Greenpoint
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Culture on the Cheap
Dining Al Fresco: Greenpoint Vs. Bushwick
One late Saturday afternoon at Suydam Street at Central Avenue…
Miss Heather: What IS that?
Mr. Heather: I think it is the hip bone for some large animal… oh wait…
Miss and Mr. Heather (in unison): IT’S A PIG HEAD!!!
Alas poor Porkrick, I knew him well.
Note the super-sized bottle of Heineken in the background. Nothing washes down a mouldering pig head like a tall frosty brewski. Yum. All my husband had to say about this find, however, was as follows:
I am sort of disappointed they didn’t boil the head and make head cheese. This is kind of wasteful.
My husband is a man after his time. His personal habits (including religiously using FOUR SQUARES OF TOILET PAPER— no more, no less— TO WIPE HIS ASS) would have acclimatized him to the Great Depression smashingly. I, on the other hand, have more epicurean tastes. I give this meal five stars for presentation and overall ambiance (it is far superior to Williamsburg’s paltry chicken heads), but the lack of dessert knocks it down to four stars overall.
Miss Heather knows fine dining when she sees it. And see it I do on McGuinness Boulevard. Often.
Today’s five star dining experience hails from Chez McGuinness, AKA: the tree pit just south of Freeman Street.
First course: Colt 45
Second course: Colt 45
Third course: Pepperoni
And what would such a fine meal be without dessert and a digestif? Thankfully, the chef was thoughtful enough to place them in a tree pit immediately adjacent to courses 1-3.
Cookies and Colt 45:
…works every time!
Miss Heather
Greenpoint Photo du Jour: Noble Street
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
Earlier this week we learned about the Santalope. Well, a few days later I found his sidekick…
I present to you, the Greenpoint Reingoose.
Miss Heather
Greenpoint Photo du Jour: Green Street
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
I guess the maypole arrived a little early this year.
Miss Heather
Back To Box Street
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
It’s been awhile since I have paid the fine chaps at 48 Box Street a visit. Today I did, albeit in an accidental fashion: as I was walking across the Pulaski Bridge I looked westward and there he was.
It was love at first sight. I was so smitten I even waved to him as I took the above photograph.
You have to admire a man who ignores a Stop Work Order.
Miss Heather
Subway Sagacity
I do not know why people bother spending the time or money to hire professionals. Some of the most sage advice I have ever read has been scrawled on the subway posters which grace dank innards of our city. For the low price of $2 you get access to an open forum where no subject is off-limits. I once read an ongoing debate about Alexander Hamilton and Federalism at the Fulton Street stop of the G. The quality of these tomes (the person arguing against Mr. Hamilton referred to him as a “plutocrat”) surpassed a number of college theses I had the misfortune of grading when I was a teaching fellow.
If I was a policymaker for this fine city, one of the first things I would do is equip subway stations with blank posters and markers; if someone had a question, needed advice or just wanted to “talk”, he (or she) could bounce it off his/her fellow subway patrons by writing it on the “subway forum board”. Unfortunately, I have no hand whatsoever in how this city is run so I have to rely on the brave scofflaws who provide their own Sharpies.
The first bit of advice I am going to share with you today comes courtesy of Greenpoint’s very own Crosstown Local: the proper manner in which to hold open a subway door.
New York Shitty analysis: I emphatically agree. You should always use your leg; its much sturdier. Delicate hands can get hurt by those closing doors, so be careful!
Next up comes an offering from the L train platform at Metropolitan Avenue.
New York Shitty analysis: Wow. This must be ONE VERY BAD MOVIE!
Miss Heather
Greenpoint Photo du Jour: Fun With Duct Tape
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
I found this bike parked in front of the Astral Apartments on Java Street. Note the use of TWO different shades of duct tape.
Miss Heather
Great Moments in Greenpoint Real Estate Rhetoric
Some of you may not be know it, but a brave new concept in real estate is being explored at 231 Norman Avenue. The development in question is called the Greenpoint Lofts and their shtick is selling condominiums for commercial use. I have walked by this complex a number of times and aside from the annex in the back looking like a Motel 6 it struck me as decent quality work.
Perhaps their attention to construction will explain the lack of advertising savvy for this facility? I say this because I found the below advert for their “business ready condos” on Manhattan Avenue today and something immediately struck me as being amiss.
Now I do not know much about the German language, but then again I do not really need to. My issue with this ad is very simple: why is a(n incorrect) piece German punctuation being utilized in an advertisement for a development in “Little Poland”? While scarcely an old timer, I have lived in this neighborhood long enough to learn a few things about the local Polish population. They are as follows:
- They are very proud to be Polish. Rightfully so.
