Revised "Amity Street Horror" gets conditional approval from CB6 and, hey, we don't like to kick a developer when he keeps trying.
Chumley's is disappearing before our eyes and I have no idea what it all means.
The late great Revere Sugar refinery is now IKEA's overflow parking lot.
More evidence nobody cares about landmarked buildings.
The Armando's sign in Brooklyn Heights has been taken down. I wonder who got it, if anybody.
From Mayor Bloomberg, in reaction to today's fatal crane accident, the second in as many months, quoted in the New York Times:
"Construction is a dangerous business, and you will always have fatalities," Mr. Bloomberg said. "Two cranes collapsed in a short period of time — it looks like a pattern but there’s no reason to think there’s any real connection."
This from The Brooklyn Paper:
Weekend warriors have kicked off fútbol season in Red Hook Park, but the beloved food vendors who have ringed the sidelines for decades are stuck in a morass of red tape that could keep them out of business for another month at least.
The bureaucratic snafu is a bitter irony for the vendors, who last year — for the first time ever — were required by the city to compete for the right to retain the locations they established almost 30 years ago.
The first hint of warm weather typically accompanied the arrival of both soccer and the so-called “soccer tacos” to the Red Hook fields, but the vendors are still awaiting city approval of that concession contract and high-end vending carts that are now required.
“We’re still trying to clear off all the compliant issues that need to be met,” said Cesar Fuentes, a spokesman for pan-American vendors (and a former peddler himself). “It’s what the process is. We only hope that it can speed up.”
Brooklyn Bridge Realty
Easier said than done.
The vendors’ paperwork appears misplaced in the Kafkaesque municipal bureaucracy.
Officials at the Parks Department said the vendors’ contract has cleared their review and is merely waiting for Comptroller Bill Thompson to sign off.
But Thompson’s office said it has no record of it.
Meanwhile, the purveyors of tacos, tortas and tamales need the go-ahead from the Health Department on a new fleet of mobile vending carts.
A spokesman for that agency said the vendors haven’t presented their new carts for inspection.
The city laid out these hoops for the vendors after announcing last year there would be an open bidding process for the Red Hook Park concession. The Health Department also nearly shut down the vendors, but were compelled to relent after an outpouring of support from foodies and elected officials, including Sen. Charles “Chimichanga Chuck” Schumer.
Some vendors are so worried that this season will be lost entirely that they’ve set up stands at the Brooklyn Flea, a weekly outdoor market in Fort Greene.
Another crane has collapsed in Manhattan, this one on East 91st Street. It smashed into "a high-rise apartment building on East 91st Street on the Upper East Side on Friday morning, tearing off balconies and leaving a swath of damage... One person, the operator of the crane’s cab, was killed and at least one other has been pulled from the wreckage, but that person’s condition was not immediately known."
That must have been one of those cranes the Department of Building inspected just a while ago after the horrific East Side crane crash in March. Wonder if Bloomberg will react with his usual "accidents will happen" speech this time, or finally realize that rampant, largely unsupervised construction comes with serious consequences.
I don't care for donuts. But if you must eat donuts, these are the best in New York by my judge. Everything's homemade in this Greenpoint landmark. I had one with apple filling that was fairly amazing. Nothing processed about it. Great sign and classic coffee shop interior to boot.
That's what the hodgepodge of connected buildings at the corner of Hicks and Congress is now, following in the tracks of the former structure at Columbia and Warren. That only leaves the Hamburger Christmas display factory at Warren and Hicks for L&H Equities to destroy before its Condo Time in Cobble Hill West. These guys are in a hurry.
There are few things to cheer oneself with when an piece of gritty New York history is torn down to make way for some plain-Jane newbie condo complex. But one frequent fringe benefit keeps cropping up on a regular basis: the uncovering of old signs and ads.
I have written recently about L&M Equities' speedy tear-down of the building at the corner of Columbia and Warren in Cobble Hill West. Well, it's all gone know. But feeling the sun for the first time in half a century or more is an old advertisement by that onetime king of outdoor signage, the O.J. Gude Company. The sign's pretty smudged, but based on the discernible slogan, "The Flavor Lasts," and the dominant color of green, it was once an ad for Wrigley's gum.
I find it highly amusing that, while the ad has faded plenty, the name of the company that painted it is still completely legible. 
This address, 451 Henry Street, is the other Cobble Hill building owned by Arlene Karlsen, the keeper of the infamous Rat Squirrel House at 149 Kane Street, lately in the news for being a future heap-of-bricks and general eyesore and menace to society.
I'd been told Karlsen had another building in the area for some time, but only located it yesterday. In marked different to the Rat Squirrel House (below), it looks to be in fairly good repair. There are some worrisome hairline cracks in the facade, but nothing like the decay at 149 Kane. There are also no serious DOB violations against the place. There is, however, a Kerry-Edwards bumper sticker in the window that really needs to come down.
This beaut of a sign is right in the center of downtown Sheboygan, Wisconsin, where they love their bratwurst and all good folks vote Republican. It calls itself the oldest continually operating restaurant in the city. How old? 1929 old. (Don't you just love businesses that were formed right before the Crash, and yet somehow survived? And Jumes opened its doors on Oct. 1—just days before Wall Street tumbled!)
George and Ted Jumes were Greeks; George came over to America when he was merely 14. Their first Sheboygan restaurant was called the Coney Island Restaurant, for some reason. It was renamed Jumes when it moved in 1951 to its present location. As far as I can tell, the second generation of the family is still in charge now. The menu is pretty standard. And yes, they serve bratwurst. Also, uh, homemade dog treats, at $1.50 a bag.
It's best to just stand outside and admire the sign. Inside is a riot of unpleasant pink that would even be too much for Paris Hilton
One of the hallmarks of small city living, I've become convinced, is an unwillingness to throw away old vacuum cleaners. These frugal folk do not rush for the nearest Target when the dust-sucker goes on the blink. They bring the appliance to the vacuum repair shop.
"The what, now?" you ask. You heard me right. The vacuum repair shop. Such stores are difficult to locate in Gotham, where a malfunctioning vacuum is a dead vacuum. Like most sorts of repair places, they've gone the way of the Dodo in this disposable society. But not in Wisconsin, where you'll find a vacuum repair dude not just in every small city, but smack dab on the Main Street.
The one about is in Sturgeon Bay. Below is a shop in Algoma. And far below one in Two Rivers. None of these cities has a population over 15,000. And yet there are enough vacuum owners to support these businessman. It's rather awe-inspiring.
I've passed by the set-back, four-story, red-brick building at 238 President Street in Carroll Gardens many times and admired it as a fine, understated piece of architecture and a nice variation from the usual brownstones in the area. But only recently did I realize that the black, cast-iron, filigreed gate that stands as the property's entrance is festooned with equally black, cast iron letters. They're hard to see. Many have fallen off over the years. And the coming of spring, causing the entwined vines on the gate to sprout leave, make it even more difficult to discern what words the letters formed.
I must have stood there looking at the gate for ten minutes. But I finally figured out it once said "Faculty Home of the Methodist Episcopal Church."
The Simpson Methodist Episcopal Church, to be exact, on the corner of Willoughby and Clermont Avenue. This structure—quite a distance from the church—was erected in 1897, the gift of one Mrs. Hans Christian as a memorial to her dead husband. It was also called the Deaconess Home. Tragedy struck on Sept. 7, 1916, when its 18-year-old kindergarten teacher, Dorothy Langhaar, daughter of a Wall Street broker, was drowned.
