Bip is gone

Friends on 5th

So 5th Avenue has one of the most inhospitable bike shops in NYC (see my last post), but a few blocks south is a deli fit for Kings county residents. The 5th Avenue Market (at the corner of Sackett) was our neighborhood’s collective dream come true when it opened a couple of years ago. It was the first real deli within a six block radius of me that kept its doors open 24/7. No longer would I have to cross the 4th Avenue speedway at 2 AM to buy a Diet Coke at a gas station with an attendant behind a bulletproof window. And the 5th Avenue Market beats out any deli or bodega in the lower Slope for its wide selection of gourmet treats, imported cheeses, imported beers and anything else you can imagine needing, morning, noon or as you stumble home from the bars. But what makes this place so special are the kind and charming guys behind the counter. After going here a few times I started calling them my friends. Now, half the Slope is calling them their friends. (But they were my friends first.)

The Slanter Agrees: Bad Service at R&A Cycles

Every once in a while Time Out gets it right. This week they have an article on best and worst service in NYC. They award R&A Cycles on 5th Avenue (btw Sterling and Park) with their “ConEd Award For Bad Service.” Bad service? Try aloof, hateful and inept service. As soon as I walk into this place I’m dodging the mysteriously high number of employees who stomp through the narrow aisles ignoring me while trying to service...who? I have no idea because I’m usually the only one in there. And all I want to do is buy a tube. So can you find a good deal here? Absolutely not. Everything they sell can be found cheaper in (yes it’s true) Manhattan. And even cheaper on the Internet. Unfortunately it’s conveniently close to me. So when I’m desperate for a bike tube, I muster my liberal-sodden machismo, walk into this shop and stand in the way of someone. “Help you?" the one says. “Tube,” I say. “Yo! Get ‘em a tube!” he yells to all thirty men working there. Of course not one seems to hear. “Damn. A’right. I get you one,” he says (with his eyelids showing the heavy burden of me.) And I think, not loudly enough, "I'm so sorry for buying something, again...here." So how does this place stay open? Well, if I ever start smoking crystal I’m sure I’ll find out.

Don't Go Joe!

A 5th Avenue institution is closing, indefinitely the new signs say. But considering Joe of Joe’s Shoe Repair had signs up months ago saying he was closing temporarily, one can only wonder if the charismatic cobbler will ever reopen. So who will fix our shoes? No one in this neighborhood, unless one of those new sushi places, or one of those new wine bars, or Gorilla coffee starts a little shoe repair station at a back table. But Joe is irreplaceable—a master cobble who came here from Italy decades ago to save our worn out soles. Blogger Miriam Molnar interviewed Joe last November.

NY POST: Ratner is a Good Guy

Every Brooklynite but one took a double-take when they read this NY Post headline: “SCORE ONE FOR GOOD GUYS: B'KLYN ARENA FINALLY RISING AMID THE RUIN.” The one who didn’t was the one who wrote it; Cobble Hill resident Andrea Peyser, infamous for her cut-throat-cum-tacky column. (She once called Christiane Amanpour a “war slut”.) In this column she describes a stroll she took with her buddy Ratner around the Atlantic Yards site and celebrates his persistence and vision for the “horrendously blighted” area. “Ratner gets turned on by building things,” she writes (turned on). While strolling, the arena-and-parks slut found a pile of hypodermic syringes, seven of them. If she only knew how many people right now in Brooklyn are wishing she had stepped on one. NY Magazine has an interesting feature on her. They make it sound as if her face is more redeveloped than the Atlantic Yards ever will be.
(Photo by Michael O'Neill)

DOT's Deadly Joke

A Class III bike lane is one that shares the right-of-way with cars, but is not indicated by a continuous stripe—only street signs. In other words, if you find yourself and your bike rolling underneath a bus you were probably riding on a Class III bike lane. But I’m confused by these new road markings on 5th Ave between Union and Flatbush. They’re painted almost dead center in each of the two lanes. Is this the new Class IIII bike lane? I heard those jokesters at the Department of Transportation were planning on this. It’s the lane where cars are allowed to give bicyclists a little bump in the rear to get them out of the way. Unfortunately, there's nothing funny about DOT's disgraceful disinterest in the safety of NYC bicyclists. Less than two years ago Elizabeth Padilla was killed by a truck as she was riding on this section of 5th Avenue.