- Many of the older residents are not too keen on Germans (or Russians for that matter). Although I have never bothered to ask why, I suspect World War II informs this distaste.
I am certain the team of wizards who came up with this logo thought nothing about the linguistic ramifications of this jaunty piece of punctuation and quite frankly I wouldn’t expect them to. If such folk were interested in the vagaries of history, pogroms and poverty, they would have majored in them. This also explains why using the slogan “Make It Yours” did not strike them as being the least bit ironic: Adolf Hitler once made Poland his.
Miss Heather
Hooray For Global Warming!
Some of you might have noticed that yesterday’s offerings on New York Shitty were few. There are several reasons for this:
- January 7 is my birthday and sitting in front of a computer is not my idea of a good time.
- It was damned near sixty fucking degrees outside.
- When the weather is unseasonably warm, New York’s more colorful citizens come out to play and I like to join them in the revelry.
I saw this guy when I made an emergency trip to Ricky’s in the East Village. While a little difficult to see in this photograph, he even sports white mascara. It’s the above attention to detail that impresses yours truly, even though I could do without the swastika. Anyhoo…
In order to get to Manhattan I had to ride the Crosstown Local.
Behold, the Tyson of Liberty! The riders might have given the G a failing grade for service, but I give the riders an A+ for artistic prowess.
Here’s a nice close-up of Jesus presiding over the destruction of Manhattan. Speaking of Jesus, here is an annotated poster from the Metropolitan platform.
I don’t remember how the original poster read— what’s more I don’t care. I’d rather be edified by the epistles of crack during my wait for the Crosstown Local. It just makes sense.
It would appear those wacky Williamsburgers agree. They just can’t get enough of the stuff! But enough with the drug humor, let’s get back to Greenpoint.
A patron on the Queens-bound platform has a more scatological take on this (ubiquitous) Cloverfield poster. Upon closer examination I discovered there’s a little something for everybody.
An ejaculating penis.
A pair of gravity-defying breasts and an explosive fit of flatulence. The latter piece of imagery (rendered in Colonoscope) of reminds me of something I read on The Poop Report recently. It was penned by one “Farmer Brown”:
…I stood up, cursing a flowing string of swear words like a preacher caught in a whorehouse, and delivered one final foghorn fart that made me want to puke my guts up like a jock after a Colt 45 binge.
In closing, I might be one year older but I haven’t really grown up. Miss Heather still loves her some good scat chat. For those of you who don’t, I apologize for offending your more effete sensibilities.
And don’t forget: the Santalope loves you!
Miss Heather
Bowery Bugs: Right Turn To Greenpernt
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
I received a most delightful nugget of Greenpoint goodness from a reader last night. She writes:
Thought you might find this interesting. It’s a brief reference to our neighborhood from the cartoon “Bowery Bugs” (1949). Steve Brody is off to Flatbush to find himself a lucky rabbit’s foot…
Tho the humor of Erster Bay and Greenpernt is lost on me, the idea of Flatbush being “the forest primeval” is pretty awesome.
xox,
Dead Nancy
Pete McGuinness (the namesake of my favorite thoroughfare in the Garden Spot) was often quoted as saying “Greenpernt” in the New York Times. At first I took it at face value, but as I have read more articles (in their archives) I came to the opinion that they took delight in making Mr. McGuinness look like a yokel by quoting him in broken English. Per a Forgotten New York commenter:
You might correct an error and at the same time make a small contribution to philology by noting that neither the late Peter McGuinness nor any other authentic representative of Greenpoint referred to the section as Green-pernt [TIME, June 21]. I knew McGuinness well . . . and I never once heard him or anyone else from Greenpoint mispronounce the section’s name. . .It is perfectly true that New Yorkers often render “oi” as “er,” and vice versa, but I can swear under oath that Greenpoint is called Greenpernt only by people from Coney Island, Croton-on-Hudson and Beverly Hills. [Time Magazine letter, July 12, 1948]
Perhaps it was because Pete was Irish? Perhaps it was because his political career survived the Seabury hearings and he was elected the Sheriff of Kings County in a landslide? A “yokel” he may have been, but he was also politically savvy— and the latter was probably what upset them most.
Nonetheless, I am certain “The Fighting Alderman of the 17th Ward” will get a chuckle out of this from his deluxe apartment in the sky. My only hope is it isn’t a Belvedere.
Miss Heather
Available at a Liquor Store Near You!
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
Believe it or not, this is vodka.
Miss Heather
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