Don't know when the church gave up the building.
At P.J. Clarke's, the iconic bar in the east 50s in Manhattan, once you walk past the main bar into the initial dining area, there are two hidden alcoves, one to the right and one to the left. There's a table and a few chairs inside each, obscured from view. I've mentioned these rooms before as perfect niches for clandestine meetings or trysts.
What I hadn't noticed before was a little speakeasy-like, peek-a-boo window connecting the southern room to the the barroom. Perfect for a patron beckoning a waitress or bartender's attention, or for a waitress to pass through a plate or drink, or for a fella to keep an eye out for any arriving enemies.
I am sad to see that the return of the beloved Red Hook Ballfield Vendors—rumored to be set for Memorial Day weekend—did not occur as, uh, rumored.
Instead, we may have to wait until mid-June. Porkchop Express reported the following, per RHBV leader Cesar Fuentes...
The good: Several vendors will be operating satellite stands at the Brooklyn Flea (market) in addition to Red Hook. Starting this Sunday (May 25th), the Vaquero, Hernandez and Soler stands will be selling elotes preparados, huaraches, pupusas, and etceteras. So get your fix here until Red Hook is up and running.
The bad: Speaking of which, Red Hook is NOT up and running. Per Cesar, “We cannot start until the city approves our permits [and these are] being processed as we speak. Unfortunately, that can still take a couple more weeks before we are given a go. Realistically speaking, we can probably expect to open Mid-June.”
Signs of New York's long timeline can be found most anywhere. We pass them by everyday, and mostly we don't notice. I was recently struck by this loading dock in Tribeca. Not the bricks or the roller-shutters, but the lip of the dock, which is composed of long, bare, gnarled logs of untold age. They look prehistoric to me, and we set in place decades ago by some huge piece of metal (large nails, hooks, spikes, I'm not sure). Come hell or high water, I'm betting they'll still be here.
As much as I am a New York City person, I get a certain shiver of excitement when I go on a trip that I know will cause me to pass through a mid-to-small-sized city. The kind of city that was founded 100 to 150 years ago and was once driven by a significant industry of two, since died away. Because such cities have not thrived as centers of commerce for 40 or 50 years, they tend to sit in a state of suspended animation. Their main streets and downtown retain the architecture and cultural flavor they have in the early 20th century. Thus, these cities are goldmines of Americana.
Wisconsin is a state replete with such cities. Beloit. Lacrosse. Eau Claire. Fond du Lac. Oshkosh. Green Bay. Etc., etc. Another in Manitowoc, a former shipbuilding center that sits on the shore of Lake Michigan, about an hour and a half north of Milwaukee. Driving down the main drag of North 8th Street, you'll pass a little storefront with a red-and-white-striped awning. This is Beerntsen's, a candy shop and luncheonette that's been here since 1932. Inside, time has not touched this place. The dark wood counters and cabinets are as they were. So is the back room of wooden booths, festooned with coat hooks, sconces and mirrors. A clock hangs from an archway separating the two sections of the store. Ceiling fans twirl.
I bought some chocolate and had dinner here. The help consists of young blonde girls who are Wisconsin-nice and placid. The menu is a shocker. Of the various sandwich selections, I don't think a single item was over $5. I did a triple take. My "bratwurst plate" (bratwurst, potato salad, chips, pickle) was $4.95. You can also order phosphates of all flavors.
The place was founded by Joe Beerntsen. He learned his trade in nearby Green Bay, undergoing a four-year apprenticeship at the Brenner Candy Company. He then opened a series of candy shops in a set of increasingly smaller cities: first Chicago, then Milwaukee, then finally Manitowoc, where he stayed. Three generations of Beerntsens ran the place until 200e, when new owners Dean and Chrissy Schadrie took over. Dean grew up making chocolates in another local family business, Pine River Pre-Pack, Inc of Newton, Wisconsin. 
I took a trip to Queen Restaurant for my most recent "Who Goes There?" column on Eater.com. It's a place I've passed by a hundred times on my way to the subway or downtown Brooklyn, but never gone in. Partly because it was near a McDonald's (don't underestimate the power of guilt by association, where restaurants are concerned); partly because the shutters were often closed, discouraging inspection; partly because it kinda looked like a diner.
It had the best food of any of the "Who Goes There?" restaurants I've tried so far. It was also the most pricey. And also the most ugly. I'd love to advise them on a redo of the interior. I swear their business would skyrocket. But, then, I guess the place just wouldn't be the same.
At the edge of the Battery Park playground near the Staten Island Ferry Terminal, fenced in near a small Parks building, are two sad marble monuments that were some time ago uprooted from their natural resting places. They are now encircled by a chain-link fence and hundreds of stacked chairs.
One is very clearly a monument to Coast Guard members who served during World War II. The second is harder to decipher. Many chairs block the English inscription on one side, but the Italian writing on another side is clearly visible. It seems to be in honor of the explorer Giovanni Da Verrazzano, the man who gave his name to our bridge. There are news records of a Verrazzano monument being dedicated in Battery Park in 1909, and that is the date on the stone. A torso-up sculpture of the explorer, created by Ettore Ximenes, once sat on top of the stone. It was apparently removed from its place where the Liberty Island boats are launched sometime in the 1930s, and then stored. When its existence was rediscovered, it was brought into the light again and placed once more in Battery Park.
The Parks Department currently shows a picture of the monument in its former place with no explanation as to why it's be displaced. It also shows the Coast Guard monument in its former location, near the Southern entrance path to the park. It was dedicated in 1955 and also once had a statue atop the stone. This , however, contains an explanation: "The memorial has been temporarily placed in storage to accommodate the redesign of Battery Park and the construction of the South Ferry subway station, and will be placed on Heroes Walk at State and Pearl Streets near the Coast Guard Building. It is anticipated that this work will take place around 2009."
"Storage"? "2009"?
It's one thing to temporarily place unnecessary or inconvenient statues in monuments in warehouses for a time. It's another thing to let them sit out in the open among chairs and junk, so the public can readily witness how little the Park Department thinks of them.
Can it be possible? Some anonymous rich guy stepped up with $20 mil and saved St. Brigid's. Hey rich guy! Call me! I know some other places worth saving.
Behold the Toyota Children’s Learning Garden of the East Village. The name says it all.
Macy's wants to rename 34th Street between Sixth and Broadway R.H. Macy Way, after founder Rowland Hussey Macy. What about Isador and Nathan Strauss, who were partners with Macy from 1888 and who bought Macy's from R.H. in 1896, and actually moved it to 34th Street?
Frank Bruni writes lots and lots about Florent.
Landmarks Commission nixes awful garage plan for Brooklyn Heights Riverside Apartments.
...When the cynical young keyboard-tappers at Gawker think the City is changing too fast and losing too many of its great places. Reporter Sheila McClear today wrote that the Gawker staff was "riled" today at finding our Florent's days were numbered. She then put together a death list of passed or passing monuments, including CBGBs, Astroland, the Fulton Fish Market and, uh, the Playpen.
Usually when the moans arise over the disappearance of some old bar or club, Gotham's 20-somethings tell the bitchin' old folks to clam up and move to Nebraska. When urban greenhorns begin to feel nostalgic, you really know something's deeply wrong with the direction in which NYC is headed.
