It's Landmarks Commission Article Season

Not only did the New York Post look at the landmarks problem in New York in a big way this weekend, so did the New York Times, wrestling the hot topic in three big articles by Robin Pogrebin. The first, published Nov. 26, was titled "PRESERVING THE CITY; An Opaque and Lengthy Road to Landmark Status"; the second, published Nov. 28, was "Preservationists See Bulldozers Charging Through a Loophole"; and the third, published Nov. 30, was "Houses of Worship Meet Landmarking Bureaucracy."

It was the second of the series that struck me the hardest. Read:

Hours before the sun came up on a cool October morning in 2006, people living near the Dakota Stables on the Upper West Side were suddenly awakened by the sound of a jackhammer.

Soon word spread that a demolition crew was hacking away at the brick cornices of the stables, an 1894 Romanesque Revival building, on Amsterdam Avenue at 77th Street, that once housed horses and carriages but had long served as a parking garage.

In just four days the New York City Landmarks Preservation Commission was to hold a public hearing on pleas dating back 20 years to designate the low-rise building, with its round-arched windows and serpentine ornamentation, as a historic landmark.

But once the building’s distinctive features had been erased, the battle was lost. The commission went ahead with its hearing, but ultimately decided not to designate the structure because it had been irreparably changed. Today a 16-story luxury condominium designed by Robert A. M. Stern is rising on the site: the Related Companies is asking from $765,000 for a studio to $7 million or more for a five-bedroom unit in the building.

The strategy has become wearyingly familiar to preservationists. A property owner — in this case Sylgar Properties, which was under contract to sell the site to Related — is notified by the landmarks commission that its building or the neighborhood is being considered for landmark status. The owner then rushes to obtain a demolition or stripping permit from the city’s Department of Buildings so that notable qualities can be removed, rendering the structure unworthy of protection.

“In the middle of the night I’m out there at 2 in the morning, and they’re taking the cornices off,” said Gale Brewer, a city councilwoman who represents that part of the Upper West Side. “We’re calling the Buildings Department, we’re calling Landmarks. You get so beaten down by all of this. The developers know they can get away with that.”

And this:

Safeguards crumble because the landmarks commission and the buildings department lack an established system of communication, and commissioners often are unaware that permits have been issued. There is also no set procedure by which the buildings department alerts the commission when someone seeks a permit to strip off architectural detail.

Some City Council members are determined to change that. Tony Avella, who represents northeastern Queens, has introduced a bill that would require the buildings department not only to withhold demolition permits but also to suspend existing ones and issue a stop-work order when the commission schedules a hearing to consider landmark status for a structure.

Another bill, proposed by Rosie Mendez, a city councilwoman representing the Lower East Side and the East Village, would require the commission to notify the buildings department as soon as a property comes under consideration, even if a hearing has not been scheduled. The department would then alert the commission if an owner applied for a work permit. Both bills are wending their way through the council.

A school in Ms. Mendez’s East Village neighborhood galvanized her to introduce the bill. In June 2006 the landmarks commission designated former Public School 64, a French Renaissance Revival building on East Ninth Street near Tompkins Square Park, as a landmark over the objections of its owner, Gregg Singer.

After that designation, Mr. Singer used an alteration permit that had been granted in 2003 and stripped the terra-cotta elements and copper cornices from the building’s exterior. This month a State Supreme Court judge in Manhattan upheld the school’s designation as a landmark despite the architectural changes. But the damage remains.

Robert B. Tierney, the Landmarks Commissioner—who declined a budget increase in 2007 of $750,000 approved by the City Council, and earns an annual city salary of $177,698 for his crimes—must be removed. Now. That much is clear. If ever a man did not understand the nature or importance of his job, it's he.

Two Notable Shoe Repair Shops

Shoe Repair Shops are rebels in a retail City that is fast falling into lockstep conformity.

They are always Mom & Pop operations; conglomerates don't seem to see much future in the trade. And these Moms & Pops don't seem to care what anyone thinks. If the store is ramshackle and disorganized, who cares? If it's dusty and outdated, so what? Will they do more business if they put in some sconces? Will people suddenly have more shoes to repair? These merchants seem to think not.

Shoe Repair shops don't need much room. They will fit in any hole in the wall. Very often, in Manhattan, they snatch up extremely narrow spaces. Or they'll be found in the shabbiest, out-of-the-way corner of a subway station. In the outer boroughs, they can take on even more peculiar personalities.

Take a look at Herman's Shoe Repair in Borough Park. The sign is small, and in English and Hebrew. (It's an observant shop; closed Saturdays.) Inside, the dust is busy settling. There are old shoe-repair-related tools and contraptions that belong in the Smithsonian. At some point, long ago, the folks at O'Sullivan Heels talked the owner into pasting stickers for the product all over the store. (Humphrey O'Sullivan was an Irish immigrant who received the first patent for a rubber heel for shoes in 1899.)




I did not ask more because the owner of the shop was dead asleep in his chair behind the counter.



Shoebiz gets even more idiosyncratic in nearby Ditmas Park. This business on Cortelyou Road is done out what can only be called a shack. A stand-alone shanty, barely there, surrounded by fine residential homes. Not only are shoes fixed in this cubby hole, but watches are repaired and keys made. From a cardboard box outside, you can nab a new pair of footwear for $5. Or a shirt or two. Or make a phone call. They also make custom shoes.

Lost City in the News; Carroll Gardens Must Be Saved

A couple weeks back, New York Post real estate and preservation reporter Julia Vitullo-Martin contacted me. She was embarking an a large article about New York's most endangered landmarks. I sent over about ten suggestions of buildings and areas I thought were under threat by development forces or the Bloomberg administration.

The article came out Nov. 30 and it's quite a thorough piece of work, about as long as a Post feature gets these days, I should imagine. "The pause in New York City's building boom," it begins, "may have one side benefit: It gives everyone a chance to think. As projects skid to a halt and buildings get stopped in mid-construction, developers - and their neighbors - have an opportunity to reassess their plans and consider different options for the future."

She astutely points out, "Other beloved buildings evade the wrecking ball but are allowed to deteriorate so badly that demolition becomes inevitable. The law even has a term for this: Constructive demolition."

There's one large article and then a lengthy sidebar titles "10 Endangered Buildings Worth Saving." She pays special attention to Moynihan Station, the city's beleaguered churches, the Henry Hudson Parkway and Carroll Gardens. This last, I'm proud to say, came at my suggestion.

Carroll Gardens in Brooklyn is an old Irish and Italian neighborhood of row houses and distinctive deep gardens, often laid out in front rather than in back of single-family homes. The neighborhood was designed as a unit by surveyor Richard Butts in 1846, and developed in the late 19th century. Brooks of Sheffield, a journalist who blogs on preservation issues, notes that the surrounding neighborhoods of Brooklyn Heights, Cobble Hill, Boerum Hill, and Park Slope have large historic districts, which has the unintended effect of putting development pressures on Carroll Gardens. The blog calls the neighborhood "a black hole in this sea of protection." Historic districts are tricky to define initially and even trickier for property owners to negotiate later, but it's clearly one strategy here. It's also worth noting that public transportation is limited in Carroll Gardens - just the F line - so that overly intense development would be too automobile-dependent, which is contrary to the Bloomberg administration's new green emphasis.

A Good Sign: Metropolitan Heat and Power

I like the bold, muscular feel of the sign. It marries well with the nature of the business. And the blue, cursive bits at either end act as nice bookends. In Midwood. The outfit has been around for more than 60 years.

More News on the Soon-to-Be Bookish P & G Bar

The NY Observer has acted on the news first reported here that the classic Upper West Side tavern P&G Cafe will move to a new home at 78th and Columbus, a building that was once the lair of post-scandal Florodora girl Evelyn Nesbit.

