Craigslister offers jars full of bedbugs as revenge on roommates. [RS]
Nights at the Playboy Club. [BBs]
Coney's Easter Island mystery solved. Sort of. [ATZ]
This Friday, more No Wave films to enjoy. [Stupefaction]
More wreckage from the Second Ave Subway. [NYT]
Pray cell phones never make it into the subways. [RS]
John Gruen's New Bohemia with a map of the old EV. [ENY] via [EVG]
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
McSorley's Lunch
I used to go for lunch at McSorley's, back when things were quieter. Then the crowds started growing, and I stopped. Now and then I go back. I like the single table by the window. I like the sunlight, though the new Cooper Union building and Cooper Square Hotel have blocked most of the old sun. I like the possibility of a cat underfoot, rolling in the sawdust, and there's always a cat at McSorley's.
At 11:55 AM, there's no one in the place except a trio of regulars. They stand at the rail and talk about their union jobs, their nights in strip clubs, their days placing bets at the OTB.
"Working at the OTB," says one, "That used to be a real tit job. You had to know a congressman to get a job at the OTB. You had to know a priest or something. It was a real tit job, and that was just 10 years ago."
They go to Belmont and bet on the horses. At Belmont, says one, "I'm happier than a pig in shit." They worry about the OTBs closing down, about having to bet over the television like they do in England. They worry about Type 2 diabetes and cholesterol. They think A-Rod is a "steroid-shooting motherfucker."
"They say in the paper," says one, "that cats grieve when their siblings die. You think that's true?"
"Sure, remember when Minnie died? Stinky went right after her, just like that. They get attached, cats."
There's been a cat called Minnie at McSorley's since Joseph Mitchell used to go there, and probably long before that.
By 12:15, the yellow cabs start rolling up outside, disgorging families of tourists, cameras around their shoulders, guidebooks in their hands, sunglasses on lanyards around their necks.
Two perky people walk up to the bar, "Hi! We're here with the Food Tour? You know, the Food Tour? Would it be okay if we ordered 25 light lagers now?" They do, and 50 Food Tour people come pouring in to the quiet.
"Food tour? And all they ordered was lagers?" says one of regulars, "I always told my wife beer was a food!"
The payphone on the wall keeps ringing. The regulars answer it. Someone wants to come in with a fashion model and do a photo shoot. Someone wants to make a reservation for a bachelorette party.
Says one of the guys, "Remember the time I took that reservation for the bachelorette party? 'Oh sure, 25 people for 9:00? We'll have your tables waiting.' You know they actually showed up? They were like, 'Hey, where's our tables?' At 9:00, everybody knows, you can't even get in the door."
At 11:55 AM, there's no one in the place except a trio of regulars. They stand at the rail and talk about their union jobs, their nights in strip clubs, their days placing bets at the OTB.
"Working at the OTB," says one, "That used to be a real tit job. You had to know a congressman to get a job at the OTB. You had to know a priest or something. It was a real tit job, and that was just 10 years ago."
They go to Belmont and bet on the horses. At Belmont, says one, "I'm happier than a pig in shit." They worry about the OTBs closing down, about having to bet over the television like they do in England. They worry about Type 2 diabetes and cholesterol. They think A-Rod is a "steroid-shooting motherfucker."
"They say in the paper," says one, "that cats grieve when their siblings die. You think that's true?"
"Sure, remember when Minnie died? Stinky went right after her, just like that. They get attached, cats."
There's been a cat called Minnie at McSorley's since Joseph Mitchell used to go there, and probably long before that.
By 12:15, the yellow cabs start rolling up outside, disgorging families of tourists, cameras around their shoulders, guidebooks in their hands, sunglasses on lanyards around their necks.
Two perky people walk up to the bar, "Hi! We're here with the Food Tour? You know, the Food Tour? Would it be okay if we ordered 25 light lagers now?" They do, and 50 Food Tour people come pouring in to the quiet.
"Food tour? And all they ordered was lagers?" says one of regulars, "I always told my wife beer was a food!"
The payphone on the wall keeps ringing. The regulars answer it. Someone wants to come in with a fashion model and do a photo shoot. Someone wants to make a reservation for a bachelorette party.
Says one of the guys, "Remember the time I took that reservation for the bachelorette party? 'Oh sure, 25 people for 9:00? We'll have your tables waiting.' You know they actually showed up? They were like, 'Hey, where's our tables?' At 9:00, everybody knows, you can't even get in the door."
