Greenpoint
Lorven Pharmacy
Culture on the Cheap
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
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.
This Is Glorious (Even By New York Standards)
Today I have the honor of presenting a contribution from outside.in‘s very own editor, Hillary Byrum. She writes:
As the editor of outside.in, I spend a lot of time surfing the Brooklyn portion of the site and I’m always psyched when I’m bounced to NewYorkShitty – it’s great. Anyway, I snapped a crappy (pun intended) photo of this “situation” earlier today around Berry & S.2nd and I thought of your blog. I’m not sure why this mess is where we are drawing the line between tolerable and intolerable street-piss/poop, but I’m tickled that someone was inspired to build a weird little sandwich board.
Thanks again Hillary for this stunning example of dog shit signage!
Miss Heather
A Couple Upcoming Events and a Kitten Who Needs a Home
This is Fleur. She was found in the Brooklyn Botanic Garden with her brothers, Albert and Bourgeon. Bourgeon died and Albert has since moved on to his new home. Now she is all alone. Those of you who are interested in giving a home to one of the cutest kittens I have ever seen can contact Lisa of BARC via Flickr mail. Or perhaps you will have the chance to meet Miss Fleur in person at…
Speaking of animal lovers, tomorrow Little Cakes Gallery will be kicking off its fall season with Super Heroes Return by Mumbreeze. Per their press release:
Super Heroes Return mixes high and low tech mediums along with childhood influences from both the United States and Japan to create a whimsical full spectrum installation to carry you away to Mumbreeze’s Pop Neverland.
A large staircase stacked with papier-mâché dolls is their version of “Ohinasamaâ€, a Japanese family tradition to celebrate the holiday Girls’ Day. Instead of fancy porcelain figurines representing the Emperor and Empress’s court, they’ve replaced them with multi colored abstract figures that remind one of super heroes such as Ultraman, the bad guy monsters in Godzilla movies, and more recent anime robots like Evangelion. Their slightly awkward, stiff stance and blank facial expressions take their influence from older icons like that of the Haniwa clay figures buried in funeral mounds in ancient Japan…
For more information, click on the above image and you will be directed to Little Cakes’ web site.
Little Cakes Gallery
625 East 6th Street #1B
New York, NY 10009
646-342-1056
Hours: Friday through Sunday, 1:00 p.m. to 6:00 p.m. and by appointment
Lastly (and a somewhat related note), I’d like to give a shout-out to Matthew Nistor. Not only is this chap a reader of New York Shitty, but (more importantly) he is also a very talented photographer. Check out his web site and see for yourself.
Miss Heather
Greenpoint Style. F*ck Tim’s Rules
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
Sometimes I just know when a particular subway poster is going to get jacked-up. Call it my Greenpoint sixth sense, if you will. Well it took awhile, but it finally happened. Twice.
This is from the Greenpoint Avenue Station.
Its companion (above) can be found at the Metropolitan Avenue stop of the Smith – 9th bound G train. It would appear that someone likes him some shemales. The fried chicken is a nice touch.
Miss Heather
The Man, The Legend, “The McGuinness”
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
I have spent the last week looking for an image of Greenpoint’s very own Pete McGuinness. My reasons for doing so cannot be disclosed at this time; let’s just say it is for an art project. Though not usable for my purpose, I did find a picture of him in the New York Times online archives. He was rather substantially-built dude.
Many of you will recognize the man in the center of this photo: it is Fiorello LaGuardia. He and “The Fighting Alderman of Greenpoint” were buddies. This is certainly clear in the story this image accompanies from the July 13, 1934 edition of the New York Times. It is also very evident that Pete couldn’t pitch a baseball for shit. Enjoy!
Poor Pete didn’t even win the Fat Man’s Race. Then again, carrying what appears to be a flask in one’s right pocket (or is he just happy to see me?*) can be an impediment.
Miss Heather
*On a related note, I discovered a most amazing novelty item at Babeland yesterday. I can put to such a tool to good use. After packing that seven inches of heat (anything less would be a waste of my time) into a pair of stretch pants I will endeavor to ride the subway. I’ll be sure to spread my legs as wide as possible so as to air out my newly-acquired manhood alongside all the other He-Men.
The elderly, pregnant and infirm be damned! If they want a seat they should buy their own nut sack. I may not have been born into a life of masculine privilege, but that’s okay. At $22.00 (plus shipping and handling) it’s pretty affordable nowadays. To bastardize Barbizon Modeling School’s slogan:
Be an asshole… or just look like one!
Maybe I’ll even whip it out and take a whiz by the Park Slope Barnes & Noble like this guy.
NYS Flickr Pool