The Times Made Me Do It

I’ve probably bought five lottery tickets in my entire life. I find the experience of actually buying the ticket terribly humiliating. I’m not sure why precisely but perhaps it’s because I’m publicly revealing my lower tax bracket. (How many people with a six figure income buy lottery tickets?) Or maybe having a ticket suddenly makes me feel part of a massive people machine, like I've lost my identity and I'm now a member of some government sanctioned cult. Or maybe subconsciously I think buying lottery tickets is immoral; throwing away money that could be donated to a favorite charity. But today’s New York Times article somehow freed me of my guilt and shame. (Yes, if the Times jumped off a bridge I probably would too.) So, the Mega Millions jackpot just climbed two dollars higher. But, I swear, when I bought my ticket at my regular deli, the clerk looked at me and thought “Oh, I thought he had money.” No, I don’t. But don’t worry, if I win I’ll keep writing my blog.

I Can't Find It! Buy It!

Okay, the Clinton Hill Blog is so totally not Park Slope, but I dig the raspy voice of the chick or chicky-like guy who writes it. Where the hell is Clinton Hill anyway? Because all of us—you know, Michelle, Maggie, Peter, Heath and I—we looked, but couldn’t find it. And now my celebends are saying shit like: “Clinton Hills gots like privacies.” And Maggie was like all sweet, you know, like in the Post. She was like: “The paparazzi are campers. They know how to camp. We’re talking Coleman portable stoves! I’m scared. I’m really scared.” And I’m like: “Maggie, the paparazzi will find you if you’re in the Village, in the Slope, but, you know, maybe not in Queens.” And then she got all Grey’s Anatomy dead on me and was like: “I believe this, and I believe that, and I believe in blogs, and I believe the F-word is worse than the N-word, and I believe no baby mine gonna live in queeny-ville.” And then Peter was like: “Yo, speak it, my sweet garden of life bitch.” And I was like: “Shit, Peter, stop. Listen, you do gay good; gay white shit is yours. Do that dirty, sexy maybe-gay white thing. But you can do black like an eraser can draw.” And he was like: “Oh, excuse me, sorry. I'm working out a new role. But let me talk to you like a white dude to a, um…well, a guy I ended up moving near. I’m rather distraught. 7th avenue is… Well, this is hard. I’ve grown to love this place. I’ll try to get it out…7th ave is going to be…converted. They’re saying a one-way street man! And I’m saying no way, man! This is truly devastating—for my kid's future, man!” And I was like: “Damn, HolyHood knee-bender suck-too-many suck (beat) suck (beat) ers. Key Foods gots shriveled like dried like shit-mother-fucker bell peppoors. Fuck Seventh. Who the damn hell cares?”
(Photo by Newell the Jewell on flickr)

I Shouldn't Have Parked My Car There

Ah, what use is nostalgia? I knew its days were numbered, but I so still miss the non-functioning auto shop that functioned only as a pedestal for the cool replica of a mid-century hot rod. It was one of the last few symbols of a Fifth Avenue that was slightly off the beaten path. But what a hypocrite am I as a card-carrying member of the Commerce Bank that stands where the garage once did. What can I say? I couldn’t resist their proximity and extended hours (and dog treats.) But Commerce Bank isn’t the shiny, friendly, new neighbor you may think. An allegedly corrupt New Jersey political party boss is the VP. He lobbied to have a thriving market place in South Jersey torn down so he could build his very own minor league hockey stadium. (Sound like someone familiar?) Unfortunately, I know all this first hand. My mother’s ballroom dance space happens to be one of the buildings in the way of his wrecking ball.
(Picture by VINCENT MARTINAT)

Antony and The Johnsons at BAM: Don't Miss!

Antony is comin’ to town. On Friday, March 9th, the Brooklyn Philharmonic is presenting Antony and the Johnsons at BAM’s Howard Gilman Opera House. Angelic voice, bewitching presence, lyrics that conjure saints to rise (the east village ones at least): so how many tropes can be used to describe this guy? Not enough. This will definitely be a sell-out. Secretly Canadian (the best indie label in the world) is gearing up to release his new album.
(Photo by justguessing.)

