. Some days it is impossible to differentiate the noise coming from 110 Green from that being made by the contractors working on the G train transformer upgrade at the other end of the block. They often join forces to make one oppressive wall of noise. Labor Day was an exception: only Magic’s crew were working that day.
This woman has the pleasure of living on the other side of the wall from the rather large red gizmo in the below photo.
Or should I say displeasure? You see, she is awakened by this device tearing up cement every morning. “Usually at 7:15” she said. She wasn’t very happy when I told her they were perfectly within the letter of the law as long as they started after 7:00 a.m.— but I digress. What I find more interesting is why they are tearing up cement: apparently it was not done correctly the first time. They need more piles. Whoops. No worries, they are busy driving them into the ground as I write this post.
She went on to tell me about her numerous calls to 311 complaining about the noise. One time she heard them knocking around at 11:00 p.m. Yikes.
When I searched the Department of Buildings’s Building Information System nary a complaint was to be found dating after July 17. This is the last (and only) active complaint (of 31 total to date) for this site:
WOOD AND METAL BARRELS IN THE STREET AND SIDEWALK CAUSING AN OBSTRUCTION
I find this sort of interesting given that my husband and I were grousing as we walked through this refuse-ridden gauntlet yesterday evening in order to reach margaritaville.
Ready? Set? GO!!!
Don’t step on the crack or you might break your mother’s back!
How about some mud? A ten foot stretch of it to be exact.
This was once a chair. Now it is garbage. This has been left to disintegrate here for months.
Come to think of it, the more husky among you may wish to use the sidewalk on the other side of the street. The berth of passage gets pretty narrow. Even for me.
Miss Heather
UPDATE, 2:20 p.m.: Now we have a cement mixer AND a pile driver! weeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
If you lived here, you’d be drinking by now. I am.
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