A tipster we’ll call “M” writes (regarding the above item, which hails from this post):
I saw your post. I saw similar signs last month at Court Sq. They were only there overnight.
To wit I replied:
Now here’s the $64,000 question: how many trees did it take to make the signs gracing said trees?
M replied as follows:
Exactly.
(Queens style)
21st Street
Vomitus.
23rd Ely- Court Square
Detritus.
Hopelessness.
Nurse Jackie.
Bunny ears affixed with duct tape. This taps into an electrical circuit serving the aforementioned sign.*
You know the MTA has hit hard times when they can no longer afford cable.
Miss Heather
*Seriously, WTF is up with this? You should go and see this set up for yourself. It’s amazing albeit in an abject, slumlord kind of way.
This lovely reminder of the state of our economy (and the blight these newspaper stands pose to our community) is located at Court Square and was the crowning touch to my day trip to Douglaston, Queens under the tutelage/guidance of the ever fbulous Kevin Walsh of Forgotten-NY. You can look forward to seeing highlights from my journey later this evening— so stay tuned!
Miss Heather
As mentioned in this post, the Mister and I ventured to Long Island City for dinner last weekend. It was delicious (La Vuelta has yet to disappoint). But as with all things in life— be they good or bad— our evening came to an end. We needed to go home. This of course entailed taking the Crosstown Local. The G train. The “Gee, where is it”? The “Go nowhere” train. Call it what thou whilst.
Unlike many I do not take issue with the Crosstown’s lack of punctuality. In fact I am grateful for it’s zen-like service as it has worked wonders for taming my Type A personality. I was once an impatient and impetuous public transportation novice but the Jedi masters behind this line have seen fit to teach me a most valuable gift: patience. I take things a little slower and savor the little things in life nowadays. Like this guy.
(TIP: listen to “Jimmy James” or “No Sleep Til Brooklyn” by the Beastie Boys while watching the following.)
The Mister could not understand my fascination with this chap. He wanted to get home fast and was upset I was lagging behind. It ended up making no difference: shortly after this chap descended the stairwell our train was ready to go. It was as if the G waiting for him (and maybe it was— after all, this dude is cool beyond compare).
It just goes to show that some of us bear no shame whatsoever for being patrons of the Crosstown Local. Sure, we pretty much have to transfer to get anywhere— but it also gives us the opportunity to hold our heads up and roll out a most badass strut.
Bravo!
Miss Heather