In my months of observing the Rat-Squirrel House on Kane Street in Cobble Hill, I've never once met or seen its slippery mysterious owner, let alone gained access to the interior. But the blogger at Musing on 'Point—a Greenpoint-based blog—has succeeded where I haven't. Not in photos of the inside, no, but with pictures of the backyard of 149 Kane Street, which—God help us all!—is possibly in worse shape than the front.
Musing on 'Point won the above and below photos from 149's neighbor, after buying a couple toy chests from her. I imagine she took them to show to the DOB or something. Holy moly. What a wilderness of brush and debris. (I take some issue with Musing's contention that the owner "is the king of her castle and unless she poses a hazard to the public or adjoining structures, then she's well within her rights to let it fall into disrepair." Her neglect has posed a hazard. She's given her neighbors serious cases of termites, and people believe that, when 149 comes down, which is eventually will, it will take other buildings with it. No homeowner's an island in this City. Moreover, the house is in a landmark district and thus she has a moral responsibility to keep the place up.)
Meanwhile, I'd like to report that the pigeon that was previously making himself at home on the stoop, under the scaffolding, has successfully moved in, using the same upstairs window (still open after all these months) the rats and squirrels do. 
The Staten Island Ferry Terminal has a real aesthetic going and I can sum it up in two words: Big Letters.
If you can't find a phone or the bathroom or learn the time at this cavernous hall, you're not very observant. 
It's a pretty stylish look, actually, in a sort of obvious way. There is one truly wonderful aspect to the building. They've reproduced in titanic print the opening lines of Edna St. Vincent Millay's classic poem "Recuerdo": "We were very tired, we were very merry/ We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry." It's surprising that somebody thought to give poetry such play in this heartless town.
I was crossing the public plaza outside 909 Third Avenue in the mid-50s when I spotted this peculiar plaque embedded in the ground: "Private property. Permission to cross revocable at will." Huh? What gives? Has absolute power corrupted absolutely at ol' 909?
Then I came across this 1998 letter to the New York Times:
The F.Y.I. column puts an inappropriate anti-corporate spin on the "explanation" for the little bronze pavement markers that announce: "Property line. Permission to cross revocable at will." ("The Private Sector," Sept. 27)
The real reason for those markers, which you characterize as "snide," has nothing to do with the preservation of "corporate calm" or the exclusion of vagrants and criminals, as you assert. Putting the world on notice that crossing is by revocable permission is a simple necessity to insure that the ancient doctrine of adverse possession doesn't rob the landowner of his land.
Under a legal principle we inherited from pre-Revolutionary English law, open use of land without permission and against the interests of the landowner can gain the user actual ownership of the land after 10 years. By placing the little bronze markers where pedestrians walk, the owners of the private property adjoining the sidewalks confirm that they don't intend to cede that land to the public.
ANDREW ALPERN
Chelsea
No, it's not.
The Fulton Street Transit Center? The Freedom Tower? The Calatrava PATH station hub? Un-uh. Somebody take down this embarrassing sign outside Battery Park.
Yesterday I was at Defonte's, the Red Hook sandwich shop and one of the last vestiges of the old waterfront culture, hooking up with an egg sandwich (which they do, and aren't nearly as expensive as their meat-laden creations). The wall opposite the counter is filled will framed pictures, some of celebrities, a few family shots from the old days depicting the DeFonte sons as young men. In one corner, I noticed a picture of an old Defonte's ad. Jeez, I thought, did Defonte's ever advertise? It's always been a word-of-mouth place for as long as I can remember.
The ad is pretty hilarious. I place it sometime in the early '70s due to the phrase "I can believe he'll eat the whole thing!"—a take-off on the classic 1970s Alka-Seltzer line "I can't believe I ate the whole thing." But the best line is the last one: "No Matter Where You Travel Someone's Heard of Defonte's." C'mon guys. Even Queens?
I apologize in advance if this post is off-color. But I was standing at the bar at P.J. Clarke's, the grand old tavern on Third Avenue, and I was struck by the thought—as I have been before—that it is an awful shame that the female patrons of the classic bar never get to see men's bathroom.
Let me explain. The gentleman's lavatory—unchanged for many decades now—is a remarkable enclosure. This is primarily due to two absolutely monumental white porcelain urinals that have to be seen to be believed. These are not the tawdry, utilitarian objects you see in most restrooms. They are pinnacles of the ceramic arts, the ultimate in lavatory decoration. They are tall and wide and winged. Combined with the dark wood walls and the vaulted stained-glass ceiling, they make a visit a bathroom at Clarke's a rather grandish experience. It's a toilet that Cole Porter might write a line about in "You're the Top."
And half of the population never get to see them! That seems like an injustice to me. So I took pictures of the interior, for all the world to see. If they offend, I apologize. Sorry I couldn't get the full effect in the pictures. The bathroom if a cramped place. To capture the full length of the urinals, I would have had to open the door and take the shots from the bar. And that would have just been strange.
Brooklyn pigeons have got it good these days.
On Kane Street, they've found a cozy home under the scaffolding at the Rat-Squirrel House, with no one to kick them them to the curb. Meanwhile, on the corner of Richards and Coffey in Red Hook, some happy birds have made themselves at home in the very wall of an abandoned restaurant that has sat there derelict for decades.
The former restaurant has been a source of fascination for Lost City for some time, and it's fallen further on hard times in the 30 months since I started this blog. Look at the slant on that cornice! Jesus Christ! But I hadn't noticed the hole in the north wall near the chimney. Plenty of missing bricks there, perfect for a nest. Lots of room for expansion. Look closely at the center of the photo and you'll see our friend the pigeon. He/she has many other friends and family who fly back and forth. Freaky thing is that someone still lives on that second floor. Bird lover, I guess.
Lo and behold! A negative portrayal of Mayor Michael Bloomberg in the mainstream press.
In today's New York Times, reporter Diane Cardwell related the shocking revelation that Bloomie has a temper! That he's used to getting his way, and gets petulant when people challenge him. That's he not actually the cool, congenial, joking character he presents to the public. That he has become cranky since his Presidential bid failed and the national press stopped paying attention to him. That his mayoral legacy isn't quite what it's been cracked up to be. That he has "come to resemble the 'Seinfeld' Soup Nazi of municipal government."
What took them so long?
Here's the piece:
For more than six years, Councilman Peter F. Vallone Jr. and Mayor Michael R. Bloomberg have enjoyed a warm relationship. So when the councilor spotted the mayor outside City Hall on a recent sunny morning, he greeted him amiably, shook his hand, and turned to go on his way.
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Brendan Hoffman for The New York Times
Associates say Mayor Michael R. Bloomberg’s anger may be linked to setbacks on projects he sees as critical to his legacy.
There was no indication that the mayor was about to explode.
“What’s this I hear about you objecting to that power plant?” Mr. Bloomberg, who usually keeps his business private, barked out.
“He kept raising his voice. ‘What’s the matter with you? You know we need the power,’ ” Mr. Vallone, from Queens, recalled the mayor saying. “Then he finally just screamed something about not moving it.”
Mr. Bloomberg is often a man of quaint politeness in public. But in recent days, as he has endured setbacks on projects crucial to his legacy, another Michael Bloomberg has spilled into view: short-tempered, scolding, even petulant.
