Greenpoint
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Culture on the Cheap
The Greenpoint 100 Is Back!
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
Today I received an email from the Friends of The Greenpoint Library. The Greenpoint 100 is back and hopefully it will be the best one ever! Jen and Shara write:
CALL FOR ARTISTS
The Friends of the Greenpoint Library call for works to be donated by artists living or working in Greenpoint. The works will be sold to benefit the Greenpoint Branch of Brooklyn Public Library. We are accepting works in all mediums (maximum size 11X14 inches). All work will be sold for $25 each. The show will be juried by local gallery owners and prizes will be awarded.
Email contact information and .jpg to: thefriendsofgreenpointlibrary (at) gmail (dot) com
If you are one of the first 100 qualified artists to respond to the call, you will receive a reply with an ID number from 1-100 and the address of where your work must be mailed or delivered.
Accepted artists’ work must be received by Friday September 26 to be included in the exhibit.
Last year this event raised $1,300. I participated and I not only had a lot of fun, but I also got a really beautiful photograph for a mere $25.00 and supported a great cause. Are you going to be one of the Greenpoint 100?
The juried show is scheduled for Saturday, October 4 starting at 11:00 a.m.
Miss Heather
Greenpoint Photo du Jour: Sunflower
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
From Manhattan Avenue.
Miss Heather
NYC Gentrification Watch: Die Yuppie Scumday
I am getting sick and bloody tired of this “I’m a real New Yorker and I hate gentrifiers” diatribe. Exactly who is a Real New Yorker you ask? That is debatable. Who is a “gentrifier”? This is an easy question to answer: unless you are of 100% Native American birth (or descended from slaves) you are, indeed, a gentrifier.
There were a great many people in Europe who didn’t find their situation satisfactory so they moved to the “New World”. Plymouth Rock didn’t have a Starbuck’s so they built one. In a manner of speaking. Their Native American neighbors accepted them. At first.
But then they (and by “they” I mean “we”) got uppity. We wanted more— we wanted “civilization”. We wanted “ownership” of land. Something our “savage hosts” did not see fit to give us due to their nascent anarcho-syndicalist leanings (I won’t call them “Reds” because that would be racist). As a result there were fights. Battles even. But we won, albeit it in an insidious manner: disease. Smallpox and syphilis mostly.* Good for us.
I am piecing together a very informative and entertaining presentation to illustrate this fact to those who are unable or unwilling to accept the fact they are gentrifiers. In the meantime I’d like to share this touching tale of gentrifier acceptance from (where else?) GREENPOINT.
I went off on this piece of advertising back in April. In a nutshell:
- I found this developer’s claim of 240 Richardson Street as being in the heart “East Williamsburg” (or anywhere else for that matter) tenuous at best. It’s Greenpoint— but you know Garden Spot of the Universe (oil spill, waste treatment plant and all) isn’t “sexy”. They’re aiming for “L” appeal.
- “Village” suggests a friendly and collegial atmosphere. Something clearly lacking in this corner of Greenpoint.
Until recently.
Back in April this woman called her new neighbors “fucks”.
Now she has seen fit to address them as “pigs”.
It is a small— but significant step— in Greenpoint gentrification. Before you know it we’ll all be holding hands and singing Kumbaya.
Miss Heather
Photo Credits: “pigs” and “fucks” Lisacat.
*For those of you who harbor guilt, no worries; they gave us chlamydia.
The Greenpoint Blogosphere Goes To the Dogs!
Literally. Last night I was contacted by a fellow Greenpointer on a mission. Suzy writes:
dear miss heather,
would you be so kind as to take a gander at my blog?
today’s feature is BOB THE BARC DOG. i hope that you will consider adding this blog as a link in your blogroll; my aim is to get more exposure for the doggies from BARC…
thanks,
suzy
p.s. bob is known as hope at the shelter. my BF said we cannot call him that; as it is a girlie name, so we call him bob hope.
I do not agree with Suzy’s boyfriend. As it would happen we have a new semi-feral cat in our pride. I wanted to name it “Babka” but Mr. Heather panned the idea. Then I named it Sheba. Mr. Heather liked that name so we rolled with it. Until, that is, until we discovered Sheba was, in fact, a HEba. That changed everything.
Solomon didn’t seem to suit his temperament (he’s a bit of a asshole), so I named him Sue. Despite being trapped and having his “manhood” removed, “Sue” does not seem the least bit upset by his name. As long as I pony up the catnip pellets once a week and dole out the kibble on time he is puuuurfectly content. Otherwise it gets ugly.
Just like Mr. Cash, Sue likes to sing. Especially when he has not has his weekly allotment of catnip pellets. His venue of choice is outside my bedroom window. His audience is our resident felines. Sue likes to regale them with tales about the “nip” taken from his ear. Over so many beers. Sue is one bad dude (or fancies himself as such).
(Bob) Hope isn’t. Suzy writes:
Bob is darned near perfect, except that he does seem rather depressed. I’m waiting for him to come out of his shell, and will update this post over the next couple of days. We’re having a bob‒b‒que in his honor tomorrow night. I betcha he likes steak … just a hunch.
One more thing ‒ Bob makes his bed.
When I brought Bob home last night, I took a king ‒size quilt from the closet, laid it down and folded it in half. Bob took over from there…
we were watching tv, and I guess it was too loud for him, so he dragged his bed into the other room, folded it again, and went to sleep. Bob kinda rocks.