Cat Walk Down Aisle 6

This cat, who resides at the Associated Supermarket on 5th Avenue, crept over to me last night to help me choose the freshest cut of pork. But the feline foody got shy when I snapped this picture. I’m all for having cats in food stores and restaurants. Where there are cats there are no rats…or mice. Perhaps if Taco Bell and KFC (and now Pizza Hut) had implemented this predatory strategy they would have avoided their ongoing fecal fiasco. Just keep the litter box away from the butcher’s block.

Last Night: Impressions and Traces

Friday 6 PM: we entered the hypnotic ambience of Project Issue Room (pictured) for their exhibition opening of Sensorium. The unique circular space feels like you’re inside a chicly redesigned missile silo. The electronic exhibition of various artists was at best eye-candy with wires—but nothing you’d want to take home and plug in. Artist Laure Drogoul performed her Portable Scentorium. One at a time, an audience member volunteered to be blindfolded and sit with her. As she passed various fragrant chemicals and herbal mixtures below their nose she asked the subject questions about their olfactory experience. Unfortunately the questions were too vague to elicit any interesting comments. It's an excellent conceit, but the performance needs more development to become a compelling live event. We left feeling strangely meditated and unusually hungry, so we hit Long Tan on 5th to inhale some Thai fragrance. Their pad Thai is always a pleasure and their ginger kamikaze is my drug of choice. And they’re happy to continue to enable my addiction. David the tall blondy bartending is pretty to begin with, but after four kamikazes you’ll be slipping him your number as you slip off your stool.

First on Ratner's Hit List

Ratner will begin the demolition of twelve buildings next week (listed above) to make way for his Atlantic Yards project. He must be excited. I can see him now stirring a boiling cauldron of concrete and screaming with devilish eyes: "It’s ready! It’s ready!" And then perhaps he fumbles a witch’s line from Macbeth: “Be bold, bloody, and resolute; laugh to scorn the power of…me; for none of woman…woman? That’s right woman born shall harm MacRatner!” The Post implies a wrecking ball will bring down the structures. But will dynamite be used? If so we’ll definitely being hearing the roar of Ratner next week. The Slanter’s heading out to take some pictures of these historic buildings before they’re flattened.

A Theater To Call Our Own

The Gallery Players (14st btw 4th and 5th) is one of only, well, three theater spaces in our neighborhood (not including the off-Broadway behemoth BAM.) They currently have up a revival of the musical Violet set during the Civil Rights Movement. Martin Denton gives it a decent notice at nytheatre.com. The Gallery Players is a surprisingly large and comfortable venue. Their quality productions stand shoulder to shoulder with those at BAM, but with ticket prices at about a third the price.
(Photo by Jennifer Maufrais)

Wall of Wonders

There’s nothing like a good wall to stare at--this one in particular on Douglas near 5th. I’ve loved this wall ever since I moved here. It surprises me that after ten years the lavender painted blocks haven’t faded to gray. Nor has the wall been “revitalized” with a coat of paint that better represents the upscale brownstone life. There’s a mysterious beauty in the incongruity of this wall with the rest of neighborhood. When I pass it I always have a brief pleasant feeling that I’m standing on the outskirts of a desolate Caribbean town. Can you buy a wall of a building like you buy a condo in a building? I can’t afford a condo but maybe a wall. If this were my wall I’d put a chair and table in front it, sit down with a bottle of rum, listen to mambo music, and freeze my ass off until summer.

The Slanter Minds Your Beeswax

Overheard today on 5th Ave near Sterling:
“It’s basically like a paint we’ve been waiting for…and then David and I will be comfortable eating.”

Run into "THE UNDERMINER"

My fellow 5th Avenue friend and writer, Mike Albo, is writing a column for gawaker.com in the voice of his character The Underminer: The Best Friend Who Casually Destroys Your Life. I’ve known Mike for a really long time, and he’s getting really famous, and like we are sort of friends. I mean sometimes I hear from somebody else that he got my text message. I shouldn’t have said he lives near me. The quickest way to lose your famous friends is to tell people where they live. Okay, so he doesn’t really live near me, I mean it could be blocks or like miles away. So, anyway, I’m going over to Gorilla coffee right now. Sometimes I run into him there. It’s so cool when he looks up and waves.

