*Everyday Chatter

On 1st Ave in the East Village, the neighbors are begging Ugly Kitchen's "ugly" customers to please, please have some respect:


Pick up a copy of the latest Housedeer, from Romy, featuring the marvelous Justin Vivian Bond. [HD]

Happy 50th anniversary to Paul and his Daughter on the Coney Island Boardwalk! [ATZ]

Chelsea Hotel endures plagues of Biblical proportions. It's bad. [LWL]

Luxury hotel's rooftop pool becomes neighbors' personal Hell: "are these just a bunch of olds who are jealous that these youngs are having more fun than them?" [Eater]

East Village Town Hall--tonight. Go give 'em a piece of your mind. [EVG]

Are New Yorkers finally tired of Starbucks? [Slate]

A peek at the hoarder house of South Slope. [OMFS]

Who goes to Piccolo Venezia? [LC]

Landscape artist Matthew Jensen finds amazing things by the Harlem River. [NYer]

Apocalyptic web series filmed in the city's abandoned spaces. [Gothamist]

Lascoff Demo

Following up on last Friday's news that the gorgeous, century-old Lascoff Drugs on the Upper East Side has suddenly closed, readers have sent in some photos of what appears to be a quickie dismantling.



Elizabeth Manus shows us the signs on the cathedral-like doors that tell customers to take their prescriptions to another drugstore.

Already, the gorgeous, antique facade is being dismantled. In this picture, you can see the conical copper awning is gone.



And here is the awning, in a photo sent in by reader Stephanie. It sits on the sidewalk waiting to be hauled into a truck--and taken where? And what about its neon sign, which New York Neon says is one of the oldest in New York City?



A series of permits makes it clear--the interior will be demolished.


sent in by Elizabeth Manus

This stunning museum to pharmaceuticals will be demolished? How can this be happening? What happened to Lascoff's?


2009


2009

Previously:
Lascoff Drugs Vanishing
Lascoff's

*Everyday Chatter

Last night at McNally Jackson, authors, actors, and others came together to protest NYU's destruction plans. Fran Lebowitz, apparently, kicked some ass. Check out the book While We Were Sleeping:

photo: edittrix's flickr

The wonderful Sutton Clock Shop has lost its lease after more than 50 years. Watch a lovely little film about the shop. [CS]

Donate some bucks to help finish Julio of Jackson Heights, the story of a gay-bashing murder in Queens. [IGG]

Textile merchants hold on to their piece of Tribeca, though the calls from developers are "relentless." [TT]

At MOMA, iPhones block the view of Starry Night. [DEP]

Tracking down Da-Nite's neon signs in the city. [NYN]

Take a trip to Vinegar Hill with Mr. Chittle. [SC]

Walking Broadway Alley. [FNY]

Enjoying the Upper West Side's past in the city archives. [WSR]

Can mom and pops survive extreme gentrification? "The artists, weirdos and blue-collar families that I grew up with (save the lucky rent controllers) are long gone. They’ve been replaced, in large part, by guys in suits." [NYT]

St. Mark's: Mob for the Move

In the past year we've had Buy-a-Book weekends and a Cash Mob to help save St. Mark's Bookshop, and collectively we have succeeded in giving them a boost. But as you may have heard, the rent is just too damn high, and the owners of the bookshop have decided to move.

Let's support their decision, and help keep them in the East Village, with the biggest St. Mark's Cash Mob yet--this Saturday at 3:00.



Co-owner Terry McCoy reached out for our help. He says, "We're in the midst of some serious summer doldrums and could use a little lift....a shot in the arm." Let's give them that lift as they work hard to find a new place and stay in the neighborhood. Says Terry, "A smaller space in the East Village with a much reduced rent would allow us to continue to be basically the kind of store we are and still survive."

To help get your asses in the shop, we've devised a little Cash Mob incentive. The first 20 people to spend $10 and say "Jeremiah sent me" will receive a $5 gift certificate toward their next visit to St. Mark's Bookshop.

The Details:
Date: Saturday, July 21
Time: 3:00 p.m.
Place: St. Mark's Bookshop, 31 3rd Avenue between 8th and 9th
Goal: Spend money on books! Tell them "Jeremiah sent me" and if you're one of the first 20 people to spend $10, you get a $5 gift certificate for your next visit.
After the Mob: Head over to Bar 82 at 136 2nd Ave., between 8th and 9th, to drink and celebrate with your fellow cash-mobbers.

