Monday, December 27, 2010
Saturday, September 4, 2010
A room for a couple and this dog?
Greetings all - I've lived in the Hook for 3 years, and now am looking for a place in the neighborhood to shack up with my partner and his little dog (see above). We've "lived" together for 6 months, during most of which both of us had stints out of town performing, so we made do by adding them to my room. Now we'd like more space; what space ~$1200/month can get us. Either our own, or shared with fun folks. Please send leads, ideas, or just pass our info along.
-Thank you, Sophie
Description: We're a guy + gal in our 30's with a 9-yr-old, 6lb dog. The humans are performers (clown, theater) who enjoy live music, bike-commuting, eating co-op veggies, pursuing theater projects & teaching. Both have steady part-time gigs (hospital clown, energy efficiency consultation). The dog is cat-like and spends his time curled on a lap or pillow. He's house-trained, and barks when barked at/needs out/doorbell rings.
Preferences:
- Red Hook, Ditmas, Lefferts, Prospect Heights, definitely Brooklyn
- chill communal feel with housemates, good communication
- yard/porch/terrace/balcony/roof = awesome; daylight inside too please
- we're queer-friendly
- move-in date is flexible
Friday, July 9, 2010
PUB QUIZ !! The second or third coming...
Don't we all yearn to feel smart?? Come and strut your intellectual stuff at the Bait & Tackle. Second and Fourth Monday of each month!! Craig LaCourt, a long time Luggage Factory resident will be presiding over the games. And of course there are prizes!!
Monday, June 7, 2010
Do oil slicked fish dream of Static Fish?
The world may never know.
For all you Red Hookies who may see this in time: We are having a release party for the new full-color Static Fish at Desert Island on Tuesday 08June10. Come out. Meet the artists. Have a beer. Should be fun.
Static Fish is a comics anthology funded by Pratt. This current issue is really sweet, and Desert Island is worth a trip. So walk on over to Smith and 9th. Hop on a G train. Et voila.
For all you Red Hookies who may see this in time: We are having a release party for the new full-color Static Fish at Desert Island on Tuesday 08June10. Come out. Meet the artists. Have a beer. Should be fun.
Static Fish is a comics anthology funded by Pratt. This current issue is really sweet, and Desert Island is worth a trip. So walk on over to Smith and 9th. Hop on a G train. Et voila.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
I went to sleep one night last week and woke up in an alternate reality...
Thursday, May 20, 2010
One Whole Neighborhood, One Day Only Mega Stoop Sale!!
Clean out your closets people!! June 12th is fast approaching! Brace your selves for the Red Hook Neighborhood Sidewalk sale!! So far there are nearly 40 participating stoops, from the luggage factory all the way to the far end of Coffey Street. It should turn out to be a fantastic day of strolling and shopping for bargains. BUT WE NEED YOUR HELP!!
If you haven't signed up please do so by contacting Stephanie at steph7boo@aol.com. She is the master organizer and is also collecting donations from people who want to sell their wares so that we can have a poster printed as well as a map that will be handed out on the day of. There are plans in place to have several other neighborhoods blanketed with posters.
If you want to stop by the Bait and Tackle there is an envelope behind the bar for your financial contributions as well as a notebook to sign up in. Please leave your name and email info as well as your address and a brief description of goods. The map be dotted with stars indicating the site of participating stoops.
To top off the fabulous day we're planning, there will be an after party at the Bait and Tackle. Giving us an opportunity to meet our neighbors, swap stories about the day and have a drink to celebrate the relief we feel now that we've gotten rid of all that junk!!
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
An Open letter to Dry Dock wines and Spirits
Dear DeeDee:
Don't get me wrong, I'm happy you are here, and I'm happy once again to be buying decent wine right on Van Brunt St. There were some thirsty months after the abrupt closing of that venerable Red Hook pioneer, LeNell's. But I'm writing because as in all interpersonal relationships, you and I need to establish some ground-rules. The things therapists call 'boundaries'. First of all, please, take me out of your "system." You know what I'm referring to, don't you? I mean your computer database of customers and their preferences, purchases, likes and dislikes. Erase me. Delete me. Whatever. Please. If I can't remember what I drank last week, I'll live with that.
I'm not sure if you remember, but the very first time I bought wine from you--although I always and only pay cash--you magically created some sort of computerized profile about me, despite my objections. My memory is a little furry at the moment, but here's an honest attempt to recreate that exchange, in film script format. Call this "Act One." The scene opens with the two of us, facing one another across your elegant counter :
DD: Let me just put some information in here, so we can better serve you.
ME: Oh, jeez, here we go again! I have to tell you, this computer business was one thing that really pissed me off about LeNells, may her store rest in peace. I'd really rather not.
DD: My goodness, why not? Having you on file allows us to look and see whether you prefer reds, or whites, Pinot, or Cabernet, that sort of thing. For instance, if someone comes in, they might say I'm going around the corner to Richard's for dinner, and I need to pick up a couple of bottles. And then we can make informed suggestions as to what to bring. Or you might come in and say my friendVanessa Maria brought a lovely bottle of wine to a party last week, but I can't remember what it was. And we would probably be able to look that up for you and tell you. And then you could enjoy it again! Isn't that great!
ME: I don't know, I mean, I'm really not comfortable with all my alcohol purchases being jotted down in cyberspace.
DD: I'm afraid you strike me as a somewhat paranoid young man. This isn't public information, this is our private system.
ME: Oh, alright then, if you must.