The mayor has watched the collapse of his congestion pricing proposal and the blocking of his plan to link teacher tenure to student test scores. He is hoping a revived deal to develop the far West Side of Manhattan, another crucial part of his vision for transforming the city, can become a reality.
And, with his presidential hopes shelved, the often fawning attention from the media has faded, too.
Suddenly, as he enters the twilight of his term, he is openly dressing down commissioners, taking obvious shots at officials who disagree with him and invoking the royal “we” while refusing to answer questions whose topics or phrasing he finds distasteful.
He threw a sharp elbow last week toward Senator Charles E. Schumer over his suggestion that the Port Authority of New York and New Jersey take over as the lead agency for the stalled Moynihan Station project.
“We set the city’s priorities,” Mr. Bloomberg said. “They don’t come out of Washington.”
Mr. Bloomberg’s chief spokesman, Stu Loeser, played down the recent bouts of temper, saying, “It’s very easy to analyze things into other explanations for ordinary human behavior by someone who, over all, is a very optimistic person.” He added: “Mike Bloomberg is only human, and since he first started running for office in 2001, New Yorkers have seen him happy and sad, irritated and elated.”
But several current and former officials say the public is just now getting a sustained look at the impatience and occasional anger that Mr. Bloomberg, a self-made billionaire unused to answering to any authority higher than his own, feels toward those who would stand in his way or challenge his motives. “It’s the worst I’ve ever seen it,” Mr. Vallone said of Mr. Bloomberg’s mood.
Mr. Bloomberg has long been a man of contradictions: jocular and flirtatious one minute, earnest and moralizing the next. Described as down-to-earth and sharply funny, he might greet a political consultant by joking, “Any of your clients get arrested today?” He can be solicitous of his colleagues, once inviting City Councilman Lewis A. Fidler’s son Max to City Hall for a sit-down interview for his school project, rather than simply providing written answers through an aide.
“He was extremely nice to my kid,” said Mr. Fidler, from Brooklyn. “So there’s clearly a soft side to him.”
But he is also demanding and prone to outbursts of angry hyperbole, according to current and former associates, most of whom would speak only anonymously for fear of offending the mayor. They described a suddenly red-faced man who, in full view of others in the bullpen, the open workspace at City Hall, might scream, “You’re destroying my administration!” at an aide over a slip-up, or unleash a profanity-laced question about why he had botched a step in a project.
In some respects, associates say, Mr. Bloomberg’s anger stems from incredulity that systems do not function as they should, and from never fully adjusting to the last-minute, secret deal-making culture of politics, which he believes is a bad way to conduct business.
These officials and associates say that Mr. Bloomberg’s temper burns hot and fast — he can erupt, and then turn around and invite the target of his anger to join him for dinner. The attacks are not so much personal as an expression of his extreme impatience, said Assemblyman Keith L. T. Wright of Harlem, who clashed with the mayor at times over the congestion pricing proposal.
Mr. Bloomberg’s fury “pales in comparison” to that of former Gov. Eliot Spitzer, who would threaten to “bury you,” Mr. Wright said. He added that Mr. Bloomberg would yell things more focused on policy issues, like, “ This is good for the city! You’ve got to do this!”
Mr. Bloomberg, who declined to be interviewed for this article, has acknowledged his quick temper, writing in his 1997 autobiography, “Bloomberg by Bloomberg,” that when he was first setting up the media and information behemoth Bloomberg L.P., he slammed a door so hard in a fit of rage that the latch broke, locking him in, and he had to sheepishly ask his officemates to let him out.
Like many successful, self-made people, Mr. Bloomberg can be single-minded in his pursuits and supremely confident in his views. Comparing himself with other entrepreneurs in the autobiography, he wrote, “I too think I can do everything better than anyone else.” He added: “Still, my ego does allow for the remote possibility that someone might be as good at one or two little things. I’ve admitted there’s a slim chance that ideas coming from others could be valuable as well.”
As mayor, Mr. Bloomberg has worked to shield these traits from the public. But of late, he has been revealing an unusual level of emotion.
“People think that the guy is a cool operator, he’s a business technocrat, and I think people really can’t comprehend that he gets frustrated with the slow pace of government, that he can’t just wave the magic wand and say, ‘This shall be done,’ ” said Scott M. Stringer, the Manhattan borough president, who said he had been on the receiving end of both rage and joy from the mayor. “Now that they’re focused on the endgame, let’s face it: This legacy, this large canvas, needs a lot more paint before we can step back and really look at it.”
Mr. Bloomberg seemed reflective at a commencement address he gave at the University of Pennsylvania on Monday, describing how exciting and flattering the “buzz” was when he was viewed as a possible presidential hopeful this year, which landed him on the covers of Time and Newsweek.
“But in the end, I decided to stay with my current job — one that has 591 days left before I’m term-limited out. But who’s counting?” the mayor said.
Mr. Bloomberg’s mercurial nature has been emerging most clearly in his dealings with members of the news media, with whom he has recently come to resemble the “Seinfeld” Soup Nazi of municipal government.
At a news conference on May 1, Mr. Bloomberg snapped at a reporter who tried to ask him about a discrimination lawsuit at Bloomberg L.P. “What does this have to do with the budget?” he asked, even though he had already offered his views on other issues. “Next time, don’t bother to ask us a question. Stick to the topic. Everybody else plays by the rules; you’ll just have to as well.”
Last week, at another news conference, he cut off a reporter who used the word “maintain” in a question, calling the word inappropriate because of its confrontational connotation.
“Next time you have a question, you want to insinuate that I lie, just talk to the press secretary,” he said, jabbing his finger toward the reporter. “I don’t think we have a question for you.”
But others in his orbit are feeling his upset, too. At an announcement in late March highlighting more bus service in the Bronx, as the outlook for congestion pricing grew bleaker, he rebuked his transportation commissioner, Janette Sadik-Khan, as she tried to expand on his remarks about why the proposal would not be a pilot program.
Mr. Bloomberg was already upset that day because the Metropolitan Transportation Authority had reneged on $30 million in promised service enhancements linked to fare increases.
“That’s it, that’s the answer to the question,” he said. “I’m answering the questions here at the press conference.”
A new community board meeting about the controversial Cobble Hill development known at 110 Amity (or the Amity Street Horror, depending on your attitude) convened last night and it looks like developer Time Equities (uh! the names these companies have) has thoroughly rethought things.
TE got the nabe's goat last year with its idea to build a new mews on the Henry Street side of the project, which surrounds the landmarked 105-year-old Lamm Institute building at 110 Amity Street. The plan was deemed quite out of context with the area by most, and was turned down by the Landmark Preservation Commission.
They returned to the drawing board and came up with something less ambitious. According to a witness at the meeting, the new brownstone-like buildings no longer form a mews, but face Henry Street. They even have stoops, lintels and cornices—a reality that warms the cockles of Lost City's heart. There is a penthouse of some sort on the top of the buildings, but the gathered citizens were told that the additions would not be visible from the street.
As reported earlier, the plot in question remains on the market at Massey Knackel, so who knows what game TE is ultimately playing here.
You've got to look sharp sometimes to catch the details that make New York great.
On the corner of Second Avenue and E. Sixth Street is a lamppost which, at first glance, appears merely dirty, but on close inspection is encrusted with hundreds of glittering, colorful tiles. The letters running down the south face of the post honor a legendary music hall which used to stand here: Fillmore East. The north side spells out the name of its founder: Bill Graham.