Monday, October 4, 2010
*Everyday Chatter
Restless launches a new photo blog. Check it out. [NYCPB]
Spider-Man returns with his rickshaw. [SG]
Brunch parties in the Meatpacking District are still loud. The manager of CB2 "happened on one such brunch event that he mistook at first for a rock concert. 'I haven’t heard anything that loud since I was in Studio 54 30 years ago,' he said. Though the neighborhood’s reputation back then was dicier, he added, 'the meatpackers and the prostitutes were quiet.'" [NYT]
Bacon-Palooza--because New Yorkers are having a weird love affair with pork products. [Grub]
Fro-yo wars never end. [BB]
EV bank robbery. [EVG]
Pulino's says No, No, No. [Eater]
Spider-Man returns with his rickshaw. [SG]
Brunch parties in the Meatpacking District are still loud. The manager of CB2 "happened on one such brunch event that he mistook at first for a rock concert. 'I haven’t heard anything that loud since I was in Studio 54 30 years ago,' he said. Though the neighborhood’s reputation back then was dicier, he added, 'the meatpackers and the prostitutes were quiet.'" [NYT]
Bacon-Palooza--because New Yorkers are having a weird love affair with pork products. [Grub]
Fro-yo wars never end. [BB]
EV bank robbery. [EVG]
Pulino's says No, No, No. [Eater]
Helluva Lot of Beer
Walking around the East Village, loitering outside the many incoming bars and restaurants, you hear things. You get a glimpse of how the mainstream world thinks of this neighborhood.
One morning, a group of suits and younger guys, blue button-down shirt guys, are standing around holding clipboards. Behind them, a new bar is going in. I'm thinking: investors and wunderkind owners. They're talking about the frat bar they will soon unleash onto the East Villagers.
They are looking at numbers. Beer numbers.
Art by Victor Kerlow
Suit says, "That's a helluva lot of beer."
Blue button-down replies, grinning snarkily, "Have you ever been down here at night, on the weekend? Down to Second Avenue? It's unbelievable. Heh-heh. You should come down. You gotta see it. It's incredible."
"It's just a helluva lot of beer."
See more with artist Victor Kerlow:
Pig Sty
Nighthawks Op-Ed
Meatpacking Art
...and check out Victor's blog Chopped in Two
One morning, a group of suits and younger guys, blue button-down shirt guys, are standing around holding clipboards. Behind them, a new bar is going in. I'm thinking: investors and wunderkind owners. They're talking about the frat bar they will soon unleash onto the East Villagers.
They are looking at numbers. Beer numbers.
Art by Victor Kerlow
Suit says, "That's a helluva lot of beer."
Blue button-down replies, grinning snarkily, "Have you ever been down here at night, on the weekend? Down to Second Avenue? It's unbelievable. Heh-heh. You should come down. You gotta see it. It's incredible."
"It's just a helluva lot of beer."
See more with artist Victor Kerlow:
Pig Sty
Nighthawks Op-Ed
Meatpacking Art
...and check out Victor's blog Chopped in Two
Thursday, September 30, 2010
*Everyday Chatter
Cemusa steps it up. A tipster sent in the following photo and writes: This "shiny new stand with five plasma TVs...replaced a shiny new stand without the monitors that was put there a couple of months ago. Talk about out with the old, in with the new. As I was walking away, someone asked me 'So what do you think?' Turns out it was a rep from CEMUSA. He said they installed eight of these in the Times Square area in the past couple of days." So...what do you think? Do we need shiny boxes wrapped in multiple TVs?
See the Yarn Car. [BB]
Are Coney's vintage signs being saved by Sitt or just trashed? [ATZ]
Bloomberg talks bedbugs on Letterman. [NYT]
Sign up for Open House NY today.
See the Yarn Car. [BB]
Are Coney's vintage signs being saved by Sitt or just trashed? [ATZ]
Bloomberg talks bedbugs on Letterman. [NYT]
Sign up for Open House NY today.
Coney Burnout
Regularly, our friend Tricia Vita over at the Coney Island blog Amusing the Zillion will send me a link about something terrible that's happening out there. Either the Henderson Building is being prepped for demolition, or the Faber's Fascination sign is being destroyed, or the Surf Hotel is being ground into dust.
And every time Tricia sends me these emails, I write back something like, "Oh, God, I can't look," or "It's unbearable," or "This is too much." All of which, I realize, is a form of denial.
Professional caregivers often talk about "empathy burnout," or just plain burnout. When you are someone who cares and you burn out, basically, you reach a point of "emotional exhaustion and reduced sense of personal accomplishment." You feel like everything you do is futile in the face of an unalterable horror--like death or serious illness--so you stop feeling. Powerless to change anything, you disengage.
This is how I feel towards Coney Island. When I think of the apocalypse that is going on there right now, I disengage. I turn away. I don't want to write about it, either. Truth is, right now I never want to visit Coney Island again. I don't want to witness the grisly remains of its rape, murder, and dismemberment.
And isn't that what the city's urban planners and the private developers have been hoping for, even orchestrating? That those of us who care about Coney--who take action either in writing or staging demonstrations or lobbying the city--will just give up?
Thankfully, some people haven't given up.
Shore Hotel, 1936. Today: Being demolished by Thor.
Let's take a moment to appreciate what Tricia is doing--facing down the daily despair to keep reporting on what is happening to Coney Island right now. She has not turned away, though it's painful to look. And let's also applaud the ongoing efforts of Save Coney Island--tonight, they're hosting a panel discussion on What's Next for Coney.
Attend the discussion if you are brave enough to face reality--by next summer, Coney Island as we know and love it will be gone forever. In its place, you will find a pile of strip-mall junk, a meaningless and hollow shell stuffed with empty calories, empty memory, empty life. It will be a corpse dressed up to look like something alive. We will not be fooled.
