Greenpoint
Cafe Cito Bogota
Greenpoint Street Art Du Jour: R.I.P. On Milton
As I mentioned in the previous post I spent Mother’s Day Sunday by kicking back and taking it easy. Doing nothing is something I am not exactly something I am very adept at. I am by my very nature a restless person and as the day waxed into evening I felt the urge to get out and take a walk. It was on Milton Street across from the American Playground I found this absolutely amazing “urban gravestone”.
Per a woman enjoying her Sunday afternoon nearby (and who asked me if I was the “New York Shitty lady”!) this mural was started on Saturday and completed today. It took only twenty fours hours (if that) to complete this lovely tribute to two loved ones whose lives ended tragically early. Those of you who have the time and inclination really should go to Milton Street between West and Franklin and see this wonderful work of art in person. The above photographs do not do it justice.
Miss Heather
Post Blizzard Wrap-up Part II: A Walk Around The Garden Spot
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
As promised here is a slide show featuring highlights from my jaunt around Brooklyn’s one and only 11222 yesterday. Enjoy!
Inasmuch as I gripe about the snow I have to admit it has does have its charm— as does Greenpoint!
Miss Heather
Post Blizzard Wrap-up Part I: Best. Snowman. Ever.
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
This weekend I met up with my buddy Norman over at Atlantic Yards Report and had pizza at Motorino.* After we discussed the latest book I am reading (In The Country Of Brooklyn by Peter Golenbock) I told him I could hardly wait for it to snow so I could scout for snowmen. Of all the neighborhoods in all of Brooklyn no one makes a snowman like we Greenpointers do.
Well, today I finally got around to doing my scouting. The pickings were pretty slim but we must not confuse quantity with quality. I was (and am) not the least bit disappointed.
MILTON STREET
This finely fettled little fella from brought a smile to my face.
MCCARREN PARK
Of course there is no hard and fast rule stating one can only build “people” out of snow.
Someone in the Garden Spot of the Universe understood this and elected to make this item which I call “The McCarren Park Snow Mound”. I do not want to suggest that all snowmen need be pedestrian. A little ingenuity (an empty garbage can and a pair of work gloves) can reap delightful results. Case in point:
LEONARD STREET
(priceless)
Miss Heather
*Which he liked!
P.S.: I will be posting more photographs from my jaunt around Greenpoint in a bit so stay tuned. I have some pretty nifty stuff up my sleeve!
Reader Comment Of The Day: Shots On Franklin?
Trusty Nick writes (in regards to this, the previous post):
Thought I heard gunshots last night (sunday morning) around 3:30am from my place just off Franklin on Milton. Sounded like a fight and at least 4 shots… anyone else hear this?
As it would happen I bumped into (who I presume to be) the owner of Shayz Lounge. He was so sweet I wanted to pick him up and keep him in my pocket. But I digress.
Upon noticing a rather substantial hole in the front window of his business I asked him what happened. He told me that at around 3:00 o’clock this morning a couple (who were NOT patrons of his establishment) got into a verbal altercation in front of his establishment. Not having mastered the art of Anger Management this gentlemen decided to voice his displeasure to his mate by smashing his fist through a window. THIS window. In addition I was told a number of people on Milton Street have reported having their car windows smashed in lately.
Aren’t you happy, fellow Greenpointers, our neighborhood is attracting such a fine caliber of citizen? I suspect I speak for many when I say I hope this jerk broke every bone in his damned fist.
Miss Heather
Greenpoint Photos Du Jour: Life On Mars
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
Follow are a few shots from a film shoot I stumbled upon yesterday while out for walk. Enjoy!
A most unexpected feast on Milton Street.
Trucks aplenty.
In all the years I have lived here I do not think I have ever seen this garage door open.
There were a slew of cool old cars on Noble Street. This Corvair was hands-down my favorite!
Much was afoot on Franklin Street.
This is not to suggest it was all work and no play on the Life On Mars set. These chaps were clearly having a good time while catching a few rays on Noble Street!
Miss Heather
THIS WEEK: Stuff Swap
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
Next Saturday, January 24, Craig’s Kitchen* in conjunction with the Greenpoint Reformed Church will be hosting a “Stuff Swap” with all proceeds to benefit the soup kitchen. Here’s how it works:
- You collect all that gently used clothing, housewares and unwanted Christmas/Hannukah presents (no fruitcake please) laying around your apartment.
- You put them in a bag.
- You then take this bag to the Greenpoint Reformed Church and pay the suggested donation of $10.00.
- You pick from the other shit stuff other people have brought while savoring free coffee and baked goods.
Start packing your bags, fellow Greenpointers. It’s for a great cause!
STUFF SWAP
January 24, 2009, 1:00 – 4:00 p.m.
Greenpoint Reformed Church
136 Milton Street
Brooklyn, New York 11222
Miss Heather
*Craig’s Kitchen is named in honor of Craig Murphey who many of you know was hit by a truck while riding his bike in Williamsburg.