The more you look at the post—the work of guerrilla street artist Jim Power—the more you notice. Many of the major acts that performed at the Fillmore during its short lifetime (1968-1971) are printed out, each in the distinctive lettering made famous by the group's album covers, posters and t-shirts. The care that Power took is quite amazing. Just to see such bygone bands as Procol Harum, Jefferson Airplane and Jethro Tull appear magically before your eyes on a random piece of street equipment is quite wonderfully disorienting. It's also a fine tribute of a chapter of New York history that hasn't otherwise been honored by the metropolis. (Sorry if there are an awful lot of picture here. I just found so many aspects of the work enchanting.)
At the bottom of one side of the the post, some tiles read "Happy Birthday Dad, Love B.D." B.D. certainly doesn't stand for Jim Powers. Explanation?
An unplanned turn down E. 7th Street between Second and Third Avenues last Saturday threw me into the thick of what I believe to be the oddest street fair I have ever encountered in my many years in New York City. It was the Ukrainian Festival, an annual event now in its 32nd year, apparently, though I never ran across it during my East Village tenure. I'm well aware of the Ukrainian heritage of this section of the East Village, but did not imagine it still so strong that it couldn't support a yearly to-do.
Tired of not finding stuffed cabbage and borscht at your neighborhood street fair? This is the place for you. And you can get though happy delicacies for $2 or less. Need to send a Moneygram back to the Old Country right now? They've got ya covered. Your Ukrainian folk music CD collection running thin? Sonny boy need a new marionette? Need a brightly colored egg for the mantelpiece? Old Ukrainian flag worn out? Check, check, check, check.
There was a light rain falling over the festivities, but that didn't wholly account for the unmistakable air of melancholy and gloom that hung over the festival. A Ukrainian version of the Olson Twins, dressed in native costumes, twittered and cavorted on the main stage, big smiles plastered on their cherubic faces, but they did little to elevate the prevailing mood. It was not a smiley group.
It struck me as the kind of peculiar, ethnic, neighborhood event that used to blanket the City all weeks of the year in the decades before Manhattan was made safe and scrutable for bland rich folks.
I was walking by the fine police station on Ericsson Place in Tribeca, admired its firm strong lines, thinking, "Ah, what a fine thing it must be to be a policeman and work at the First Precinct," when I cast my eyes further up the facade and thought, "Ah, what a fine thing it must be to be a policeman and work at the Fourth Precinct."
What's going on here? It's the First above the door and the Fourth at the second-floor level. I did some research and found this seven-year-old article about a 35-year-old scandal. Seems, back in 1973, so many members of the old First Precinct down at Old Slip in lower Manhattan were corrupt, the department transferred 97 out of 110 cops that worked there. The remainder went to Ericsson Place, once the Fourth Precinct, which was renamed the First Precinct.
The First Precinct is now the Police Museum. And the Fourth, well, doesn't exist anymore. In fact, according to the NYPD site, a lot of precincts don't exist anymore, including the Second, Third and Eighth.
There's not been much to report about the old Rat-Squirrel House in Cobble Hill lately. It just sits there, closed down and scaffolded up by the Department of Building, but otherwise ignored by the City. It's just an ongoing eyesore, drooping and decaying before our eyes, with no signs of either renewed life or imminent death hovering on the horizon. I heard one report that the loony owner still sneaks inside some nights, despite express dictates to stay clear of the firetrap.
The building, however, remains attractive to animals. And not just rats and squirrels and termites. The other day, during one of the downpours May has offered New York, a sad, bedraggled pigeon took refuge at the top of the stoop. Wet and cold, it huddled there by the door and showed no signs of budging no matter how close I got. A neighbor told me it had been huddling there most of the week. So the heap of bricks serves some purpose, I guess.
Scotto's Wine Cellar, one of the oldest continually running liquor stores in New York City (it actually was operating during Prohibition in clandestine form) has been undergoing a transformation over the past month. Recently, it's new frontage was completed. It's stark, it's sleek. The birthdate of the business is accentuated. Not sure if I love the look. But, hey, if it works for the old biz, I'm happy for them.
P.J. Hanley's, the century-old tavern in lower Carroll Gardens, has given itself a new coat of paint. Or two new coats of paint. Don't know if I care for it. But I might like it fine come Christmas.
Lost City hears that, reacting to an avalanche of criticism from all corners, NYU has backed off its plan to destroy the historic Provincetown Playhouse in Greenwich Village. An announcement is expected later today.
Details are sketchy, but the idea is the university—known for its cold-blooded passion for swinging wrecking balls at pieces of New York history—will keep the theatre building in place and build a new structure around it, rather than destroy the entire address in favor of a new edifice. NYU had recently been playing around with a bunch of half-assed half-measures such as keeping the original facade of the playhouse while destroying the rest, or building a theatre that looks like the original theatre back in 1916. But no one was satisfied with those compromises and opponents continued to call NYU every name in the book, threatening to undermine the fragile truce the college had recently fashioned with the surrounding community.
This, if true, counts as a major victory for preservationists and activists citywide.
UPDATE: NYU has released its plans, with diagrams shown on Curbed:
"It is that structure and volume that people passionately feel celebrates the history and heritage of the theater," NYU says in its statement. The internal auditorium will be rebuilt, with some "historical features" and pieces of the existing theater (like the seats) including in the new design.
CB6 passed the “narrow streets” zoning text amendment in Carroll Gardens despite the howling of the selfish (and hideously dressed) Scotto gang.
The old Tribeca bar Walker's is expanding.
One last look at the Minetta Tavern but its goes through its coming el-chango at the hands of Keith McNally.
A horror on Harrison Street. There is no explaining the workings of the development-happy mind.
Saw this late last night in Carroll Gardens. A red toy piano at the foot of a stoop.
It's wasn't far enough from the stoop, or close enough to the curb, for me to say that it was definitely being thrown out. And it looked in fine condition. Passersby stared at it quizzically and a some plunks out a few tinny notes for fun.
I saw a weird sight today at the corner of Laight and the narrow, two-block alley known at Collister Street. Looking up to admire a handsome, red-brick building with arched windows, which looked like it was once a stables, I spotted a circular bit of sculpture set near the top of the structure. It was the face of a dog. And words radiating around the bow-wow read "American Express Co." Wha?
Consulting my trusty Forgotten New York book, I learned that the building was indeed once the property of the gigantic credit company, which was once merely a gigantic transit company; that the company did indeed use it as a stables; and that Amex's logo was indeed once a bulldog. A bulldog holding a key. A bulldog that kinda looks like a cow. Can't say I wonder why that logo fell out of use.
L&M Equities has ants in its pants.
Only two days ago I reported that the company— which is planning to build a heap of new housing in Cobble Hill West, between Hicks and Columbia, south of Congress—was busy hacking away at one building at 75 Columbia. Today, I saw their workers fencing off and hammering away at another building at the corner of Hicks and Congress (far below). And still more workers were setting up a ring of scaffolding around the soon-to-be, late, great Hamberger Christmas Tree Ornament Factory (above and below). The blocks surrounded by Columbia, Hicks, Congress and Baltic are a hive of activity. I'm wondering if, at this rate, any of these buildings will be around by the end of the month.