Peruvian Highs on Fifth Avenue

El Pollo, the new Peruvian restaurant on 5th Ave between 1st and 2nd streets, opened its doors a few days ago. And it’s a gem. I ordered our meal for pick-up rather than delivery so I could enjoy an evening walk harbingering spring and also check out the restaurant’s ambience. Anytime I enter a new restaurant or bar I get a pang of anxiety as I open the door. But anxiety is not possible in this warm, pacifying space. The simple, candle-lit décor and peaceful eyes of owner Marzia Huaman (pictured) allowed my mind nothing but a quieted presence and an appetite. Marzia is only one of the owners, the rest are her family. She’s a humble charmer, who delights in telling anything you’d like to know about the Peruvian cuisine and culture. So, how was the food? Increíble! My entrée was the roasted chicken. The blissful taste of the seasoning, unlike too many roasted chickens in the Slope, went beyond the chicken skin--it was infused in every forkful of the meat. I started with the Papa ala Huancaina, perfectly boiled potatoes covered in a light cheese sauce. It was an enjoyable appetizer but a dollar or two too expensive. My companion started with the avocado salad—an even better start than mine. And considering the quality and freshness of the avocados, it’s a good deal. For his main course he had the Lomo Saltado. It engaged every one of my taste buds (when I was allowed a taste) with its skillful combination of stir-fried cuts of spiced sirloin, tomatoes, onions and peppers smothering a plate-full of crispy fries. I think it’s the nec plus ultra of the menu. I haven’t tried everything. But I will. Welcome, El Pollo. The Slanter is making a very good bet on you.

Bricks Are For Kids

In the Tossed and Found section of TONY they tell about a brick found around the corner from me on Douglas and 4th by designers Wary Meyer. They absconded with the brick to their frankendesign studio. Now that poor brick looks like a lump of pink carbohydrates. It’s not even a brick anymore. Now it’s a candle holder…for a romantic dinner they claim. Oh yea, nothing like a hot pink candy brick to make the heart patter. Anyway, we’d like our brick back, Wary Meyer. It was the friendly neighborhood brick. Every morning we’d see that brick out playing, dodging cars, chasing the rats… We miss him. We miss our dead gay brick.

The Slanter’s Good Bet for Friday Night

Issue Project Room (400 Carroll Str.) wants you to come smell the work of Baltimore based artist Laure Drogoul this Friday at 8 PM. She’ll be performing her “Portable Scentorium.” The last time I smelled a performance was when Penny Arcade vomited on the stage of PS122. As compelling as that was I don’t think Drogoul will be nauseating us with her “infusions derived from various fragrant flora.” We were graciously hosted by the city of Baltimore when our theater company performed there last fall, so a Baltimore artist in my neck of the urban woods gets my Good Bet. Visit Drogoul’s website to take her olfactory survey.

Correction: Issue Project Room has changed the time for this event...almost at the last minute. It will now start at 6 PM and end at 9 PM. I'm jumping in the shower now. I'll let you know what I smell. (Posted on March 2nd, 4:25 PM)

No Baseballs in This Glass House

It’s a sorry site on 4th Avenue between 1st and 3rd. That finely textured plastic wrap around the construction site of Con Ed’s new office building has fallen…or disintegrated. No surprise since it’s taking them a mysteriously long time to build a by-the-book plain glass Orwellian-looking sit-in-your-seat-and-work place. But the Ministry of Energy seems to be compensating for the drear with a garish entranceway—one better suited for a Virgin Records store. I’m sure it will make all their employees feel a little better as they walk into a two-block box of air. Did you know that before 1912 this site was the ballpark for the Brooklyn Dodgers? It was called Washington Park. When the Dodgers abandoned it for Ebbets Field in 1913, the Brooklyn Tip-Tops of the Federal League made it their home. You can read more about it here at Forgotten NY.

