From The Brooklyn Daily Eagle Archives: Scandal!

February 11, 2010 ·
Filed under: 11211, 11222, Greenpoint, Greenpoint Brooklyn, Greenpoint Magic 

This morning was an eventful one at Chez Shitty. After a restless night I finally fell asleep— only to awaken at 7:00 a.m. to the sound of all hell breaking loose. After a thorough examination of the fuse box the Mister quickly deduced there was a power surge. This managed, in turn, to blow out the electricity in our entire apartment. Save, mercifully enough, the circuit which services our refrigerator. The exact scope of damage remains to be assessed, but as of the writing of this post the casualties appear to be:

  • An alarm clock
  • Our humidifier
  • Our telephone (which doesn’t really upset me— I never answer it anyway)

Our Unix cluster was spared due to the Mister’s I.T. prowess (and a surge protector). Our new-ish printer (which was not plugged into said surge protector) was spared courtesy of our cat, Artemis. This pesky cable precluded him from sitting behind said printer in comfort so he saw fit to unplug it. As cantankerous as Artemis is (probably because he has been saddled with female name— FOR 16 YEARS) he has just earned his weight in gold. Or at least tuna.

But I digress.

I shuffled downstairs to tender the “good news”. As luck would have it, our landlord was already on it. He was shouting at someone on a cell phone. This precluded him from shouting at yours truly about last month’s whole “Stop Work Order” fiasco. Some days it is best to view life via bell curved glasses. Today was one of them.

Misery loves company. Which brings me to the above Fedders special and a story I accidentally unearthed via the Brooklyn Daily Eagle archives. An “implicated” young lady by the name of Libbie Penney once lived at the above location and her story has ties to a bona fide 11222 scandal. Not that it was news to Greenpointers— as you will learn. Enjoy!

This just goes to show what tee-totaling can do to a community. Drink up, 11222ers! The very moral fabric of our humble neighborhood lies on your shoulders (and in your livers).

Miss Heather

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