The New York City Landmarks Preservation Commission today added onto the Noho Historic District, upping the number of protected buildings from 167 to 223. The new area is called NoHo Extension, which builds onto the NoHo and NoHo East historic districts. That's a lot of districts named Noho.
Meanwhile, the Landmarks Commission recently issued a press release saying, "A Manhattan Supreme Court justice today issued a preliminary injunction ordering the owners of the Windermere apartment complex to halt the deterioration of the vacant landmark, requiring them to bring the 127-year-old building into compliance with the City’s landmark regulations."
The Hell's Kitchen Windermere has been in a hell of a condition for some time. Such bad shape, in fact, that the City, which usually doesn't lift a finger to preserve landmarks, took its Japanese owner, Masako Yamagata of Toa Construction Co., to court.
"This decision should make it clear to every owner of landmarked properties that the Landmarks Commission will not abide the deliberate erosion of New York City’s historic fabric," said Commission Chairman Robert B. Tierney.
Uh-huh. Yeah, that's exactly what it will do. The owner lives in Japan.
Massey Knakal, the Brooklyn development boom's own cheerleading real estate firm, has a juicy new listing in Carroll Gardens. Not one, not two, but three fat lots on the west side of busy Smith Street between Degraw and Douglass. 252, 254 and 260 Smith Street, to be exact. One property is an empty lot. The others are three-story brick jobbies which house such stores as Refinery and Area. They're being sold as a package for $3.5 mil.
The listing crows "Redevelopment opportunity" and "Entire property can be delivered vacant." Hm. Do I sense the arrival of a new big box store, along the lines of the Rite Aid a few blocks to the north or the, uh, er, Rite Aid a few blocks to the south? 2,667 square feet certainly would seem like enough room to build something big and boxy and anonymous. And while I don't know the zoning on that particular strip exactly, I'm guess there's little to prevent a developer from doing whatever the hell he wants.
Here is a picturesque and mysterious storefront in downtown Greenpoint. It's apparently a onetime appetizing store and delicatessen, if we're to believe the signs that bookend the store. And it was once called "Dutch Da...." What? I've stared at the sign for hours and I can't figure out what that second word is. The middle two letters are obscured from sight. Anyone out there know the former name of this place?
I noticed today that I recently posted my 1,000th post on this blog. It was a few days back. Not sure that it means anything in particular. But a lot of blogs like to commemorate such landmarks, and, since I didn't really make a big deal about my first year in "business," or my second anniversary, I might as well mark this. So: 1,000 posts, folks! 1,000 posts about Bloomberg, Doctoroff, Lancaster, Burden and their Crapitecture pals, and the heedless sundering of our culture and history that they're perpetrated in their pro-pro-pro-development blitzkrieg. Sadly, I see thousands more posts before their work is defeated.
L&M Equities has sprung forward with vigor this spring, tearing down 75 Columbia Street with alacrity. They began their work only last week. And look where they stand on Tuesday, May 13! (see above)
As you may recall, L&M has big plans for Cobble Hill West (or whatever you care to call it). They are planning 152 new housing units across three sites: 75 Columbia Street; 86-98 Congress Street and 79 Warren Street; and 104-116 Warren Street and 101-115 Baltic Street (a "site"). They presented their case before Community Board 6 last fall, and, after getting some static from the community, revised their plan a bit. It still, we trust, will be an fairly ugly atrocity when built, but perhaps not as bad as initially planned.
Anyway, they're in a hurry. 75 Columbia was chosen as first to be hammered to the ground. Last to fall to the wrecking ball with be the former Hamberger Christmas ornament factory on Warren Street (below), a building which has a long and storied history, to be related on this blog sometime before the wreckage ensues.
This is a bit beyond this site's purview, but every now any then I just like to comment on neighborhood stuff. 360 and Pioneer Inn were two eateries on Van Brunt Street—one fancy and white collar, one down-home and blue collar, both good—that helped mark Red Hook as a dining and carousing destination. Then both suddenly shuttered last year, 360 first and then Pioneer later. Pioneer, as I understand it, closed for prosaic reasons: DOH problems. 360's closure, however, is the stuff of legend. The general idea is that celebrated chef Arnaud Erhart cracked and headed to Timbuktu or Tahiti or some such retreat and has yet to return. Nobody knows for certain. Whenever some reporter does find out the true story, it'll make a hell of a read.
Anyway, there's activity at both addresses. The Pioneer Inn, as has been reported, is under new management and will soon become the Brooklyn Ice House. The front has been painted white and the Pioneer Inn sign has finally been taken down. There's lots of liquor lined up on the bar. Can't tell if it's leftover from the Pioneer's reign, or new stuff brought in by the Ice House people.
As for 360, it's for rent. Still looks like 360 inside. But there's a new message, emblazoned on a t-shirt, hanging in the window: "Stop and Think." Stop and think about what? About renting the place? About going into the restaurant business? About renting in Red Hook? About life?
What are you trying to tell us, Arnaud?! And where are you??!!!
Taken in its entirety from City Room:
Mayor Bloomberg’s Least Favorite Word
By Diane Cardwell
Mayor Michael R. Bloomberg may have a few words like “unconscionable” that he cannot say frequently enough, but there is at least one word he apparently cannot abide: “maintain.” It has such a negative connotation for the mayor that reporters wanting answers dare not speak its name.
Witness the exchange at a City Hall news conference this morning with a reporter, Michael Frazier of Newsday, who began a question this way:
“Mayor, you maintain that you kept a dialogue open with the Sean Bell demonstration–”
Mr. Bloomberg cut off Mr. Frazier, snapping: “‘Maintain’ is a word I don’t think is appropriate, sir. Next time you have a question, you want to insinuate that I lie, just talk to the press secretary. I don’t think we have a question for you.”
The reporter protested, “Yes you do.”
Mr. Bloomberg: “No I don’t, sir. We’ve finished it. ‘Maintain’ is a word that has an implication–”
Reporter: “Well I’m sorry. I didn’t mean–”
Mr. Bloomberg then called on another reporter, but could not resist a parting shot at Mr. Frazier, saying, “Got some nerve.”
For the record, Webster’s New World College Dictionary (Fourth Edition) lists one definition of “maintain” as “a) to uphold or defend, as by argument; affirm b) to declare in a positive way; assert.”
Two interesting articles about Bloomberg the Miracle Mayor over the weekend.
This piece in the New York Sun says that "Lawyers for Mayor Bloomberg are asking a judge to ban any reference to the Second Amendment during the upcoming trial of a gun shop owner who was sued by the city. While trials are often tightly choreographed, with lawyers routinely instructed to not tell certain facts to a jury, a gag order on a section of the Constitution would be an oddity."
I'm not fan of modern, gun-nut interpretations of the Second Amendment, but banning references to it in a trial? Controlling, much?
Then there's this piece in the Daily News about how Bloomie budgeting a whopping $2.1 million into the City's new budget to "on a massive charter reform that, depending on various theories floating around, will try to:"
a) Allow Bloomberg to run for a third term.
b) Do away with the public advocate or borough presidents.
c) Remake the way development deals and zoning changes are done in the city.
d) Turn some signature Bloomberg projects, such as PlaNYC, into permanent goals.
e) Streamline a 300-page document filled with minute and redundant dictates.
The cost is twice what the last Charter Revision Commission spent in 2005.