A Curry Quandary

I was on my way to Delices De Paris (9th Str. btw 5th & 6th) for their splendid chai latte (consistently served steaming hot) when I was faced with this horror. Rarely do sidewalk signs deliver bad news. Terrible news in this case. The Chip Shop (5th Ave & 6th Str.) has closed their adjacent Curry Shop. This was the best place for Indian cuisine on or around 5th Avenue. I barged in and asked why…tell me why! They’re “downsizing,” they said, to concentrate their efforts on The Chip Shop. Hmmm. I don’t know if I buy it. Those fish and chips can’t get any better. I see throngs of people day and night risking years of cardiovascular health for those deep fried wonders. Someone raised their rent I’m thinking. And that selfish someone didn’t consider my needs first. The chef is keeping the chicken tikka masala on the menu. But sorry, not good enough. I want my vindaloo. So now I’ll have to settle for Star of India (5th near President Str.) Their dishes are way overpriced considering the cheap cuts of meat they use, but their delivery service is fast. By the way, I never got my latte. Delices De Paris is closed for the next week. They had something scribbled on their door about a burst pipe in the basement. I adore that place so I wish them good luck in their repairs.

Opposite Side of the Street Rebellion in Effect

Someone tell the mayor we moved our cars but he forgot to tell the street cleaners to sweep the streets. I mentioned in my last post that I would listen and watch for the sweeper, interested to see how it could be driven over mounds of snow. Where I sit at my desk allows me to look out onto my street. I never heard or saw one. “Of course you didn’t,” said my neighbor. “You can’t drive those sweepers over all this snow.” No, of course you can’t. Did anyone see a sweeper out today? Perhaps the mayor should stop taking the subway and walk the streets to see what is so apparent to everyone in the city including the people who drive the sweepers. I want my ten minutes of law-abiding time back. And I want back the better parking spot I had. Darn it.

Neither Snow Will Stop the Sweeper?

311 declaimed that unfortunate phrase today: opposite side of the street parking is in effect. I swear I could hear a hint of jubilance in the voice recording. So I spun the wheels of my car in the slushy snow and obediently doubled parked my car on the opposite side. But on the opposite side of the opposite side were mounds of snow and ice where our cars had peacefully sat. So, as I write this, I’m listening for that big, mean, unmistakable sound of the street cleaner. I’m interested to see exactly how the cleaner will clean this snowy mess. Or, perhaps it will never come, or perhaps it will sail by in the the dead center of the road and the driver will give me a shrug and say, “I clean streets, not snow.” Perhaps that city rule with the obnoxiously long name should have been suspended today. I’ll let you know what happens.

Good Neighbors And One Very Bad Neighbor(g)

The Park Slope Courier reports that the not-for-profit organization Fifth Avenue Committee received a unanimous vote approving their plan to convert a vacant lot at 575 Fifth Avenue “into affordable and supportive housing for the formerly homeless and mentally ill.” Cheers to FAC for their blood, sweat and tears of joy. Michelle de la Uz, the executive director of FAC, says “This is not a clinic, hospital or treatment facility... We help people live and work with dignity.” Truly Fifth Ave is a great place to find work, a life, and a lot more dignity than being quarantined off in some remote industrial site of Brooklyn. The Courier reports there were few dissenters who spoke publicly. One who did was an especially frightening resident of our dear Park Slope: Ms. Patricia Arias (of the Aryan race?). She accused FAC of acting “covertly to conceal the project from residents.” She went on to say that the future tenants would be “better served in a mental facility… We can’t afford to lose our parking.” Well there’s definitely one mentally ill person on the Slope. Perhaps Ms. Arias would be better served in the suburbs.

Do Say Make Think: Must See!

Since it's only two blocks from my apartment, you'd think I'd be a regular at Southpaw, that great big music venue across from Key Food. Well, I'm not. But I'm always checking out their calendar, and sometimes that little known band that I think no one else in the world knows about except me is booked. Like the brilliant math-rock band Do Say Make Think, playing on March 28th. Do not Say that you can't Make it. At least Think about it. Their elaborate instrumental arrangements gather like a super-cell over the mid-west wheat fields and erupt into crescendos that will make your eyeballs twirl. "& Yet & Yet" is I think their finest work. You can read a review of it here on pitchfork.