Owner Steve Chahalis told the Observer—which has been on this story like a cheap suit since the beginning—a few more details. The new location is huge: 4,300 square feet, four times as big as the cozy P&G. It will have a stage for live music and a full kitchen, thus restoring food service to the bar which once used to serve eats along with suds.

"We’re going to do steak and chops—like the sign has said forever," Mr. Chahalis said. "We’re also going to do burgers. I make these awesome teriyaki garlic-saffron-rubbed burgers. We’re going to do chicken wings and legs. I make my own hot sauces. I make a buffalo sauce and a hot teriyaki." I'm getting a little excited.

But I'm also a little worried. Read this:

The new venue will also have a more refined look than the previous stripped-down dive. One corner of the new L-shaped space, for instance, will feature a fireplace, chess tables and shelves of books. “I want to really do it up like a man’s study in deep burgundy and walnut,” Mr. Chahalis said, explaining, “On Columbus Avenue, you can’t just open a shithole.”

Chess? Books? At the P&G?

I don't know.

Plus, Chahalis wouldn't talk on the record about whether he's taking the sign with him—which is in direct contrast to what he told Lost City reader (and blogger himself) Ken Mac. Even Robert Tierney, the lazy-ass jerk of a chairman of the city’s Landmarks Preservation Commission, has stated his "concern about the iconic sign." For me, the P&G can never be the P&G again without that sign. It must be save.

Lovely Dumplings

I wish I knew of the Dumpling House at 118 Eldridge when I first came to New York and was young and poor (as opposed to now, when I'm older and still poor). It would have been a cure-all to a lot of nights when I ate Raman noodles or a slice or charges $7 worth of stupid gourmet goods I couldn't afford at Second Avenue's Indiana Foods. This straight-ahead eatery will give you five fantastic dumplings for a single buck or the splendiferous sesame pancake with beef for $1.50). It's one of the best deals in town, and I stop by anytime I'm in the Lower East Side.

Recently, I discovered that the same owners have a more obscure, less dolled-up (if that's possible) location on Mosco Street in Chinatown. It's perched in the middle of that slanting, noirish one-black lane. And the serving women are even grumpier than on Eldridge Street! But the dumplings are just as good, and still 5 for $1.

Macy's, Macy's, Macy's

Tomorrow is the annual Macy's Thanksgiving Parade, which I used to watch on TV all the time when I was growing up in the Midwest, and which I never watch on TV since I've lived in New York. But I'm glad it's there. It's commercial and garish and a lot of it is in bad taste, but it's a tradition, one that still smacks a bit of small-town America. And it's sponsored by a quintessentially New York store which, however corporate and faceless its become, still has a claim on Gotham cultural history.

Here's an interesting little video featuring Macy's place in the general culture over the past 150 years. Sure, it's a commercial, but it's still kind of cool. So many people say Macy's—including Orson Welles—that the word begins to loose all meaning after a while.

John Roland, Compensated Spokesperson

I'm sorry. Can someone tell me what the deal is with "John Roland, Compensated Spokesperson"?

This slimy shyster ad, plastered over every subway station and subway car, has a hypnotic effect on me. I can't stop staring at it. Local anchor John Roland is shilling for this lousy den of sharks—I get that. But why does he look so miserable, so utterly dejected? Is there a gun to his head? He looks like the man who wakes up after an all night binge to realize he's made a terrible mistake.

And then there's the Orwellian caption, "Compensated Spokesperson." So formal, and so unnecessary, since any celebrity who appears in an ad is obviously being paid. The phrase feels somehow threatening, like the law firm has Roland over a barrel. He's taken the compensation and he's not going to get out of doing the ad, and to make sure the lawyers are going to broadcast to the world that Roland was compensated. That scenario would explain why Roland looks so unhappy.

I took the above shot through some subway bars. It seems appropriate, since Roland has the expression of someone in jail.

50, 63, 100 Years—Whatever, It's Old!

When prosaic businesses like hardware stores, plumbers and auto-body shops reach landmark anniversaries, they generally don't make a fuss about it. These are not overly romantic lines of work. So one can patronize an appliance store or a office supply shop and not necessarily realize that it's been around since 1922, because there's nothing on view to notify a patron of the business' longevity.

Not so with All-County Plumbing of Brooklyn. "Over 50 Years" screams the sign. Yeah, about 13 years over—the smaller sign underneath clearly states "Since 1945." (Actually, according to the company's website, the All-County family has been doing Brooklyn plumbing jobs as far back as the early 1900's, when house calls were made by horse-drawn wagon. They really should get their story straight.)

There's lots to entertain the eye here. The shop is "Gas Company Approved," whatever that means. You'll get a lifetime guarantee on all piping, but only a one-year guarantee on faucets. The drippy faucets motif is a lot of fun, as is the "Emergency Service" sign in the shape of a van.

I know the painted "Pet Food" sign on the nearby brick wall is not part of the All-County (Kings County, I assume) design scheme, but I kinda feel it belongs somehow. No one else is using it, anyway; a pet shop is no longer in that neighboring building.

It's All True

It's gratifying, and terribly saddening, that every suspicion I ever had about Bloomberg's corrupt motives in seeking a third term in office is supported in Wayne Barrett's exhaustive article on the billionaire in the The Village Voice.

You should read the entire article, which casts shame on nearly every institution in the City, but here are some of the more galling parts:

In one of the most sordid performances by a city executive in modern history, Deputy Mayor Kevin Sheekey appeared on NY1 in May to declare that "the person who picks Mayor Bloomberg as their vice-presidential candidate wins the election," partly because Bloomberg would "help finance a campaign" with "between zero and a billion" dollars. This televised and indiscriminate bribe offer generated no takers and, more remarkably, drew not one word of fire from the city media...

The mayor justified the bill by saying that it gave voters an additional choice—namely, himself. But unnamed sources had already told the Times that Bloomberg would spend $80 million on his re-election (at least $20 million of it on attacks on anyone daring to oppose him). The $80 million, roughly what Bloomberg spent in a non-competitive race in 2005, is cheap compared to what Sheekey claimed Bloomberg was willing to pay for a vice-presidential run. If Comptroller Bill Thompson or Congressman Anthony Weiner runs against Bloomberg with the support of Barack Obama, Hillary Clinton, and a respectable slice of the party's New York establishment, the mayor might have to double that number.

Bloomberg's threat of using attack ads, coupled with the possibility that Thompson could settle for a safe re-election and the 44-year-old Weiner might decide to wait, could leave us next November with no real choice...

The Times called it "a terrible idea" when Giuliani tried to prolong his stay, noting that neither the city nor the nation had "ever postponed the transfer of power" in the belief that it "could not get along without the current incumbent." But seven years later, it decided, after the next mayor and Sulzberger had reconnoitered, that term limits "would deny New Yorkers—at a time when the city's economy is under great stress—the right to decide for themselves whether an effective and popular mayor should stay in office." Conveniently, the paper saluted Bloomberg, before the mayor publicly announced his new third-term pursuit (as did the Post and the Daily News)...

Mario Cuomo trudged down to testify for the extension without revealing that the managing partner at his law firm is a director of Bloomberg L.P. and that the company is the law firm's top client. Ed Koch went from hosting his weekly show on Bloomberg Radio to celebrating the prospect of a third Bloomberg administration. Peter Vallone, who insisted when he was speaker that the only way to undo term limits was by referendum, switched sides without mentioning the $1.8 million in fees his family firm collected last year for lobbying City Hall (to say nothing about his son keeping the family seat). Five unions with fresh new contracts, thanks to Mike Bloomberg, rushed to the witness table, some closing their deals right before and some right after their appearance. Time Warner's Richard Parsons did a stint at the hearing and on his own channel (NY1), even while the Bloomberg administration was extending the company's lucrative cable franchise for six months and considering a 10-year renewal...

