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.