(If I succumbed, it's because I secretly admit that sometimes Amazon does miraculously turn me on to a good book or CD I didn't know about, even if all the stuff they know about me sometimes makes shopping there a creepy experience. On the other hand, the neighborhood wine store doing it risks being the digital equivalent of the nosy neighbor who counts my empties on recycling day.)
Fast forward to yesterday, when my delightful girlfriend, Laura, headed your way, craving a bottle of Chardonnay to go with some lovely leftover shaved-fennel salad our friend Anne had whipped up for the previous night's dinner. Now, Laura and I have been together since long before you opened your shop, but you may not know her as well as you know me. That's not because she doesn't like wine, it's because two years ago she moved to Boston to study really fancy stuff at a really fancy school, so that she could get rich and help me retire early. As you might imagine, we don't get to see each other as often as we would like, but we have struggled on, trying to make it work, despite all the difficulties and uncertainties associated with long-distance relationships. That's the context for "Act Two":
DD: (Ringing up bottle of fat, buttery Chardonnay) Will that be all for you? Are you in our system?
LAURA: I don't think so, but my boyfriend might be.
DD: Oh, who's that?
LAURA: Richard Fleming
DD: (Typing feverishly into database, then smiling brightly) You must be Vanessa.
Cut to: Interior, my kitchen, where I am blissfully reheating a pot of collard greens, setting the table for two with candles, etc. The front door opens, rather violently.
LAURA: (With very subtle edge of Jack Nicholson) Hi, honey, I'm home!
ME: The food's almost ready, did you get the Chardonnay?
LAURA: Who the F*@K is Vanessa?????!!!! (Laura then winds up like Babe Ruth and breaks my jaw with the bottle of Chardonnay. Shards of glass and teeth skitter across the kitchen floor).
ME: (Lying on my back on the Brazilian Cherry floor. Blood pours out of the corner of my mouth to mix with the Chardonnay puddle.) Urggh, Aagh. No idea, sweetie. Va-who? Call 9-1-1, please.
Don't get me wrong, I'm happy you are here, and I'm happy once again to be buying decent wine right on Van Brunt St. There were some thirsty months after the abrupt closing of that venerable Red Hook pioneer, LeNell's. But I'm writing because as in all interpersonal relationships, you and I need to establish some ground-rules. The things therapists call 'boundaries'. First of all, please, take me out of your "system." You know what I'm referring to, don't you? I mean your computer database of customers and their preferences, purchases, likes and dislikes. Erase me. Delete me. Whatever. Please. If I can't remember what I drank last week, I'll live with that.
I'm not sure if you remember, but the very first time I bought wine from you--although I always and only pay cash--you magically created some sort of computerized profile about me, despite my objections. My memory is a little furry at the moment, but here's an honest attempt to recreate that exchange, in film script format. Call this "Act One." The scene opens with the two of us, facing one another across your elegant counter :
DD: Let me just put some information in here, so we can better serve you.
ME: Oh, jeez, here we go again! I have to tell you, this computer business was one thing that really pissed me off about LeNells, may her store rest in peace. I'd really rather not.
DD: My goodness, why not? Having you on file allows us to look and see whether you prefer reds, or whites, Pinot, or Cabernet, that sort of thing. For instance, if someone comes in, they might say I'm going around the corner to Richard's for dinner, and I need to pick up a couple of bottles. And then we can make informed suggestions as to what to bring. Or you might come in and say my friend
ME: I don't know, I mean, I'm really not comfortable with all my alcohol purchases being jotted down in cyberspace.
DD: I'm afraid you strike me as a somewhat paranoid young man. This isn't public information, this is our private system.
ME: Oh, alright then, if you must.
(If I succumbed, it's because I secretly admit that sometimes Amazon does miraculously turn me on to a good book or CD I didn't know about, even if all the stuff they know about me sometimes makes shopping there a creepy experience. On the other hand, the neighborhood wine store doing it risks being the digital equivalent of the nosy neighbor who counts my empties on recycling day.)
Fast forward to yesterday, when my delightful girlfriend, Laura, headed your way, craving a bottle of Chardonnay to go with some lovely leftover shaved-fennel salad our friend Anne had whipped up for the previous night's dinner. Now, Laura and I have been together since long before you opened your shop, but you may not know her as well as you know me. That's not because she doesn't like wine, it's because two years ago she moved to Boston to study really fancy stuff at a really fancy school, so that she could get rich and help me retire early. As you might imagine, we don't get to see each other as often as we would like, but we have struggled on, trying to make it work, despite all the difficulties and uncertainties associated with long-distance relationships. That's the context for "Act Two":
DD: (Ringing up bottle of fat, buttery Chardonnay) Will that be all for you? Are you in our system?
LAURA: I don't think so, but my boyfriend might be.
DD: Oh, who's that?
LAURA: Richard Fleming
DD: (Typing feverishly into database, then smiling brightly) You must be Vanessa.
Cut to: Interior, my kitchen, where I am blissfully reheating a pot of collard greens, setting the table for two with candles, etc. The front door opens, rather violently.
LAURA: (With very subtle edge of Jack Nicholson) Hi, honey, I'm home!
ME: The food's almost ready, did you get the Chardonnay?
LAURA: Who the F*@K is Vanessa?????!!!! (Laura then winds up like Babe Ruth and breaks my jaw with the bottle of Chardonnay. Shards of glass and teeth skitter across the kitchen floor).
ME: (Lying on my back on the Brazilian Cherry floor. Blood pours out of the corner of my mouth to mix with the Chardonnay puddle.) Urggh, Aagh. No idea, sweetie. Va-who? Call 9-1-1, please.
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