Thor's "soulless vision" for Coney Island
Two quotes come to mind from the destruction of Penn Station:
"Is it not cruel to let our city die by degrees, stripped of all her proud monuments, until there will be nothing left of all her history and beauty to inspire our children? If they are not inspired by the past of our city, where will they find the strength to fight for her future? Americans care about their past, but for short term gain they ignore it and tear down everything that matters." --Jackie Onassis
"Any city gets what it admires, will pay for, and, ultimately, deserves... And we will probably be judged not by the monuments we build but by those we have destroyed." --NY Times
Henderson Building in 1924. Today: Being demolished by Thor.
Previously:
Shore Hotel
Henderson's Dance Hall
In the Popper
The Destruction of Coney
And every time Tricia sends me these emails, I write back something like, "Oh, God, I can't look," or "It's unbearable," or "This is too much." All of which, I realize, is a form of denial.
Professional caregivers often talk about "empathy burnout," or just plain burnout. When you are someone who cares and you burn out, basically, you reach a point of "emotional exhaustion and reduced sense of personal accomplishment." You feel like everything you do is futile in the face of an unalterable horror--like death or serious illness--so you stop feeling. Powerless to change anything, you disengage.
This is how I feel towards Coney Island. When I think of the apocalypse that is going on there right now, I disengage. I turn away. I don't want to write about it, either. Truth is, right now I never want to visit Coney Island again. I don't want to witness the grisly remains of its rape, murder, and dismemberment.
And isn't that what the city's urban planners and the private developers have been hoping for, even orchestrating? That those of us who care about Coney--who take action either in writing or staging demonstrations or lobbying the city--will just give up?
Thankfully, some people haven't given up.
Shore Hotel, 1936. Today: Being demolished by Thor.
Let's take a moment to appreciate what Tricia is doing--facing down the daily despair to keep reporting on what is happening to Coney Island right now. She has not turned away, though it's painful to look. And let's also applaud the ongoing efforts of Save Coney Island--tonight, they're hosting a panel discussion on What's Next for Coney.
Attend the discussion if you are brave enough to face reality--by next summer, Coney Island as we know and love it will be gone forever. In its place, you will find a pile of strip-mall junk, a meaningless and hollow shell stuffed with empty calories, empty memory, empty life. It will be a corpse dressed up to look like something alive. We will not be fooled.
Thor's "soulless vision" for Coney Island
Two quotes come to mind from the destruction of Penn Station:
"Is it not cruel to let our city die by degrees, stripped of all her proud monuments, until there will be nothing left of all her history and beauty to inspire our children? If they are not inspired by the past of our city, where will they find the strength to fight for her future? Americans care about their past, but for short term gain they ignore it and tear down everything that matters." --Jackie Onassis
"Any city gets what it admires, will pay for, and, ultimately, deserves... And we will probably be judged not by the monuments we build but by those we have destroyed." --NY Times
Henderson Building in 1924. Today: Being demolished by Thor.
Previously:
Shore Hotel
Henderson's Dance Hall
In the Popper
The Destruction of Coney
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
*Everyday Chatter
Peyote Man! This guy really wants you to enjoy Peyote. He has set up a living room (complete with sleepy sofa pal) on 14th St. and calls out "Peyote! Hey, Peyote!" while he hands out literature about the "Peyote Way Church." Far out!
"What sort of retail now occupies the former home of urban planning pioneer Jane Jacobs? So glad you asked! It's a Glassybaby, a store that sells nothing but $45 cups." [UNY] [Racked]
The bike-lane debate continues to rage. [EVG]
Tonight, see the East River String Band live. [SG]
I just like this quote: "People gave Oprah a hard time for her sometimes schmaltzy and mostly commercial Book Club picks. But she sounds like a modern day Gertrude Stein in the context of Bookmarc." [GOG]
Enjoying pearls and turtles in a Garment District window. [Restless]
An e-nnoyance rant from Bob Morris. [NYO]
Candy at the Strand sells faster than register-side books. [Racked]
Hope and dread for the future of books--and just plain dread for the future of stupidity: "39 percent of children ages 9 to 17 said the information they found online was 'always correct.'" [NYT]
"What sort of retail now occupies the former home of urban planning pioneer Jane Jacobs? So glad you asked! It's a Glassybaby, a store that sells nothing but $45 cups." [UNY] [Racked]
The bike-lane debate continues to rage. [EVG]
Tonight, see the East River String Band live. [SG]
I just like this quote: "People gave Oprah a hard time for her sometimes schmaltzy and mostly commercial Book Club picks. But she sounds like a modern day Gertrude Stein in the context of Bookmarc." [GOG]
Enjoying pearls and turtles in a Garment District window. [Restless]
An e-nnoyance rant from Bob Morris. [NYO]
Candy at the Strand sells faster than register-side books. [Racked]
Hope and dread for the future of books--and just plain dread for the future of stupidity: "39 percent of children ages 9 to 17 said the information they found online was 'always correct.'" [NYT]
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