After an interminable wait, Trader Joe's finally began work on transformed the former Independence Bank building at Atlantic Avenue in Brooklyn a couple weeks ago. And now what do they do? Paper over the glass doorways for a little privacy. For months on end we were free to peer in on the unstirred dust inside the yawning cavity of the huge edifice. Now that there's actually something to look at, our ocular inquiries are not welcome. Oh well.
When I first heard the name Michael Perlman, in connection to the saving and relocation of the Moondance Diner, I thought, "Oh, some crusty old preservationist has come to the rescue. Good." I picture a grizzled old Villager with a beard, wire-rim glasses and sandals, smoking cigarillos. When I heard Perlman's name again, in connection to the relocation of the Cheyenne diner to Red Hook, I thought, "Gee, this guys gets around. And he gets things done!" Soon I found out he was a boychik of 25 from Queens! What gives? I usually don't do interview on this blog, but I had to find out the story behind Gotham's littlest preservationist. I shot him a few questions, and he sent me back following long, but very earnest and sincere answers.
Lost City: Are you a native New Yorker? If not, when did you move here?
Michael Perlman: I am a native New Yorker. I grew up in Forest Hills, NY, and proudly reside there to this day. Several generations of my family have as well, so I intend to further that legacy.
LC: How did you get so interested in diners? What is it about New York's freestanding diners that you find so worth saving?
MP: Historic freestanding diners are becoming an "endangered species" today at an alarming rate, but to our advantage, they were factory-built and pre-assembled, and therefore manufactured to move. Diners are among the "ultimate public institutions" which harbor countless memories and bridge the generations. They brought together individuals of various occupations in a cozy and striking ambiance. Diners are places where memories come alive, and traditionally, patrons from various classes would casually sit side by side, and converse freely on just about any topic. Being that freestanding railway car-inspired diners shaped NYC communities, and initiate bold flavor, their loss is often most heartfelt. They are a preservation priority.
LC: How did you find the buyer for the Moondance?
MP: I formed the Committee To Save The Moondance Diner in Feb 2007. I convinced Extell Development who owned the land, to reconsider their position on demolishing it for a condo. I figured, "Why not pick it up and move it?" I encouraged them to donate it to the RI-based American Diner Museum, in exchange for a tax write-off. ADM sold it to a couple in Wyoming by posting it on their website with my help.
LC: How did you realize the Red Hook move for the Cheyenne?
MP: In the tale end of March, AM-NY informed me that Manhattan's Cheyenne Diner was closing on April 6th, and would likely be jackhammered into oblivion for a condo. That was when I immediately stepped right up, formed the small but determined "Committee To Save The Cheyenne Diner," and submitted a proposal to property owner George Papas. Thankfully, he seemed enthusiastic about meeting with me, and responded to my written proposal the very same day. After devising a figure of $7,900 with Papas, and generating press coverage, prospective buyers numbered 24 within a record-breaking two weeks. Most contacted me via e-mail, and a few by phone. They came from as far as Indiana, Cheyenne WY, Ohio, CT, NJ, & Upstate NY. Most parties of interest came from the five boroughs. [Red Hook developer] Mike O'Connell was the winner, since it was basically a first-come, first-serve basis. They agreed upon $5,000, considering the rigging costs, cost for securing permits, and lot acquisitions, and restoration that excitingly awaits. I am informing the 23 parties that lost out, about the remaining few classic freestanding diners that are in jeopardy (in NYC and one in Paramus, NJ).
LC: You're pretty young for a preservationist. What drives you?
MP: In summer 2005, I was passing by the Trylon Theater at 98-81 Queens Blvd, Forest Hills, and it was heartbreaking to see contractors taking jackhammers to its mosaic tile ticket booth which memorialized the Trylon monument. The entrance pavilion's mosaic and terrazzo floor also depicted the Trylon monument, but has since been cemented over. The Art Deco theater was built during the 1939 World's Fair (which took place nearby in Flushing Meadows), and the Trylon and Perisphere were the signature monuments. This fueled my preservation efforts, and also awakened the dormant preservationist in many community residents, amongst other supporters. Now I Chair Rego-Forest Preservation Council (est. 2006), which advocates for Individual Landmarks and Historic Districts in Rego Park & Forest Hills.
LC: What's your next mission?
MP: My next mission is preserving the historic Ridgewood Theatre (55-27 Myrtle Ave, Queens, NY) shuttered in March, marking the end of its consistent nearly 92-year run as a first-run theater. It is considered by theater historians to be the longest continuously operating neighborhood theater citywide, and potentially throughout the U.S. The theater was purchased last year by real estate agent Tony Montalbano of Montalbano Realty Corp. In March, when the theater was closed without notice, a vinyl banner went up around the marquee, stating "Retail space available in Ridgewood Theatre." Even though the owner is advertising retail for the two ground floor theaters, and considering the reopening of the upper floors' screens for showing films, many locals would favor adaptive & creative reuse of the ground floor, involving the performing arts. Otherwise, portions of the interior may be gutted without respect to its history, and the facade may be altered rather than restored, if worse comes to worse. A typical retail establishment can open almost anywhere, and considering the theater's history, it deserves much better! I am trying to find a historically-sensitive performing arts-related tenant or two for the owner, and if anyone is interested or knows of a potential investor, I encourage them to contact me ASAP.
I am also dedicating much of my time towards surveying Forest Hills & Rego Park for potential Individual Landmarks & Historic Districts, since we have a history dating back to 1906, but the NYC Landmarks Preservation Commission only designated 2 sites in Forest Hills, and has been turning a blind eye.
Restauratuer Danny Meyer, the king of Union Square, not wanted in Union Square.
Robert DeNiro, who loves NYC oh so much (if we are to believe the American Express ads), to defile it with ridiculous-looking skyscraper.
Marion's, neat retro-swank joint on the Bowery, has closed for renovations—we hope.
Nathan's hot dogs are now more expensive. Like everything else in the City.
Bloomberg unwittingly criticizes himself.
Developers Deb Scotto and Billy Stein are against the Carroll Gardens Place Text Amendment, which would redefine (or, rather, properly define) some neighborhood street as "narrow" (which they are), not "wide" (which they're not), and thus curb nasty development. Hm. That more proof the amendment's a good idea, in my opinion.
Small condos will not ruin Minerva's view of Lady Liberty. (NO condos wouldn't impair it at all.)
Hey, Brooklynites! Make $90 grand a year? Feel pretty good about it? In two years, you'll be considered poor.
It's not often a new sign makes the "Good Sign" cut. But a little blonde whipper-snapper sitting on a barrel downing a giant stein of beer? What's not to like?
Belonging to Cafe Belcourt, on Second Avenue in the East Village.
I don't know. Call me irrational, but I don't think the level of person who grows up to become an inspector at the DOH should be allowed to enter a place as hallowed as Veniero's pastry shop, let alone pass judgment on it.
I understand that health and hygiene are serious matters and the public must be protected. But oughtn't certain vaunted and illustrious businesses be handled by a more select crew of hyper-competent and culturally senstive professionals, not just the run-of-the-mill, clipboard Nazis? Perhaps an elite department within the DOH—Special Businesses Unit—could be formed, one which understands the seriousness of its task, and treats its subject will all due respect. They could wear really swanky suits, too.