What kicked the third-term campaign into high gear, [publicist Howard] Rubenstein concedes, was a shrinking of Bloomberg's options. Asked if the mayor started seriously weighing the idea of another term after the presidential and vice-presidential dreams died, Rubenstein says: "I think you're accurate. He really enjoys the action."

A Good Sign: Sun Brite Cleaners

A splash of riotous color, and then the black-lettered prosaic "Cleaners." It works for me. In Midwood on Coney Island Avenue.

It's What Happens When You're Not Looking

You have to act quickly these days, or history will evaporate right before your eyes.

I encountered the above watering hole on Coney Island Avenue near Courtelyou not 18 days ago. I was entranced by the stark retro signage and the hard-bitten clientele. I meant to blog about it.

Then, tonight, I happened to pass by again and did a double take. New sign. Worse sign.

Apparently, the place, open since 1969, has just undergone a shift in ownership. It's a happy story in general. A longtime bartender, Billy Cain, along with his sister Margaret, and friends Kathleen and John recently, bought the bar from the old owner, Billy Windam. And they felt the need to spiff up the space. The inside looks pretty good. Not too slick. Homey. And there's a shot wheel; you spin it and drink what the needle points to.

But the sign's a mistake. I'm sure they think it's a cooler look. It's not. Nothing was cooler than that white-and-red job with the profile of a martini glass.

Pictures to Grind Your Teeth By

Astroland being dismantled. And for what? And to be replaced by what? What a waste.

Living Link to El Morocco Found in Brooklyn!

To we shabby modern New Yorkers, glamorous night spots of days gone by like The Stork Club, The Colony and El Morocco seem more than a world away. They're a complete culture away. But links to that romantic cafe society of yesteryear still exist. And not always where you might think.

Neil Ganic is a talented Brooklyn restaurateur. He owns Le Petit Crevette on Hicks Street near the BQE and La Bouillabaisse in Red Hook, and can do magic with seafood. But on the walls of the tiny Le Petit Crevette, there are some curious photos of a young, mustachioed Ganic posing with celebrities. Here's Liza Minnelli and Robert DeNiro, circa "New York, New York." There's Joe DiMaggio. Where'd all this take place? "El Morocco," replies Ganic, showing by the dry tone in his voice that he was not so very impressed with the place or its clientele.

El Morocco was legendary. It began as a speakeasy on E. 54th Street and, after Prohibition was repealed, quickly graduated to The Place to Be. It was run by John Perona, an unlettered Italian immigrant who made for an unlikely host to the stars. Regulars include bluebloods like the Vanderbilts and celebs like Clark Gable. Humphrey Bogart was banned for life in 1950, reasons unknown. The club was nicknamed "Elmo," long before a certain red furry muppet came along. El Morocco employees were famous in their own right. Jerome Zerbe snapped photos of patrons that were seen around the world. Doorman Angelo Zuccotti wielding the velvet rope (the first in clubdom history) like a knife. But nothing was more famous than the zebra-pattern banquettes, designed by Vernon MacFarlane.

Perona died in 1961, and El Morocco closed in 1969. It was later resurrected a couple time. I have to imagine Ganic, who's still a fairly young man, worked in one of these later incarnations. He was, reportedly, the youngest head chef ever in the club's history.

Here's a short video featuring the old El Morocco.

A Good Sign: Dutch Boy Paints

Midwood Paints no longer exists, as far as I can tell, but this lovely remnant of the old Coney Island Avenue business remains.

St. George Once Subway Sign-Worthy

It's not often that underground subway stations offer directions indicated which exit will land you closer to a famous store or hotel. So the faded words on the Adams Street side of the A/C train's High Street station are testimony to how important Brooklyn Heights' Hotel St. George used to be.

Built in the late 19th century, the Hotel St. George was once, unbelievably, the largest hotel in New York City. (And the tallest building in Brooklyn, for a short time.) It had a ballroom in which the lighting constantly changed, and the largest indoor salt-water pool in the United States—Esther Williams and Johnny Weismuller took advantage of it. It was a favorite with celebrities (novelist Thomas Wolfe, who seems to have spent time everywhere in Brooklyn, and presidents Kennedy, Truman and Roosevelt) and took up a whole city block.

It's now a shell of its former shelf, and no part of it functions as a hotel any longer.

There's also an old sign at that stop pointing to the Red Cross Building. It's not what it was anymore, either.

A Good Sign: Lupu's

This old sign, in Midwood, was apparently revealed over the summer, brought to light once more by a neighboring construction dig. Note the ellipse after "Lupu's." That means Lupu's was the full name of the store, a store that had coats, suits, dresses, sportswear.

Can't We All Just Get Along?

Sure we can! For decades now, Little Italy and Chinatown have been fighting a turf war, with Little Italy losing inch by inch. But look at this storefront in Chinatown. Asia Roma Restaurant and Bar! A little bit of both worlds! The menu feature both Italian and Asian dishes, plus some standards like steak and veal chops, and a somewhat trashy cocktail list (Louisiana Lemon-aid, Pineapple Bomb, a dozen Martinis, not one of them made with gin).

A Good Sign: Four Seasons Cleaners

On Flatbush near Atlantic. Note the arcane job description as "Shirt Launderers."

Welcome to Newkirk Plaza

A couple weeks ago I saw Newkirk Plaza for the first time.

What can I say? What a place. I couldn't have dreamed it up if I tried. I was just biking down Foster Avenue in Ditmas Park and, Bam!, there it was, this utterly peculiar open air retail mall of largely independent businesses, perched above the Newkirk subway station. Instead of facing outward toward a street, the two lines of stores stare at each other over a trying-desperately-not-look-sad-and-shabby pedestrian mall. Because of the presence of the subway below, the whole thing has a tenuous feel to it, as if it were balancing on air.


Newkirk Plaza isn't new. That's apparent from clapping eyes on the shops, which look like they probably did a brisk business in egg creams and hula-hoops once upon a time. It was built in 1913, though some say 1908 (which would mean that this is its 100th birthday). So, in the world of open-air malls, it was a trailblazer. It has a weird ownership set-up. The Transit Authority owns the deck and station and the Department of Transportation owns the bridge. Plus, the buildings on the Plaza are possessed by private owners. This division of property may partly explain why the place looks like such a time capsule; what are the chances that all three parties ever agree on anything, improvement-wise?


Newkirk Plaza was not a nice place up until recently. It's nickname was "Newcrack Plaza." It was frequented by drug dealers, muggers, prostitutes and their friends. Things have improved considerably in the last few years. Many dollars were thrown at the area. Fancy ironwork fences replaced some concrete walls and new light fixtures were installed. And yet, the plaza still looks like a place your grandma might take you for a shopping spree, or somewhere your uncle goes for his monthly haircut. And for that, I love it. I loved it at first sight. Every entryway has a kind of dejected look about it, none more so than the corrugated metal wall that reads "kir Plaza." Your heart goes out to that poor de-lettered sign.


There are some sweet little businesses in this mall. You can tell by their quirky, worn facades that most are family owned. Almac Hardware, there since 1914. Minar Food Market, and Asian and American grocery with a pink elephant ride kids can enjoy outside. Lins Market, a tumbledown oddity that will pierce your ears, change your watch band, fax your documents, take your passport photo and sell you a hat, hosiery, "toy's" or "varieties." Alex's Medical Supplies, which has a great shoe-shaped sign and appears to sell orthopedic shoes. Leon's Fancy Cut, a barber. Lo Duca Pizza, which looks pretty old. (Don't these seem like Ben "Julius Knipl" Katchor names to you? Almac, Minar, Lins, Lo Duca. Actually, Newkirk Plaza itself seems like Katchortown.)

In fact, you can get almost anything you might need on Newkirk Plaza. That is, if your tastes aren't to hoity-toity. And for those who must have the comfort of a familiar chain, there's a Dunkin' Donuts.