White Birds Can’t Jump
On Saturday, February 2, 2008 I wrote:
I suspect it is safe to speculate that a number of the people reading this post are busy getting ready for this weekend’s Superbowl festivities. While I think it is pretty neat that New York made it this year, I am not big on sports and will probably find some other way to amuse myself.
Well, as luck would have it, I didn’t have to try very hard to find a way to pass my time. Yesterday, while most people were tapping kegs, rolling out the crudites, ripping open bags of potato chips and prepping French onion dip, I was standing watch over a chicken.
Yes, you read me correctly: a chicken.
This chicken — who somehow found her (?) way onto Milton Street.
As with most days when I get hit with a mindfuck a minute, it all started innocently enough: with an argument with Mr. Heather. At noon I arose to find him on the computer, as is his usual habit. I notice a take-out container on the coffee table. I open it: inside is one cubic inch of red velvet cake. Recognizing this confection as being the one we purchased at Kombit the evening before, I asked:
How was the cake?
Mr. Heather: It was terrible. Way too dry.
When I encounter a culinary item I find distasteful I rarely endeavor to eat all but one bite. If I do not like something I will cease eating it. Mr. Heather— for reasons known only to him— is not so easily deterred. I did not ask him why he left only one minuscule chunk of cake, that would have invited a lengthy explanation which I, having just awakened, was probably not prepared for. I go to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee instead.
Thereafter I proceeded to the bedroom to change clothes. Mr. Heather was busy preparing a load of laundry. Under the impression we were going for a walk (this was agreed upon the night before) I ask him what he is doing. He replies:
I am going to do a load of laundry.
Me: I thought we were going for a walk.
Mr. Heather: I thought you could help me do some laundry first.
Me: Um, no.
Mr. Heather: Well, can’t you wait?
Me: No.
I will spare you the gory details of what followed. Suffice it to say it involved a lot of passive-aggressive manipulation on the Mister’s part. Disgusted, I offered a compromise:
Fine, I will go to Williamsburg and cash out a gift certificate. You can meet me there later. I don’t want you going with me anyway. I am not in the mood to hear you curse about hipsters every fucking five feet.
And lo, a deal was made! I put on my coat and headed to Willy B on foot. When I reached Milton Street, this is what I found:
A pack of tweeners and a woman looking at a chicken.
Having never seen a chicken before (save perhaps on their dinner plate) the children took great delight in chasing her. She was not as enthusiastic and elected to hide behind a dumpster.
When one of these gutter snipes shouted “Let’s put it on a raft and dump it in the East River!” I decided it was time for action: I called 311. Before I continue I’d like to say a few things about 311. Having the pleasure of living in Greenpoint, which can best be described as being in a state of (an over) development free for all, I have called them on numerous occasions. The operators, always courteous, vary wildly in regards to their ability to direct me to the proper agency. This time proved to be no exception.
Call #1
Me: Yes, I’d like to report that there is a chicken wandering around on Milton Street between Franklin and West.
Operator: What?
Me: There is a chicken loose on Milton Street in Greenpoint, Brooklyn. A number of young boys are tormenting it. Can you get someone down here to pick it up?
Operator: Is the chicken injured?
Me: I don’t know. It’s walking around but isn’t very happy.
After being put on hold with the Center for Animal Care and Control for over five minutes I got frustrated and hung up.
Call #2
Me: I know this is going to sound really strange, but there is a chicken at large on Milton Street between Franklin and West. A number of preteen boys are chasing it, can the C.A.C.C. please come by and retrieve it?
Operator: Is the chicken injured?
Me: Beats me, I don’t know anything about chickens.
Operator: I am going to forward your request to the local precinct and they’ll follow it up.
As I got off the phone I noticed the woman with me was engaged in a shouting match with the “parent” who was charged with “supervising” these pack of prepubescent p(h)ucks. Larry, in the meantime, had seen fit to enter the basketball court. Knowing that we had him cornered, the woman and I stood watch over him.
Five minutes go by. My fellow Samaritan calls the 94th Precinct directly* and reports Larry Bird. The operator assures her a police car is on the way.
We watch the chicken.
Fifteen minutes come to pass, she calls the 94th Precinct again. After informing the operator that she has been waiting fifteen minutes for the police to show up, she was told she has only been waiting for five minutes.
We (continue to) watch the chicken. Larry Bird— cornered, confused and cute— tries to keep warm.
Twenty minutes later the police arrived and with them came the crowning coup de grace: they were the same officers who detained me last December for taking photographs of Christmas Decorations. I had told the woman standing guard with me about this incident (people tend to engage in discussions when guarding a chicken, it makes the time go by faster when waiting for the 94th to arrive) and of all things, she happened to be a photographer.
Me: Aw shit.
Woman: What?
Me: Those are the cops who detained me. If you don’t mind, I’m getting out of here. I do not want to talk to these people. You can handle it, right?
Woman: Sure, go.
And go I did. FAST.
Wherever you are little Larry Bird, I hope you are safe and sound. Perhaps you’ll find your way to a nice animal sanctuary upstate where you can shoot hoops in peace.
Miss Heather
*Because I know the phone number for the 94th Precinct by rote memorization and gave it to her. Long story.
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