It’s a good thing that Bob is an arranger of bedclothes, as Bob really, really likes to sleep.
This poor fella has been in the care of the wonderful BARC shelter since APRIL! He was found on the street and brought to BARC by the cops. Bob weighs about 50 pounds, is about six years old, is neutered, and has all of his shots. He likes men, women, children, cats, and other dogs. I’m honestly trying to find something wrong with him, but, so far, no go.
Nor do any the lovely (and loving) dogs Suzy writes about on her blog. Check it out!
Miss Heather
Changes Afoot At Casa Mon Amour?
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
Today I awakened to find a very curious email from Beatrice waiting for me in my inbox. It read as follows:
To all of you hot sauce, ceviche, cubano, pernil, maduros, pico de gallo lovers, this week is your last chance to come enjoy your favorite dish at Casa Mon Amour. We will be changing the cuisine and kitchen staff after labor day. We will be open every night for dinner, but closed on Sunday. Will keep you posted to all the changes and improvement we are making to the restaurant. Enjoy what is left of the summer and see you soon.
I have been a fan of Beatrice’s French cooking for some time. Given she spent almost her entire childhood in French West Africa (and as a result is very knowledgeable about its cuisine) I have to wonder (or would that be hope?) that maybe one of the upcoming changes at Casa Mon Amour will be a menu reflecting her French and West African heritage. I for one find this prospect very exciting. But I suppose we will all have to wait until after Labor Day to find out what Beatrice has up her sleeve!
Miss Heather
Greenpoint Photo du Jour: When Pigs Fly
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
From Meserole Avenue.
Miss Heather
Fedders Friday: Back To Basics In Bed Stuy
As I indicated yesterday, I took a rather long walk. I rambled through Greenpoint. I knocked around East Williamsburg and even a little Bushwick. Then I arrived at the home of much Fedders goodness: Bedford Stuyvesant. Here are some of my findings.
This beauty hails from Broadway. Note the prominently placed electric meters and extensive use of stick-on numbers. Clearly the person responsible for this building spared no expense: those numbers cost $1.99 a pop!
This charming specimen comes from Monroe Street. As I was taking the above photograph a child was wailing from the second window from the top left.
Maybe these satellite dishes offended his aesthetic sensibilities…
or Dong Dong (conveniently located at the end of the block) was taking to long to deliver his Chow Mein? Only he knows for certain.
This selection hails from Tompkins Avenue. For those of you not in the know, this thoroughfare is named after Daniel D. Tompkins, former New York State Governor and the 6th Vice President of the United States. Per Wikipedia:
While as governor of New York, Tompkins personally borrowed money and used his own property as collateral when the New York state legislature would not approve the necessary funds for the War of 1812. After the war, neither the state nor the federal government reimbursed him so he could repay his loans. Years of litigation did not end until 1824, and it took a toll on his health. Tompkins fell into alcoholism, and as vice president he at times presided over the Senate while drunk. He died in Tompkinsville three months after retiring as Vice President and was interred in the Minthorne vault in St. Mark’s Churchyard, New York City. Tompkins had the shortest post-vice presidency of any person who survived the office: 99 days (March 4, 1825–June 11, 1825).
Dying in disgrace (and being a Vice President) is bad enough. Do we really need to erect crap like this on the street that bears his name?
I mean the man DID help fund the War of 1812— out of his own pocket, no less.
But I suppose if this is the treatment Lafayette gets he is in good company.
Nonetheless, it strikes me as being a little unfair. I mean, if this is how we treat the memory of a pretty good Governor (if a bit marginal Vice President), how will time treat someone like Dick Cheney or Eliot Spitzer? My mind cannot muster anything suitable for Mr. Cheney, but I think I have Mr. Spitzer covered.
Former New York City Mayor James “Jimmie” J. Walker (who was hardly a saint but sure knew how to coin a phrase) was once quoted as saying:
A reformer is a guy who rides through the sewer in a glass bottom boat.
Methinks Mr. Spitzer did a little more than simply ride through the sewer in a glass bottom boat. I think he took a nice long bath.
Therefore I would like to humbly suggest that Greenpoint’s very own shit tits be renamed the Eliot L. Spitzer Memorial Waste Treatment Facility*. Thoughts anyone?
Miss Heather
*Sure, the man ain’t dead yet but his career in politics sure as hell is!
Greenpoint Photos du Jour: Juxtaposition
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
From Manhattan Avenue.
Miss Heather
Greenpoint Photo du Jour: Everything’s Coming Up Roses
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
From McGuinness Boulevard.
Miss Heather
Weird
Today I was feeling adventurous so I headed down to Bedford Stuyvesant. Entirely on foot. I selected Humboldt Street to get me south of the BQE. It was shortly after passing Richardson Street I noticed this.
Lest you are wondering, this site is where one of my neighborhood’s many finger buildings is being erected. It is located just around the corner from The Luminous. I like to call it “the brown finger”. I’ll leave it to your imagination why.
I’m not too sure what the purpose of these “little houses” are. Perhaps they are the affordable housing component of this development? Maybe the brown finger spawned and these little houses will grow up to become more fingers? Maybe they are supposed to be art of some kind? If it is the latter most, the “cuteness” factor (and they are cute in a strange kind of way) is undermined by the rather tall institutional gray fence which resembles a series of cattle guards placed perpendicular to the ground.
Miss Heather
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