Chelsea Flea Market Circa 1965

Chelsea's famous flea market, the Antiques Garage, was recently save from extinction when an evil developer's plan to erect a hot at the location was squashed by the spiraling economy. A reader alerting me to this wonderful video that captures the flea market in its infancy, just a while after the 1964 World's Fair. Note the line about "everyone from in-town bachelors to suburban matrons." Very "Mad Men."

Hey, That Ain't No Deli

I was walking up Avenue A toward Tompkins Square, a span of sidewalk I've trod a million times, when for some reason my eye latched on an enclosed fire escape which climbed up the side of a large building on the east side of the street. "Wait a minute," I thought. "That's doesn't look like an East Village building. It's looks like something out of Times Square." The fire escape, the height, the bulk, the slightly fussy brickwork, the grey stone section that looked like some sort of elaborate entryway. That was a theatre!

Sure enough, a little research revealed that 100 Avenue A was once of film palace. According to DOB records, it was showing movies at least by the 1920s, and seated in its orchestra, mezzanine, and balcony more than 1,300 people. By 1959, it had been converted into its present use as a supermarket. I bet the upstairs storage space in that deli that's there now is pretty fascinating.

This Makes Me Cry

For years, I vowed to get up to the Bronx Zoo to experience the Holiday Lights Show, in which dozens of displays in the shape of countless animals light up the grounds. Last year I finally made it, and it exceeded my expectations. It was truly magical and filled me with boundless holiday spirit. I vowed to make it an annual tradition, bringing my son to the zoo every season.

I guess I won't be doing that.

The very hards news was reported today that the Zoo has decided to discontinue the light show, not to save money, but to lessen its carbon footprint.

In its place, the new Wild Winterland show will be a daylight festival featuring Clydesdale horse wagon rides, a petting zoo, ice carving, stilt walkers, puppets and craft workshops - but no lighted features....

The "green" spin on the Bronx tradition is an effort by the Wildlife Conservation Society, which runs the zoo, to reduce greenhouse gas emissions (such as carbon dioxide, or CO2) from its New York facilities.

Zoo officials said the Holiday Lights Show consumed about 3,500 kilowatts a night, equal to about 2 metric tons of CO2 emissions. That adds up to about 66 metric tons a season - as much as a three-person household produces in an entire year.

They're doing the right thing, of course,...I guess. But I can't convey how dispirited this change makes me. Walking through that zoo at night, with bright animal shapes dazzling my eyes at every turn, and Christmas tunes wafting through the trees caressing my ears, I experienced a sort of pure, dopey happiness, the kind I associate with my childhood Yuletides. I don't think ice sculptures and stilt walkers will quite will be quite as transporting.

A Good Sign: Wo-Hop Restaurant

On Mott Street in Chinatown. Been there since 1938.

Life on Mars Brightens Up

The Mars Bar has been cleaning itself up.

For years, the famously grizzled and grungy dive at the corner of 1st Street and Second Avenue in the East Village had a blood-red facade. Not exactly a sign, per se. That would be too formal, too button-down. Just a bucket of scarlet paint thrown at the area above the door and windows, with the words "Mars Bar" scrawled over it. (See below.)

I don't know when, but some time recently the gin mill decided to repaint. The new red-letters-on-white-background is distinctly more friendly and open than the previous look, and I'm not sure it's an entirely accurate image for the bar. The new sign says "Hey You! How 'Bout a Drink?" whereas the old one sort of screamed "Don't Even Think About It!" But who am I to deny the joint a new sense of sunny optimism? Maybe they're happy about Obama, too.

New F Train Lovers Will Have to Wait

F line habitués longing to ride the shiny new R160s that have been haunting the subway line for the past month or so are going to have to wait a bit longer.

I saw another one of the silver beauties snaking through the Carroll Street station today. I asked an MTA worker when the new cars were going to go into service, and he said, "Not for another four months." He explained that the trains have to be tested again and again, backward and forward, on every straightaway and curve of the entire F track before people are allowed to board them. Whaddaya know? The MTA really does care about our safety.

The Natural Course of Things

Now here's a business destined to asphyxiate under the avalanche of new movie-viewing technology. And, it has. Royal Video on Flatbush Avenue closed a year or so ago, moving to a smaller location further north on Flatbush. But, boy, it appears as if Royal was a king of the video-rental business during the years that trade thrived. Look at the size of that sign! And the boasts! "Over 11,000 movies." The space was touted as a future bank location at one point. Don't know what the future holds for the place now.

Whither P&G Cafe? Maybe Evelyn Nesbit's Home

Lost City is confused.

Just a couple days ago, I reported some news related by a reader that the wonderful old UWS bar that goes by the name of P&G Cafe was closing on Dec. 31 with little hope of reopening, aside from a possible future life at 86th and Amsterdam.

Now Ken Mac, regular commenter and fabulous blogger, tells me that he's been to the bar and the owner says the saloon will reopen at 78th and Columbus. Which, you know, is a little different from 86th and Amsterdam. Plus, the fantastic neon sign with be traveling with them. What goes on here? Both these men heard it from the horse's mouth, and on occasions not more than a week apart, too. Of course, P&G does serve liquor, which may account for some erraticness in these instances of storytelling.

UPDATE: Someone write in to ditto Ken Mac's account, saying P&G will take the Evelyn Lounge spot. I know that location. It's a basement place, as I recall, opposite the Museum of Natural History. The old building has a cool history involving Evelyn Nesbit. After Harry Thaw, Evelyn's jealous husband, shot and killed Stanford White in the "Crime of the Century," the couple retired in this building.

Yay, Red Hook Pool!

The New York City Landmarks Preservation Commission met on Nov. 18 to discuss some old building and if they were special or not. Everyone was focusing on the fate of the I.M. Pei's Silver Towers complex near NYU, which I personally find rather ghastly, even if they are historically significant. Not surprisingly, they made the cut.

But what's got Lost City excited is the unexpected crowning of the Parks Department's Sol Goldman Recreation Center and Pool, better known as the Red Hook Pool. I live near and have long loved this Depression-era pool. On a hot summer day, the scene at the Red Hook Pool epitomizes both innocent urban fun and democracy at their best. It's a great friggin' amenity and it is totally appreciated by its surrounding community. Good to see that the City bigwigs appreciate it, too.

Iconography on Bleecker

Something about this Bleecker Street storefront has always struck me as iconic. It's like a shop from central casting, circa 1940. So perfectly frozen is it in its mundane historical detail that it almost amounts to a living Photo League photograph. Too bad it's part of a brick building sagging so badly that its thisclose to falling down in a heap.

Nice detail: There's an "ATM Inside" sign in the window, and the ATM is outside the store.

Good News/Bad News for Carroll Gardens/Gowanus

You shout something about 473 times, and City Hall eventually gets the hint.

Everyone's favorite blueblood official, City Planning Commission Chair Amanda Burden, appeared in Gowanus last night to make the suprise announcement that "the Department will begin a rezoning study for Carroll Gardens with the aim of producing a draft rezoning proposal for this neighborhood and beginning public review by June of 2009."

Oh, you mean that thing that locals have been screaming for for two years, and have been constantly told was impossible in the near future because of the backlog of other proposals? That thing? Oh. Great. Thanks.

Of course, there's always a catch. The downzoning appears to be tied to the upzoning of 25 blocks of Gowanus that the Toll Brothers have been seeking for their mega-development. So a neighborhood gets saves, but only if we let rich guys get richer.

This Weird Place Used to Be Fun Once

This sad Flatbush Avenue structure with the weird Tudor-Castle-left-out-in-the-rain architecture apparently used to be a kind of nexus of fun some decades ago. (Which is not to say its current function as a Baptist Church is a drag, but...) Records show it was a sprawling eatery called the Midwood Restaurant in the years following World War II. Musta been a theme restaurant or something, judging from the Ye Olde England design. It was owned by Paul Padower and Eli Hahn, two young Air Force veterans. And during the Depression, the second floor contained a dance hall and cabaret space. Hot-diggety! The Church moved in in 2004, as far as I can tell.

