The Word On The Street: Presenting “Fuck You” Friday

It’s been a pretty busy week for yours truly. Today, however, I was able to take a day off to do a few things I wanted to do (versus stuff I have to do). I have had a lot of “have to dos” lately.

Upon disembarking the L at First Avenue in the East Village I, courtesy of LinkNYC, was presented with this self-care “tip”: call a friend.

No, no sir (or madam) this is simply not how it works here”, I thought to myself. “Telling someone to fuck off IS self-care.”

Believe you me, I want to tell quite a few folks to do just that nowadays. However, “punching up” could get me in (more) trouble. “Punching down” is not my style. “Punching laterally”, however, is fair game in my opinion.

If you need it— “it” being anything imaginable and beyond— New York City not only has it but will deliver it.

Right.
To.
Your.
Proverbial.
Fucking.
Doorstep.

We pay top dollar for this amenity. This is something outsiders do not understand. The freedom, the mental health benefits, which come with letting it all out in public. Fellow New Yorkers let you do it. We take it in turns. It’s an understood thing.

Sure enough, I was presented with such an opportunity today. Here’s how I put it on Twitter:

Then it occurred to me:

Why not roll out a compendium of “Fuck Yous” in their manifold forms as I see them?

There’s no more replenishable, locally-sourced resource as “Fuck You” in New York City.

So here we go!

First Avenue, East Village
First Avenue, East Village
Delancey Street, Lower East Side
Houston Street, Lower East Side
Manhattan Avenue, Greenpoint
Freeman Street, Greenpoint

And last, but hardly least, this contender from none other than Clay Street, Greenpoint, U.S.A. While “Fuck You” is not explicitly stated, the sentiment is there.

That’s the whole trouble. You can’t ever find a place that’s nice and peaceful, because there isn’t any. You may think there is, but once you get there, when you’re not looking, somebody’ll sneak up and write “Fuck you” right under your nose. Try it sometime. I think, even, if I ever die, and they stick me in a cemetery, and I have a tombstone and all, it’ll say “Holden Caulfield” on it, and then what year I was born and what year I died, and then right under that it’ll say “Fuck you.” I’m positive, in fact.*

— J.D. Salinger, “Catcher in the Rye”

*I am totally amenable to “Fuck You” being inscribed on my tombstone. The more the merrier. A person is defined by his— or her— enemies.

The Word On The Street: No

Taken October 6, 2019.

The Word On The Street: Noble Street

Taken October 5, 2019.

Greenpoint Photo Du Jour: Manhattan Avenue

Taken October 2, 2019.

The Word On The Street: What Time Is It?

Bitch time 24/7/365: it’s how I roll…

(Taken October 2nd, 2019)

Greenpoint Photos Du Jour & A Reminder…

Lately I have been so busy with personal matters the fact that it is October now almost slipped by. Time also flies when one is not having fun. There is of course my recent interaction with the local constabulary over “graffiti”.* This has taken a lot of my time and energy. Thankfully that matter seems to be tabled for the time being. Regardless, the shit keeps on coming. To name a couple:

  • someone trying to charge $3.44 (!) on my credit card (this has been resolved, still I am left wondering exactly what such a sum can actually buy nowadays)
  • our oldest cat, Bodhi (AKA: “Booger”) requiring medical attention for an ear puffed up like a sopapilla. We had it treated once. His blood work, etc., is fine. He’s a tough old goat of a Greenpoint tabby. Still, it came back and tonight he had to go back in for another treatment. It went well. Paws crossed, this time it will “stick”.

Both of us being exhausted, I opted to take a car home. During that ride home I saw something interesting. Sort of a punctuation mark on the shit show which has been the last six weeks, give or take, for yours truly. This:

The author of this missive clearly has a grievance with the 94th Precinct. This is rather uncanny because tomorrow is the monthly Community Council meeting for same-said. And you all have my cat “Booger”— specifically his ear— to thank for all of this.

94th Precinct Community Council Meeting
Wednesday, October 2nd, 2019
7:00 PM
St. John’s Luther Church
155 Milton Street
Brooklyn, NY 11222

P.S.: If anyone is wondering where this sullen, spray-painted utterance of revolt is located, here you go.

Could be an interesting topic to bring up tomorrow.

Or not.

*This evening I organized my papers regarding my 94th Precinct Experience. I found this piece of paper, provided by the Lieutenant who detained me, to my spouse so he could write down their names/badge numbers (on the back). Here’s the front:

Tonight we both learned what “cooping” is. You can too courtesy of the New York Times. The more you know!

The Word On The Street: Neighbors Helping Neighbors

Or not.

(Taken September 28, 2019.)

Greenpoint Photos Du Jour: Eyes on the Street

Ever had the feeling you’re being watched?

(Taken September 29, 2019.)

Today Is Not Only Friday…

it is also the birthday of one of my favorite Greenpoint notables: Jozef! Here he is representing in front of the local “Crunch Fitness” (who has been kind enough to give him some swag).

Jozef will be doing his annual (and per last*) birthday celebration at the Polka Dot Cafe. I do not recall the exact date/time, but Sunday between noon and 4:00 pm is a pretty safe guess. I’ll update with exact details when I get them.

For those of you who are not aware of artistry/whimsy this fellow gives back to community (which I suspect are many nowadays), I offer you this: my personal favorite. It is one of many over the years, I assure you. This fellow is a treasure.

Happy Birthday Jozef!

*No suicide alert here. He’ll continue celebrating his name day. Like many of us, I suspect, birthdays get old after awhile.

And Now Something Different

As a general rule I refrain from lifting material verbatim from social media. However there are occasions when I make an exception. This is one of them. I can honestly say in my twenty years here I never made the connection— and given the robust aroma of the community today it is very apropos.

At a glance the Shit Tits would be where Cornholio’s brain would be. Perfect. There really isn’t anything about this that isn’t spot-on. I give Mr. Gamboa’s analysis two thumbs up. Let’s just hope the real estate industry doesn’t try to invent “CoHo”.

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