Welcome to New York Shitty

April 10, 2007, 6:40 a.m.
April 11, 2007, 6:46 a.m.
April 12, 2007, 6:48 a.m.

The pile-driver at 110 Green Street has been eerily silent of late. No worries, another source of irritation (READ: psychosis-inducing sleep deprivation) has reared its ugly head: the contractors who are upgrading a transformer for the G train in front of my apartment building.

This brings me to the above-listed dates and times: these indicate when I have been awakened by this crew making an UNGODLY amount of noise. I am talking about a colossal din that makes my brick shithouse of an apartment building rattle. Scary. As a result, I have not had a contigious eight hours of sleep until today. I cannot over-emphasize how much better I feel.

The same cannot be said about yesterday. It was the third morning of total and utter fucking chaos and I was going out of my mind. I understand that these guys have a job to do and all that happy horseshit, but SO DO I and all the other people whose apartments overlook this site. All because some of us keep different hours due to being ‘night people’ or working the graveyard shift (and many people here do), doesn’t mean we should be singled out for this cruel and unusual punishment.

What’s more, their shenanigans have claimed another unwitting victim: my younger cousin Jennie, who happens to be visiting right now. She and my mother arrived in New York Shitty the evening of April 11th and checked into their hotel. The next morning we were to talk on the phone and come up with some sort of plan for the day. This task is usually delegated to me by my husband. He says it’s because he will “just screw it up anyway”. I say it’s because he doesn’t want to do it. ANYHOO…

My mother calls and my husband puts her on speakerphone. In hindsight, this was probably not a wise call on his part…

Me (to my mother): …I’m really sorry, my brain just isn’t working too good right now.
Mamasan: Well grab a cup of coffee to wake you up and get down here.
Me: I am tired because some ASSHOLE woke me up at 6:48 this morning. This has been going on for THREE DAYS.
Mamasan: Was it the cats?
Me: No, it was not the fucking cats. The contractors who are doing work for the MTA have been firing up their heavy machinery before 7:00 a.m. for the last three days.
Mamasan: (laughing)
Me: IT IS NOT FUNNY! It’s so loud it even wakes Sam up. I am so fucking sick of this shit I think I am going to call the city.
Mamasan: (*chirp, chirp*)

Let me tell you a few things:

1. I have not seen my cousin in over ten years.
2. She was raised in a much more devout household than myself (READ: Southern Baptist). I cannot recall this person using profanity of any kind. Ever.
3. I, on the other hand, drop f-bombs and other colorful phrases with total abandon. The only reason I never got in trouble for doing so when I was younger is because my mother felt it would hypocritical to punish me for using language I had clearly learned from my own father.
4. Although I can exercise restraint (regarding the use of the above-mentioned language), my ability to do so is severely compromised when I have had not had a normal night’s sleep IN THREE DAYS.

I’m really sorry Jennie. Then again, you were probably going to hear someone drop a salvo of f-bombs (or worse) eventually. I mean, this IS New York after all. Perhaps it’s better that you got a taste of it from your own flesh and blood first. Oh yeah, welcome to New York Shitty.

Miss Heather

High Life on Manhattan Avenue

This week I have found two— count ’em TWO— photos on Manhattan Avenue. The first one was located in front of Alfenet Consulting, the latter, in front of the Mexican grocery that is located, get this— TWO doors away. Here they are for all to enjoy…

Bring on the brown sugah!

Bring on the:

• Bong
• Booze
• Cocaine
• Coffee
• Screwdrivers and…
• Time Magazine?!?

When I find shit like this it just goes to show how incredibly fucking dull my life really is. I didn’t know Keith Richards lived in Greenpoint. Perhaps I should bake a nice casserole and welcome him to the neighborhood?

Miss Heather

Magic Johnson’s Bigass Tool

This evening I had the pleasure of moderating a comment regarding my recent piece about 110 Green Street. Lara writes:

Great site! Thought you might like to see my video of this so called “pile driver” (new term for me as well). And just so you know…yep, I reside directly in front of this hell hole…look right out over it. The video was shot from my window.

Check it out at: http://onesweetworld.wordpress.com

Just in case you didn’t get enough of it already!!

Thanks Lara! Please accept my sincerest condolences.

Miss Heather

Easter: Greenpoint Style

This morning (upon discovering that Dreamhost was down) I decided to go for walk. Follows are a few things I saw of interest.

The fine gentlemen at the Franklin Corner Store saw fit to make a statement about global warming and climate change.

The residents at 204 Franklin Street are attempting to combat the dog crap problem while keeping with the spirit of the holiday.

141 Kent Street could clearly care less. Christmas, Halloween, Easter— these ‘holidays’ are nothing more than an opportunity for kids get hopped up on sugary food… and parents drinking heavily in order to make the resulting mayhem tolerable.

Thankfully, the “Beer Bunny” was kind enough to leave 143 Kent Street a little something to take the edge off.

Miss Heather

At last, affordable housing in Greenpoint!

Yesterday I read an article in the April issue of Greenline entitled “Too Little, Too Late?”. As some of you can probably deduce, the subject of this piece was housing. And after I completed the second paragraph of this opus I learned that:

…plans for 459 units of affordable housing on the waterfront and 246 in the upland area (Where the fuck is that? McGuinness Boulevard? East New York?!?— Ed. Note) are…

to quote the HPD representative who spouted this bullshit “in the pipeline.”

Of course they are, I thought to myself. If there is one thing I can safely assert about the housing situation here, it is this: if you (and yours) earn under $100,000 a year (yes, I just typed six figures) and seek a domicile— be it a rental or for purchase— you might as well drop dead. 705 ‘affordable units’ of housing?!? Houseshit!

Perhaps I should revise the previous figure to 706 because today I discovered a bona fide piece of affordable housing. It is located in the ‘upland’ area of Greenpoint at 218 India Street…

or would that be 216 India Street? This cozy ‘starter apartment’ was not labeled, so both of the previous addresses are little more than educated guesses. Regardless, I liked their flexible terms in regards to financing.

I’m not too sure I like the “ass” part, but accepting a lid (or two) of weed as rental payment is probably sound business practice. Checks bounce, our money isn’t worth shit anyway, so why not implement the ‘grass standard’? Marijuana: America’s other greenback.

A great number of you (who are undoubtedly interested in this wonderful real estate opportunity) may harbor concerns about security. I will put this issue to rest here and now. Although 218 India Street is not appointed with jimmy-proof locks, a buzzer system or security cameras, its neighbor (222 India Street) has a Doberman Pinscher on the premises for your peace of mind. (Or to take a piece out of some unfortunate trespasser’s ass.)

The word on the street is that this canine is a real cocksucker. (Yeah, that was a cheap shot. If it wasn’t for cheap thrills I would have lost the will to live a long, long time ago. Sue me.)

Last— but hardly least— here is my favorite feature of 128 India Street.

New York Shitty, I present the Play-Mor Palace!

Miss Heather