Whose What, Now?

The name is not the only thing that makes the Mei Dick Barber Shop of Mott Street great. There's also the fact that one must descend a pretty ominous set of stairs to reach the subterranean salon; that the sign slants up above your head as you do, and that the barber pole is backed by a piece of reflective metal so that, glimpsed at night from a certain angle, it is not one barber pole, but three.

Some Stuff That's Interesting

EV Grieve takes a look-see at the Holland Bar situation. [EV Grieve]

Some more typical anti-New York behavior from Bloomberg's City Hall. [NY Post]

More Coney Island soap opera grist, with developer Joe Sitt maybe going down to defeat, finally, but (of course) making a profit in the process. [NY Post via Curbed]

A handy City Council political corruption guide. [Queens Crap]

People from City Island call the proposed new City Island Bridge a "monstrosity." They're right. [NY Times]

A new location for A&S Pork Shop. [Gowanus Lounge]

The Prison Ship Martyrs Monument in Fort Greene Park is rededicated and relit. [Brownstoner]

A Good Sign: Future Fabrics & Appliances

The future of fabrics is on Coney Island Avenue. So, according to this wonderfully colorful and optimistic sign.

Warning to potential patrons: There are NO appliances within.

Pintchik Hardware Not Easy on Bikes

There's a lot to say in support of Pintchik Harware of Brooklyn. It's old. It's odd. It's a great hardware store. It's weirdly, garishly yellow. And it boast associations with Brooklyn literary figures such as Jonathan Safran Foer and Jonathan Letham. What other hammer-and-nail shop can you say such things about?

One thing it isn't, however, is bike-friendly. One of the most-used bike paths in Brooklyn, the one that runs along Bergen street, passes right by Pintchik. But so many trucks are constantly delivering and unloading so many things to Pintchik every day, that they inevitably clog up hundreds of yards of that bike path. (See a line of said trucks above. The picture was taken on a Friday afternoon.)

I understand that trucks must do what trucks must do, and American runs on trucks and blah, blah, blah. But I have little to no patience with any gas-consuming vehicle who thinks it's OK to idle or stop in a bike lane. To me, it's no better than an able-bodied person parking in a space reserved for the handicapped; you're trading a lesser-advantaged person's safety for your convenience.

If trucks can't find a place to unload the first swing around the block, well, just keep trying. Or double park on Flatbush. The bike lane is not an option. And the owners of Pinkchik should be policing their delivery men with this in mind. Don't believe me? Ask the oracle.

New York at Night

A wonderful Chinese joint on the Bowery. Inside, some delicious roast pork waits for you for a mere pittance.

Sun to Set on P & G Cafe, at Least for Now

Sorry to ruin anyone's weekend with this news, but a considerate reader sent word today that the Upper West Side's P&G Cafe will be closing for good this New Year's Eve.

This is disheartening news. Certainly, we have known for some time that the venerable old bar's landlord's wanted them out. But a recent visit to the tavern showed the owner, Steve Chahalis, as confident he could reopen in another nearby location.

But our helpful reader reports that Steve had failed to save the bar and it will cease to exist after Dec. 31 2008. A party is being planned. There is apparently still a glimmer of hope that the P&G will rise again on 86th and Amsterdam, but apparently there will be some gap in time before that happens, if it happens. For all those who love P&G, I think it's best to attend that party.

A Good Sign: Antonio's Pizzeria Restaurant

On Flatbush. Too bad about the plastic casing. It protect the neon, but dims the sign's
brilliance.

On the South Side of Ellis Island

Pasilalinic-sympathetic Compass has posted a hauntingly beautiful photo essay of the gritty south side of Ellis Island. Definitely worth a look.

First Things First

This Stop 1 deli on Flatbush Avenue has its priorities, and an attractive appearance isn't high up on the list. Comfort, though, is!

In order to make room for an air-conditioning unit, the "D" and "E" in "Deli" have parted company, and, what's more, the "D" is almost pushed of the sign entirely. Gotta keep those Cold Cuts and Cold Beers cold, I guess.

No Bread at Vesuvio Bakery, But Plenty of Footwear

What is going on with Vesuvio Bakery?

The iconic Soho bakery—once owned by renowned civic activist Tony Dapolito, and most recentl operated as a kind of cafe by Andrew Veniopoulos—has been closed for five months. Signs in the window have mentioned necessary renovations and the mending of the coal ovens. OK. But it's taken a very long time. And now the shop's status has taken a decidedly weird turn.

There are shoes in the window.

That's right. Shoes. Fancy schmancy, Boho shoes. A framed sign reads: "Win a pair of hand-painted silk shoes while winning the chance to help in the fight against breast cancer. Peter Fox shoes hand-painted by Tracey Asai." Another sign indicates that 50% of sales will go to the Carol M. Baldwin Cancer Research Fund.

A good cause, I'm sure. Perhaps Veniopoulos decided to give over his store to a charitable venture while he prepares to reopen. But the whole display lends itself to the abiding rumor that Vesuvio will not see the light of day again. Inside, the tables, chairs, counter and coffee machine look ready to go. A recent story reported that the shop will reopen by Christmas. I hope so. It would make a nice present.

Because It's Paperific!

It just is.

In Midwood.

Some Storefronts on Bayard

Burger Klein

Everyone who's ever lived in, or frequented, the East Village, knows the Burger-Klein sign that climbs, block by block, up the side the Gracefully deli on Avenue A. But few know anything about its provenance. The distinctive vertical sign has been there forever, and who can say why it has endured all these years. (Too difficult to remove?) The building was once home to Burger-Klein, a large furniture store owned by Morris Klein and a person named Burger whose first name I can not discover. My guess is they founded their shop well before the Burger King fast food chain came to prominence. Otherwise, they might have paused before naming their business. ("Klein-Burger"?). That's all I know about the matter. Anyone out there ever shop at Burger-Klein?

George's Restaurant

Sometimes neighborhood landmarks hide in plain view.

Nothing about the bulbous, shiny, red sign for George's Restaurant on Coney Island Avenue near Cortelyou told me it was anything special. But the obviously older sign hanging out over the street held hints that George's might have some deep Brooklyn roots. "Steaks. Chops. Sea Food."? That's a red flag that the joint's either pre- or post-World War II.


Sure enough, an orange-jacketed waiter told me the place was more than 50 years old. (It was founded in 1956.) And that it used to be bigger, stretching all the way to the corner (seen below). The owner now leases that extra space out to two other business. The interior has booths and a nicely untouched lunch counter with stools. It was possibly last decorated in the 1970s.

Eating here at 2 AM would, I think, be an experience.

Fairway's Sad Cafe

Time for a nice, cleansing rant. And what more deserving subject than the cafe at the Red Hook Fairway supermarket?

Is there a more colossal, abysmal failure in all the New York food service industry than this lackluster, indifferent, actively frustrating cafe? The fare on offer is unappealing and unappetizing, and the help so disinterested and inefficient, one suspects it is run by a city agency, like the MTA or the DMV. How could it be possible that a corporation as successful, and as talented at image-crafting, as Fairway could allow the cafe inside its showcase Brooklyn outlet come off like a concession at one of the mangier terminals in LaGuardia?

The menu is a predictable array of sandwiches, pizza and the ubiquitous panini—all unexciting in their choice of ingredients. The items are allow to sit around on display and get stale, until someone actually orders food and the crew is given the opportunity to overcook it.

