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Monthly Archive for December, 2007

Neptune Avenue native Swan shares a recipe: Take one or more idiotic real estate blogs which, in fact, know precious little about New York City, or Brooklyn, or Gowanus as a whole (thus greatly impressing their equally ignorant– or should I be kind & just say “focused”? hah!– peers). Add what could have been a […]

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The Music Director gets on up: A year ago today, on December 28, 2006, tens of thousands of the city’s most soulful citizens made their way to 125th St in Harlem to see James Brown’s final public New York appearance. It was– as anybody who was there will tell ya’ll– quite a show. Ernie Koy […]

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Ernie Koy, Jr. leads the way: Mornin’ ya’ll, Koy here, live & direct from 3608 White Plains Road, a slice of carrot cake in one hand, a microphone in the other. (BZA, BZA– hey, try to get a shot of some of these dudes checking themselves out in the window, it’s a good look.) I […]

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looks awfully like Flatbush Avenue to Toad. Afternoon ya’ll, from the Flatlands Branch of the Brooklyn Public Library. Shout to my Avenue P homies, what’s good? I can’t actually see much hunkered down here between the periodicals & large print but damn, someone sure smells hardbody so let’s make this quick & hope our technical […]

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Does Toad dare investigate? Is Coney Island handball or hoops? Where does Coney fish, & where does it play tennis? How did that African market end up next to a Mexican grocery? What was BZA doing on the terrace in 1982? (Wasn’t she scared?) Why don’t we read about multi-ethnic Coney Island more often? The […]

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Junius Van Sinderen catches up with a future past: On the departure of NYC 2012 proselytizer & fool Dan Doctoroff from the Bloomberg administration, I have only three words for now, “see ya’, schmuck.” The Publisher implied even more in New York Calling– in the shadows of the Bronx Terminal Market, on the Red Hook […]

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with Snake, witness for the unsaid. I wish I could tell ya’ll more. I wish I could write The Unnamable. I wish Fuckin’ Revs didn’t curse so goddamn much. I wish I was drunk on Edelbrau, Piels, Polo, Trommers or Welz & Zerweck. I wish I could paint like Gouch or Sober. I wish I’d […]

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who’s still got ‘em? BZA for one: Which is not to diminish the style or persistence of the writer known only as OJAE, sometimes shortened to OJ & frequently celebrated on the streets as the Juice. What kind of juice? Whatever this anonymous market in South Brooklyn is selling! I cropped it tight for a […]

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but on Bond Street, the word is… whuh? Toad reports. Call it Gowanus or call it South Brooklyn; call it Carroll Gardens (hah) or take in the panoramic view from outside the Vargas Mini Mart at Warren St & call it “Boerum Hill.” If those options aren’t all good, don’t worry, a really cool real […]

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Beadel Debevoise can dig it. Meredith Brosnan didn’t grew up on Avenue L & if Dublin has its own Rockaway Parkway, James Joyce never wrote about it, not even in Finnegans Wake. Which leaves Brooklyn literature where? Drunk, again, longing for the apostrophe in Flann O’Brien at Denis J. Ferris Bar on Fort Hamilton Parkway? […]

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