Archives for the month of: September, 2011

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If you lost your big beautiful blackberries, they are on Powers Street between Humboldt and Graham on the north side of the street by the fire hydrant. My dog and several others may have urinated on them.

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If you lost your giant box of assorted breadstuffs, it is on Powers Street west of Olive Street by the community garden. Please retrieve it before the rats cart it away.

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If you lost your terra cotta urn sealed with clear packing tape, it is on Powers Street west of Bushwick Avenue, a few feet in front of the Chinese take-out’s dumpster.

Cross your fingers they get one of the "other great toys."

Are you feeling faint? Have a headache? Shooting pains in your abdomen? Leg cramps? Unexplained neck or back spasms? Mysterious burns? Nausea? Vertigo? Feel like small hands are strangling or crushing you? Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to give your child two quarters to get toys from the gumball machine.

Hasn’t little Timmy, or Jayden, or Beyonce, or whatever you named your precious darling been angry at you ever since you refused to buy them that XBOX Kinect, or Harry Potter Lego set, or hooker boots, or whatever the last thing they were incessantly whining that they needed? If you have already handed over the quarters, it may be time for extra vigilance in securing lighters and matches. And by all means don’t be fooled into giving them a safety pin or letting them anywhere near the sewing supplies. And better just keep them out of the kitchen altogether.

Very cute and so very disturbing.

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If you lost your creepy stuffed panda, he is hanging out in a fence on Powers Street between Humboldt and Bushwick.

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On a door on Grand Street at Bushwick Ave.

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I like to wear my shortest shorty shorts while waiting for the bus on Graham Ave in the middle of the night. Did that dude squatting down to look at our butts follow us from the L?

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If you lost your little yellow purse made out of what looks like dish scrubbers, it is on Powers Street at Humboldt.

Tuesday evening the police blocked off the Bushwick Ave to traffic, a firetruck sprayed water to wash Erica's blood off of the pavement, and a riderless bicycle lay against the curb looking deceptively unharmed.

On Tuesday Erica Abbott was returning home on her bike from a job interview. She only had a few blocks to go when she died. On a stretch of Bushwick Avenue where speeding cars love to run the light at Anslie, potholes converge to form the roadway, and a soulless construction company is in such a big rush to complete a luxury condo development that it blocks the street with debris continually, Erica was crushed to death at around 7pm. She was obeying traffic laws and wearing a helmet.

She was from my community. We brought our dogs to the same dog run. We lived within blocks. We biked the same streets. I have to bike the same portion of Bushwick Avenue where she died to make a legal turn onto my block whenever I return home.

Wednesday night I lit a candle in her honor. I attended a memorial for her in the Cooper Park dog run. I met her inconsolably grieving parents and had nothing to offer them but tears. They already had plenty of those. The man who attempted CPR on her was there holding her tiny bearded Brussels griffon, banjo. Banjo seemed to be the only dog at the park not frolicking. It was a good night to be a dog. As the dogs ran, and wrestled, and had epic tugging wars with knotted ropes the people awkwardly approached Erica’s parents with condolences or milled around in shock.

I learned that she was a dancer. And that many of her friends are my friends. I learned that I knew someone who had a crush on her and would be both elated and intimidated to talk to the pretty girl when he would see her walking her dog. I learned she had two sisters out on the west coast. I learned she was a Buddhist and that she babysat for 3 local children who loved her.

When I returned home from the memorial service the police were out in force on Bushwick Ave. They were hassling every cyclist that came by. They demanded to see ID. The pile of rubble that killed Erica was still blocking a portion of the roadway. The NYPD had missed the point yet again.

This pile of garbage was upright on Wednesday but hadn't been cleared from the roadway. Irene blew a portion of it over and it stayed there for days and killed a cyclist.

On Thursday the construction debris that killed Erica was finally moved out of the street. Now it blocks half of the sidewalk. Last Saturday during Irene it had blown over into the southbound lane and remained there for three days. The neighbors had called 311 about unsafe and illegal practices on the work site several times to no avail. As recently as Sunday a report to 311 was placed to report the site for flooding the basement of the house next door. Nothing was done. And now a woman is dead.

Hey, NYPD, if you wanna hassle someone please hassle these folks. Their negligence killed someone.