But worse than the cardboard food—much worse, INFINITELY worse, worse than Duane Reade cashiers—are the people who man this cafe. Sullen, unsmiling, slow, unresponsive, incompetent, uncommitted clockwatchers all. They do not know the food that they are serving, and they do not know how to prepare it in a way that would make it edible. They lack basic communication skills and any comprehension of the concept of customer service. For instance, a person standing at the counter eyeing the food with a look of ready anticipation on their face is not, to the Fairway Cafe worker's mind, a potential customer with an order to place. That person is perhaps a loiterer, or someone who is lost.

I have been to this cafe about a dozen or so times. (Why I return, I do not know. Probably because the view of New York harbor from the dining patio is so breathtaking.) I have never once been greeted with a "May I help you?" or any sort of entreaty. I have always had to get someone's attention, and that with difficulty. On average, I have waited 10 to 15 minutes for simple orders like pizza or a hot dog. At least three times a worker has completely forgotten my order and I've had to place it again. (No apology has ever been tendered when this has happened.) I have watched workers take my order of a hot dog and wait a full five minutes before placing a frankfurter on the grill—all the time in between doing nothing in particular.

I have never met a Fairway patron who has a good opinion of this cafe. I'm sure the market is far from realizing the traffic it could on the restaurant due to the cafe's mismanagement. Why does the market allow it to continue in such a fashion? Hard to know. Maybe they don't care. Maybe the cafe is a loss leader, there to draw customers to the cash cow that is the market itself. But do people really come to Fairway to go to the cafe and then think, "Hey, maybe I'll do some shopping while I'm here"?

A Good Sign: Discount Fine Wines and Champagne's

Also a funny sign. "Champagne's"? Champagne's what?

On Avenue A in the East Village.

All About Cary Court

What do you need to know about Cary Court, a little blip of a street off Coney Island Avenue in Midwood, Brooklyn? Well, this:

"Cary Court is a Private Street, not a Public Street. Trespassing is at Your Own Risk."

Well, I trespassed all over that road! All the way from Coney Island Avenue to E. 12th Street and back again. Took one minute. Weird little alley. Don't know who owns it. As far as I can tell, only one house can claim Cary Court as its address. But they're keen on giving people the 411 on the street. There are two big signs proclaiming Cary's private status, and the fact that the City has no claim on it acreage. Judging from the cracked pavement and potholes, that the City does not maintain it is clear as well-water.

It does have a lamppost, though. Is that private, too?

Autumn in Carroll Gardens

This Was Figaro Cafe

Ugh.

The Great Pumpkin Massacre

For those readers out there that have a fondness for the Pumpkins-on-a-Fence display at the corner of Strong Place and Kane Street in Cobble Hill, I have some sobering news. There has been a massacre.

For years now, the owner of the house at the corner has, every Halloween, carved a good hundred small Jack-O-Lanterns and skewered them one-by-one on the pikes of her wrought-iron fence. It's a spectacle many in the neighborhood enjoy, on Halloween and well after.

Only about a third of the pumpkins remain as of Sunday. Some hooligan, or hooligans, has made sport of the poor vegetables, dashing them to the pavement, the sidewalk, the grass. There are Jack-O-Lantern corpses everything. It's not pretty. Is a police detail necessary here?

Nom Wah Tea Parlor Reopens

The timeless Nom Wah Tea Parlor, 88-year-old icon of Doyers Street, Chinatown, is back in business. The dim sum place was shut by the DOH for all of September and most of October. I don't know when they reopened exactly. But as of yesterday, Chinatown locals and young hipsters were inside enjoyed tea and such. Honestly, the interior didn't look much different from when it was closed, though I suppose they must have made some improvements in order to satisfy the DOH.

Nightcaps

My new favorite dive that I desperately want to visit but am currently too afraid to enter is the Nitecaps, along Coney Island Avenue in Midwood. Fortress-like stucco facade. Weird Olde England font on "Nitecaps" and "Food" and "Spirits." Two small windows. It closes at 4 AM—unusual for this nabe—and is reportedly the only thing to do in the area if you're a night owl. It is also a "darts pub," and the Brooklyn Dart League plays here. I assume it's called Nightcaps because nobody who goes there has just one.

Wooden Phone Booth Sighting: Farrell's

It's been a while since I've done one of these. But wooden phone booths aren't found in every Duane Reade.http://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gif

This one's in Farrell's, the wonderful old bar in Windsor Terrace, favorite of Pete Hamill's pop and various hard-drinking blue-collar Brooklynites. It's in the back room, in working order. Folding door, ceiling fan, whole nine yards. If it's my old lady, I'm not here.



Wooden Phone Booth Sighting: Capri Social Club

Tin Pan Alley Situation Improving?

The Tin Pan Alley-for-sale story continues to generate news, more than a month after first being reported here. The latest article, published Nov. 8, is by the AP. The report seems to indicate that progress is afoot. Most interested is the intimation that the proposed sale of the five buildings in question, for $4 million, has fallen through "amid the turmoil of the economy" (even though the listing on LoopNet remains) and that the notoriously slow-moving Landmarks Commission "is researching the history of the buildings and reviewing whether they'd be eligible for landmark designation."

Unfortunately—and this has been the case with many recent articles on the subject—the story is riddled with errors. It states that 51 W. 28th Street was the home of music publisher Jerome H. Remick; it was 45 W. 28th Street. The height of the buildings is also misstated; they are five stories tall. Still, keeping the issue in the news is a good thing.

Not for Sale! New Yorkers Try to Save Historic Tin Pan Alley

A group of New Yorkers is fighting to save Tin Pan Alley by turning the half-dozen Manhattan row houses where the iconic American song was born into landmarks.

The four-story, 19th-century buildings on West 28th Street were home to publishers of some of the catchiest American tunes and lyrics -- from "God Bless America" and "Take Me Out To The Ballgame" to "Give My Regards to Broadway." The music of Irving Berlin, Scott Joplin, Fats Waller, George M. Cohan and other greats was born on Tin Pan Alley.

The houses were put up for sale earlier this fall for a whopping $44 million, with plans for a possible high-rise on the block. The plans fell through amid the turmoil in the economy, but the possibility of losing the historic block hastened efforts to push for landmark status for Tin Pan Alley.

"The fear of these buildings being sold for development crystallized their importance, and the need to preserve them," said Simeon Bankoff, executive director of the Historic Districts Council, a nonprofit preservation organization aiming to secure city landmark status for the buildings.

The Landmarks Commission is "researching the history of the buildings and reviewing whether they'd be eligible for landmark designation," said Lisi de Bourbon, a spokeswoman for New York's Landmarks Preservation Commission.

No date has been set for a decision, which she said depends on "a combination of historical, cultural and architectural significance."

A landmark designation would protect the row houses from being destroyed.

The block is sacred to Tim Schreier, a great-great-grandson of Jerome H. Remick, whose music publishing company occupied one of the houses and employed a young sheet music peddler named George Gershwin.

"I'm not opposed to development in New York, but we have to balance development with history -- and this is definitely American cultural history," said Schreier.

From the late 1880s to the mid-1950s, the careers of songwriters who are still popular today were launched from 45, 47, 49, 51, 53 and 55 West 28th -- walls filled with the stories behind the songs.

While composing his music on this block, Berlin also was "a song plugger," said Bankoff. "He'd give you a couple of bars of a song, and ask, 'What d'you think?"'

Leland Bobbe, a 59-year-old photographer, has been renting his apartment at 51 W. 28th St. -- Remick's old building -- since 1975. He says it's important to salvage the houses in a neighborhood "that has lost its uniqueness. It's just another symbol of what New York was and what it will no longer be."

Nearby, high-rise condominiums have pushed out old brownstones. The four-story Tin Pan Alley buildings house street-level wholesale stores selling clothing, jewelry and fabrics; eight apartment units fill the upper floors. It's a noisy neighborhood, with trucks beeping as they back up amid street hawkers selling bootleg movies and knockoff perfumes.

It was just as noisy a century ago -- in a different way. The windows of various music companies released a cacophony of competing piano sounds that earned this part of West 28th Street the nickname Tin Pan Alley, to describe what one journalist said sounded like pounding on tin pans.