Remember: In a time of soul-sucking stupidity, when the city has become overrun with zombies and chainstore-loving suburbanites, this bookstore is one of the (last?) reasons we have to love the East Village and New York City. Let's help them move and keep them nearby. Show up, spend money, and spread the word!

Furthermore, it's my 5th birthday of doing this blog and I need a present. A big, fat mob showing up at St. Mark's on Saturday would be the best present ever. Thank you!


A smaller St. Mark's in the '80s

5th Anniversary

As of yesterday, this blog is 5 years old. It's a small milestone, I suppose. Half a decade. Old enough to go to kindergarten. But it feels like 50 when I think of all the places that have vanished in just 5 years.



In 2007, when I started the blog, we lost Gertel's bakery, the Moondance diner, Chumley's, the Playpen, and many more. The year 2008 saw Florent fall, along with the Minetta tavern, Yankee Stadium and Shea Stadium, Eddie Boros' Tower of Toys, and more. In 2009, Joe Jr's diner went, Love Saves the Day vanished, and we said goodbye to the Amato Opera House (and more). 2010 took away Fedora, Gino, and Carmine's at the Seaport--and, again, more. In 2011, we lost Mars Bar and saw the Chelsea Hotel shutter to guests, bookshops vanished, and so did Coney Island (and more).

In 2012, the vanishings keep vanishing. And they show no sign of stopping. It's depressing and disempowering. Every year when this anniversary rolls around, I think about ending the blog. I can't do it forever and don't want to. Sometimes it feels important, and other times utterly futile. Blogging hasn't stopped any wrecking balls.

Some changes in my life are making it harder to keep up the blog, but I'm not quite ready to stop just yet. I like being connected to a community of passionate people who give a shit about the city. So thank you for that connection, for your comments and tips, for all your support over the past 5 years. You are the city. And, maybe, if we can outlast the bastards, someday we can build something vital out of the rubble.

Lascoff Drugs

VANISHING

We just heard from reader Elizabeth Manus that the magnificent Lascoff pharmacy on the Upper East Side is shuttering after more than a century in business. Today is its last day.


Click to see all my Lascoff photos

Elizabeth asked an employee why they were closing, but "he couldn't say. I didn't ask to speak with the owner, only signed the guest book and bought a few things at 50% off."



I wrote about the pharmacy here in 2009, saying, "In a city overrun by Duane Reades, sterile and bland, walking into Lascoff's Pharmacy on Lexington and 82nd is like being in The Wizard of Oz when everything goes from black-and-white to brilliant Technicolor."

Score one more for monochrome.

Hoarder Car

There's a car parked near the shell of St. Vincent's Hospital that I often pass and stop to gaze upon. It is a wonder.



Battered and once-white, tagged by graffitists, the car is packed to the gills with newspapers, coffee cups, Coke bottles, and other assorted flotsam.

The backseat overflows. The passenger seat is crammed.



The dashboard is thick with newspaper stuffing. Only the driver's seat is empty, just enough space for the driver to climb inside and carefully move the vehicle from one spot to another, to avoid the sweeping machine and the ticket makers.



I've seen the Hoarder Car, as I think of it, many times, but I have never seen the driver. I imagine a man, though it could be a woman, heavyset and wildly bearded. I see him living alone in one of the townhouses along W. 12th or 13th Street, where he has dwelled since birth.

I imagine that the posh new neighbors complain about the peeling paint on his front door, and the rusted wrought-iron fence, and the unkempt garden. They hold block association meetings about the man, discussing ways to condemn his property and resign him to a home. Some neighbors stand up to say, "I've offered to pay for repairs and upkeep myself, but Old Bill won't let my contractors near the place."

"Old Bill," they call him, though he's always gone by William. When they see him emerge in the mornings to move his junk-filled car, their blood boils. One woman, a stay-at-home mom, makes it her business to stand sentinel by her window, always watching as Old Bill comes and goes. She complains to her nanny (her husband is always away in China making deals in oil futures) and whips herself into a raging frenzy that only half a bottle of Pouilly-Fumé can calm.

"One of these days," she says to the nanny, "Old Bill's going to be history."