Just an idea. Anyway, the DOH shut up Veniero's—all 114 years of it—good yesterday. The bakery contends that a fix-up program resulted in a pest problem. Could be. The bakery think it may reopen on Thursday.
Van Voorhees Park is situated at Congress and Hicks streets in Cobble Hill. Being so close to the docks, it features a number of nautical and oceanic touches. A metal fish kids can hop on. Four sprinklers in the shape of large snail shells.
It's all very nice. But one adornment perplexes me: a sort of flagpole, topped with a sculpture of a snail shell, from which a flying bird is emerging. Huh? Is there some allegory I'm missing here? Since when do birds fly out of shells? Why is the sculpture so tiny, and at the same time so prominent, being set eight feet in the air. Robert Moses was famously particular about the decorative details of the many parks he created in New York. What did he intend here?
For some reason, the thing reminds me of the Bernini's famous "Snail Fountain" in the Village Doria Pamphili, one of my favorite fountains in Rome.
Don't fret! Call Ironman!
Home-spun marketing at its Brooklyn best.
Back in February 2007, I posted a shot of this dilapidated Columbia Street Brooklyn building, which I kinda loved in all its decrepitude, and deemed it "Not Yet Renovated in Brooklyn." (see below)
Look at my baby now! Standing up straight, stripped of its coat of moss-green paint and wearing a new baby-blue storefront. I wouldn't have recognized it. I encountered the owner on the street a few weeks back. She's a member of the family that always owned it, and has now rescued it from filth and the deranged squatters that lived there. She was able to retain the first-floor corner, but lost the storefront bay windows. Said she intends to turn it into a cafe, but is looking for investors. Aren't we all, aren't we all.
Here it is my sad duty to report that the latest touted reopening date for Chumley's—May—is not to be. Not unless they draft a few superheroes on to the construction crew between now and the end of the month.
Steve Shlopak, the owner of the famed bar, back in February told Lost City itself that the place would open for business again in this Merry Month. Of course, he's made promises before. Work does continue on the building. There's a new piece of scaffolding in the inner courtyard that wasn't there when I last looked. But this saloon is nowhere close to being ready to accept customers. And I don't see how it will ever open with just a few guys puttering around inside from time to time. A near wreck like 86 Bedford Street needs an army of workers buzzing around it 24 hours a day to have a hope in hell of rising up from the ashes.
April 5, 2008, passed with barely any recognition that the City has been without Chumley's for one whole year. Does anyone care out there? Is there no one with money and a mind who will step up to the task of saving this landmark? I hear there's a guy who lives on the Upper East Side and works in City Hall who's fairly well off and has a lot of influence. I hear he gives aways millions of dollars a year to worthy causes Maybe he's be a good guy for the job.
I sometime feel people don't appreciate the City's unique and timeworn places because they don't take the time to look around and fully take them in. Toward that end, here are a few shots of The Brooklyn Inn in Boerum Hill.
The strangest building in the East Village, in my opinion, is 62 E. 4th Street, a five-story structure built in 1889. It's a mystery what the architect was after (though it's apparent he was proud of his creation given the prominent dating smack dab in the certer of the building). There's all sort of Italianate grandeur in the shapes and lines. But it's all thrown off by the bizarre, frontal, cylindrical metal fire escape, enclosed by a tubular metal grill. Most buildings of the time employed the usual zig-zagging metal staircase, with a ladder leading from the second floor to the ground. The top floor included a boarded-up space of what looks like a door. But to where? There's no balcony. And what was the intention of the column-framed loggia on the fourth floor?
The bottom two floors are used by a dance company and theatre company. The top three floors are not in use, and haven't been for more than 40 years. Can't imagine what the building functioned as when it was first built. Though a helpful reader below says it was called the Astor Ballroom back in the 1940s and was the location of his parents wedding.
UPDATE: Boy, what I thought was just a casual post about an odd building is certainly provoking a lot of interest. This just in from the probing Gothamist. 64 E. 4th has a late '60s past that included gay cinema, Andy Warhol and Jim Carroll. Fascinating, and it just adds to my contention that this is indeed the oddest building in the East Village.
Still very curious about its original purpose.
Sometimes it's not enough to single out and honor the City's great signage. Sometimes you have to go that extra yard to protect that signage by calling its owner on the carpet for abuse.
The owners of Moishe's Bake Shop on Second Avenue have a great sign. Stark yellow cursive lettering on a brown metal background, it stands out a mile. But for some time now the owners of the shop have neglected the sign in a horrendous fashion. Graffiti is allowed to sit at the top of the sign. The "E" in "Bake" is maimed. And the little flourish under "Moishe's" that says "Second Avenue" is hanging by a thread, pointing due south.
How, as a self-respected shopkeeper, do you look up at that sign as you open your doors in the morning and not feel to impulse to make things right? How much energy could it take? I myself could fix the "Second Avenue" problem in five minutes if someone gave me permission and a ladder. Fixing the "E" just required a call to the sign people.
I'm calling you out Moishe, and Moishe's descendents! You are shaming the name of your fine shop. Do the right thing.
Why do the new bosses of New York City want this to a be a classless town, one bereft of civilization and sophistication?
The New York Times has reported that the new owners of the Waldorf=Astoria have pink-slipped Daryl Sherman, the lady pianist and chanteuse who for 14 years has tinkled Cole Porter's ivories in the hotel's lobby. Her final performance will be on Sunday. It was a cost-cutting measure by the Blackstone Group, who know own the venerable institution and apparently think they've picked up a Comfort Inn or something.
Sherman has had the honor all these years to play the piano that once belonged to longtime Waldorf tenant Cole Porter. I stopped not two months ago to listen to her deliver a couple songs, hardly imagining the chance would be my last. Now, I suppose, the wonderful instrument will sit around like a giant coffee table. I mean, how much money could the owner possible be picking up by this cut? Is it worth the considerable eradication of atmosphere, tradition and grace? Fuckers probably have never heard of Sherman or heard her play. Or know who Cole Porter is.
Of all the restaurants I've investigated for my running "Who Goes There?" feature on Eater.com, Pergola des Artistes, in Times Square, has proved to be the biggest discovery, food-wise. This bistro is not coasting on just atmosphere. The food, while not genius stuff, is good, a selection of well-turned-out classics. There was nothing I had to choke down. No perfunctory iceberg lettuce salad, no basket of stale roles, no free appetizers so bad you wish the term "on the house" didn't exist.
This sort of revelation is exactly what I had hoped for when I began this series.
Or maybe it just seems that way.
But look at that sucker, cantilevered out over the park, totally lording it over Cooper Square! It looks absolutely gigantic, ready to pick up tiny Cooper Union and fling it over its shoulder into the East River. The metal monster complete dominates the square. It slices the sky in two. What's more, this picture is deceptive; the crane is far more imposing and enormous in person.
Think the DOB's inspected it lately?
Tuesday, I reported on the unceremonious dismantling of the old Kiev Restaurant sign on Second Avenue—the last architectural remnant of the great old diner of loving memory. Some new renters of the space were busy taking it down.
On Thursday it was completely gone. No trace the sign or restaurant ever existed. Shed a tear, friends. The new eatery is to be called "Song." It was serve "Asian cuisine." (Gee. Every kind? Mongolian?) I snapped a shot of the interior—none too inspiring. I guess they deserve a chance at success like anybody else. Sorry, but the lack of respect they showed the Kiev sign just hit me the wrong way.
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