The interiors have been altered, but Bobbe's apartment still has the original wood-plank floor and buckled tin ceiling, and the worn wooden front door is more than a century old. The facades are mostly original, though repainted greenish and not a pretty sight, with crumbling cornices and window frames badly in need of repair.

Bobbe pays about $1,000 a month for his 1,000-square-foot apartment -- a bargain compared to Manhattan's stratospheric rents. Since the buildings were legally considered commercial loft space for many decades, residents have had to pay for most upkeep and the owner couldn't charge market-rate rents.

For now, as landmark status is being considered, the wrecking ball won't touch this real estate that Schreier, the publisher's great-great-grandson, says "is part of my blood."

I think it's time for the people involved start thinking in bigger terms. Saving the endangered buildings is the first priority, but the structures on the south side of W. 28th are just as historic. They include the former homes of important music publishers Leo Fiest (No. 36), Charles B. Ward and Harry von Tilzer (No. 42). Those addresses should be included in any proposed historic district. Really, the entire block should be frozen.

The Historic Districts Council is still taking signatures for its petition, by the way. Please visit and sign up.

UPDATE: Author and Tin Pan Alley expert David Freeland checked in with Bob Petrucci, who represents the tenants in these buildings, and Petrucci said the owners of buildings is still trying to sell them. So what's with that incompetent AP reporter?

Fall in Prospect Park

A Good Sign: Park Slope Optical

On Flatbush in the Slope.

A Touch of Paint

The every mysterious restaurant at Third Street and Hoyt in Carroll Gardens—former haunt of hard-playing mobsters and eternal home of a defunct neon sign of unspeakable glory—has received a new coat of paint. Looks nice. Now if they'd just take the frosting of the windows so I could peek inside. And conduct occasional tours of the interior.

And It's Still There

So what's going on with the Cheyenne Diner?

Six months after the flurry of news that the midtown Manhattan diner would be closing for good, and then the second news cycle about how it was being saved by Mike O'Connell, son of Red Hook developer of note, Greg O'Connell, and would be moved out to Red Hook, the big silver thing still sits there like doorstop. And winter's setting in.

The defunct diner still looks as it did. Not much has changed inside or out, aside from a couple parasitic attachments by neighboring eateries, including one from the Skylight Diner, the landlord that kicked the Cheyenne owners out in the first place, and one from Ming's, a neighborhood Chinese place that seems to think Cheyenne's glass-brick wall is a perfect place for their take-out menus. I would hereby like to encourage people not to visit Skylight or Ming's. Do unto others, boys, do unto others.

Because There's No Such Thing as a Cellular Prayer

Here's an amusing and unusually satisfying piece of public art: a Prayer Booth.

I encountered this one in a vest-pocket park at Third Avenue and 59th Street. (I assume there are more scattered around the City. According to his website, there are booths in cities across the country.) The artist, Dylan Mortimer, may be sincere in his wish to encourage public prayer, and a free discussion of the same. But if he were completely free of irony, he wouldn't have had the work so closely resemble a phone booth. ("Operator. Information. Get me Jesus on the Line."....anyone remember Manhattan Transfer?)

Two Things You Should Know About the Trio French Bakery

The not have BLT sandwiches. And they have meatball sandwiches on Mondays and Thursdays. The old-school Ninth Avenue bakery's really picking up on the latest culinary trends.

Some Stuff That's Political

RIP George W. Bush. [NY Shitty]

The Pioneer Theatre in the East Village is closing. [EV Grieve]

Ward's Bakery is no more. Thanks, Ratner. Thanks for the nothing that will surely take its place for years to come. [Queens Crap]

State Senator Serphin R. Maltese of Queens goes down. [City Room] Also, Bloomberg had a bad night, endorsement-wise. Is the bloom off the rose? [Daily News]

Brightening Light at the End of the Holland Tunnel

Even after learning that the Holland Bar might just be closed for renovations, the idea that the grand old dive might have closed for good rattled me so that I had to go and take a look at the place.

The Ninth Avenue saloon was gutted, as advertised. The bright orange awning remained, as did the elaborate interior neon sign reading "Holland." Three men were busy ripping up the floor. They didn't seem too inclined to talk to me. But one did say "Hope so" when I asked if the bar would be returning. I got a more solid reply next door at a deli, where the owner said the bar would be returning "in January." I'm beginning to feel sanguine about the Holland's fate.

People Like to Read

Who says newspapers are dying? Roll out a hyper-historic election and they flies off the stands.

By noon, every copy of the Times, Post and News with the Obama victory headline was gone, gone, gone. People know a collector's item when they see it.

Dive Bar Options for Holland Bar Refugees

Whether the Holland Bar of Hell's Kitchen is gone for good or due back next spring after renovation, its closure leaves some thirsty barflies without a dive to call their own. With than in mind, here a few stalwarts saloons that are holding firm against the onslaught of Nouveau York.

1. For Holland tipplers, this is a short walk. The Distinguished Wakamba Cocktail Lounge on located on Eighth Avenue near 37th Street. Genuinely suspect joint. Distinguished it ain't. But colorful.

2. McAnn's. Also very convenient to Holland patrons will live locally. I still marvel that this pit perseveres in a city showcase like Port Authority. Most dive bars make me smile. This one actually depresses me. I suspect some Holland regulars are here already.

3. For Queens residents, the Station Cafe shivers under Woodside's LIRR and 7 line tracks. Hardcore patrons. Nothing fancy. You are welcome to start quaffing at 9 AM.

4. Also within stumbling distance of Holland is Rudy's Bar & Grill. Free hot dogs, cheap beers and a little theatre district glamour are among the attractions. The giant pig is not your imagination; it's real.

5. Montero's in Brooklyn, on Atlantic Avenue, used to service passing sailors and seaman. Now its patrons include a fair share of hipsters. It's still has the soul of a dive, though. The old lady in the corner of the bar owns the joint.

6. The Holiday Cocktail Lounge on St. Mark's has a great jukebox, great location and lousy liquor. The atmosphere, and the ridiculously upbeat name, makes up for the latter.

7. The Mars Bar, on Second Avenue. This scarred place is one of the few East Village drinking establishments left that one would cause one to pause before entering.

8. The Subway Inn may be NYC's most glamorous dive, attracting the occasional celebrity, and located around the corner from Bloomie's. But you can't ignore the sagging ceiling, duct-taped-booths and nasty bathroom. It's a dive. Just ask for a Martini and you'll find out.

If you have your own helpful suggestions for the Hollanders, please write in.

Horrors?: Holland Bar Gutted, But May Return

In a possible sure sign of the dying soul of New York City, Holland Bar—dive of dives, hell hole of Times Square past, hard-drinking haven, irony-free zone—has been gutted. If it is gone for good (and this is not a certainty—see below), it follows its brother in gritty Ninth Avenue degeneratacy, Bellevue Bar, into history. If Ray Milland in "The Lost Weekend" were alive today, where would he drink!?

The beloved dump used to be inside the Holland Welfare Hotel in 42nd—hence the name. It only moved to its present location in 1987. Legend has it that jazz great DexterGordon was a regular. The liquor was rotgut, but the beers were good. And everything was cheap.

But there's a possible silver lining. I called around and learned this from the owner of the nearby Manganaro's HeroBoy: "There's a possibility that it may reopen in the spring. The landlord is making some renovations, but if you look in you'll notice that while some stuff has been ripped out, other things have been left. I think the owner and the landlord are trying to come to an agreement."

So there's hope.

The phone has been disconnected. A job action filed with the DOB on Oct. 30 by one Harry H. Hong describes the work this way: "INSTALL EXHAUST HOOD FOR AN EXISTING DELI STORE ["Deli Store"?] ON 1ST FLOOR. INSTALL METAL CHIMNEY FROM 1ST FLOOR ROOF TO 5TH FLOOR ROOF. NO CHANGE IN USE, EGRESS AND OCCUPANCY." I called Hong's office and they didn't know what was going on with the space.

Hong filed another job on Oct. 24 to "REMOVE EXISTING WOOD BEAMS AND REPLACE WITH NEW STEEL BEAMS AND METAL DECK CONCRETE FOR 1ST FLOOR RIGHT FRONT STORE. INSTALL FIRE RATED SHEETROCK ON CELLAR AND 1ST FLOOR CEILING."

The owner of the building is listed as one Eleben Yau Mei Wong, who seems to have bought the property in 2007. Norman Daskefsky used to own the bar. Maybe still does.

Gotham Conundrum #17

Encountering the long lines at my polling place today, I was reminded of one of the more enduring mysteries of city living. That is: why do ticketholders line up at Broadway shows for which they have assigned seats?

I went to "American Buffalo" last night and once again encountered this nonsensical behavior. You can't get Americans to line up properly for a bus or at a deli counter, but they'll go positively British outside a Broadway theatre. For 20 years, tourists (and I imagine they're mainly tourists—that and theatregoing newbies) have queued up for "Phantom of the Opera," often waiting for a half hour before curtain. They do the same for "Hairspray," "Spring Awakening" and other shows. The behavior is less common at plays, though I recently experienced it at "Equus." (Daniel Radcliffe fans, anyone?)

Surely they see the row and seat numbers on their tickets. There's no general admission on Broadway. Instead of boring themselves cross-eyed, they could be out strolling, having dinner, downing a pre-show drink, taking photographs. I guess it must be chalked up to inexperience, but that's a lot of clueless customers.

Maybe the MTA should start assigning seats with each Metrocard. Finally, people will stop bunching up outside the opening subway doors.

New Coat of Weirdness

For some time now, a chain link fence on Hicks Street near Union has been the home of one of the stranger homemade "Curb Your Dog" signs in Brooklyn. Painted in splotchy, bulbous white letters was the message "Please Curb Your Pet or Pets." It's the "or Pets" that made the sign peculiar. Did the signmaker think people walking more than one dog would consider themselves exempt from the sign's charge, simply because they didn't have a "pet," but had "pets"?

I have to think the person who put the sign up (surely the owner of the backyard the fence protects) has been queried about the odd sign over the years, but chose not to go to the bother of altering the message.

But now there's a new sign up, and the wording is exactly the same. Given the chance to create a neater, clearer sign, the painter has kept the unnecessary "or Pets" AND written it in white, splotchy letters again. In fact, the sign is even more illiterate. There's an unneeded dash between "Curb" and "Your," and "Pets" is now spelled "Petes." Certainly the author must know that the plural of "pet" is not "petes."

So, to review: "Please Curb—Your Pet or Petes." Scan that.

Bloomberg Finally Listens to the People, Albeit Involuntarily

As the nation prepares to possibly enter a bright new day, politically, The Times ran a beautiful story Nov. 2 about how New York City is diving headfirst into political devolution. Mayor Bloomberg yesterday signed into law the bit of legal scullduggery affording him a shot at a third term. The flagrant flouting of the public will was pushed through by he and City Council last month. Throughout, Bloomberg listened to nothing and no one, remaining steadfast in his borderline criminal lust for power.

But on Nov. 2, owing to quaint little City Hall custom, he had to listen to every Tom, Dick and Harry curse him up and down as he waited to sign the bill. Anyone, it seems, can appear at a bill signing and say whatever they please about the matter at hand.

It was a singular moment in the Bloomberg era of government. For much of his tenure, the mayor has been showered with accolades and surrounded by friendly crowds that have treated him like a head of state.

But during the bill signing, a man unaccustomed to direct, public criticism endured a heavy — and very harsh — dose of it from those he governs.

Dozens of speakers accused the mayor of arrogantly disregarding the will of New York voters, who overwhelmingly endorsed the current eight-year term limits in two referendums in the 1990s.

What a satisfying bit of political theatre. Bloomberg met a bunch of people who didn't like him!; I wonder if he was surprised they actually existed. Of course, he signed the bill in the end, but the man was humiliated, and his day was ruined. Get used to it Bloomie. You praise days are over.

Voting Time in Brooklyn

The voting machines are hauled into the gymnasium at PS 29 in Brooklyn. May tomorrow be a happy election day for America. We surely need one.

Street Piano

Gowanus Lounge may have its running account of street sofas, but do they have a street piano?

This upright was plunked down on Strong Place near Kane in Cobble Hill last week. It used to have a full keyboard, but the trick-or-treaters had their way with it and now only a few ivories remain in place. The rest have been converted into a rather interesting piece of "found" sculpture.

A Visit to York Barber Shop

I have passed by the old York Barber Shop on upper Lexington for years now, but never stopped in, because, well, one just doesn't walk into a barber shop to look around unless you plan to get a haircut. And I never wanted a haircut because I've been faithful to the same haircutter for 13 years now. (The relationship between a New Yorker and the individual who cuts their hair can be a very personal thing, and one doesn't like to "cheat," as it were.)

But the other night I was feeling a bit down and the narrow window of the York looked so inviting with its barber pole, gilt lettering and antique tonsorial bric-a-brac, that I walked right in and sat in one of the barber chairs. Getting my hair cut has always lifted my spirits, and I had a suspicion the York experience would be special. A woman beckoned me in. I thought she was a hostess—old barber shops like York tend to stock male personnel—but she turned out to be a hairdresser. She had a Spanish accent and hailed from Queens and kept up a garrulous line of patter throughout the ensuing 20 minutes.

The York is a fascinating place. The barber chairs are original; one can tell by how worn the metal foot rests are. (They were made by Theo. A. Kochs of Chicago.) There are pictures of famous heads that have been trimmed at York on the wall, as well as an assortment of curios. There is a white-and-black checked floor, and hidden cupboards set into the wall. The combination of many mirrors and many lighting fixtures brighten up the space until it fairly twinkles. The business of barbering has been going on so long that every thing has its place. When my barber took off my eyeglasses, there was a custom compartment near the mirror where they were set to rest while my hair was being cut.

York has had only three owners in its 80 years, the most recent since 1983. Most of the customers are regulars and are from the immediately neighborhood.

I expected a simple, and probably rather pedestrian haircut. I got much more. First of all, my barber did a fine job sculpted my hair, without making a big fuss about it. I marveled at the straight razors on the counter, and she told me she gave many a shave every day. Men were sometimes reticent to have a woman go at their beard with a razor, but she had become adept at the task. To prove it, she shaved the back of my neck with a more delicate touch than I have ever laid to my own skin.

She was not done, either. She laid a hot towel over my face—just like they do in the old movies—and left it there for a minutes. She gave my scalp a short massage. She even trimmed my eyebrows. By the time I was done, I felt thoroughly refreshed and in a much better mood. All this for $22—not the cheapest cut in town, but much less than my usual guy.

Halloween's Front Line

There is a house at the corner of Kane Street and Strong Place that every Halloween becomes a local landmark. The stately home is surrounded by a black, wrought-iron fence. In late October, every spike on that fence it topped with a small carved Jack-O'-Lantern. That means an unbroken line of literally dozens of pumpkins, staring out balefully at the residents of Cobble Hill. It's a unique sight.

This Halloween, I asked the owner, who was passing out candy to the kids, about the pumpkin brigade. She said they carve them all in one straight session lasting about 14 hours. Depending on how many people are making the Jack-O'-Lanterns, I'd call that a pretty fast clip.

The only drawback with this display is the house tends to leave the pumpkins there well past Halloween, until they're shrunken, rotting shells of their former selves. What was once a delight becomes an eyesore. So, it someone at Kane and Strong is reading this: let's say Nov. 10, no later, OK?