I Am a Rent-Stabilized Tenant

East Village resident Susan Schiffman has been photographing the apartments of rent-stabilized tenants living in the East Village for her Instagram account, I Am a Rent Stabilized Tenant. She will share some of the photos here for this ongoing EVG feature.

Photos and text by Susan Schiffman

Tenant: Anthony, since 1990

Why did you move to the East Village. How did you find your apartment?

I am a fifth-generation New Yorker, and have had several apartments in New York City. On the side while working with the HIV epidemic from the start of the 1980s, I did volunteer workshops in prisons and communities in conflict resolution and community building. I saved, and in 1990, decided to travel and see what other people and organizations were doing to bring those torn apart by hate together, and to freely share the curricular that was inspiring me.

The areas of major conflict in our news at the time were Northern Ireland, Northern India, South Africa, Israel and Palestine. It was an open plane ticket, and I envisioned possibly finding another home, another call. The journey did reinforce fully the sense that the earth and all its people really are my family, my wider home.

I guess it was family that called me back. I came back. I had let go of my apartment like many of us foolishly do. I left the city actually two times before when I had had it with the grit, and felt that I would not be coming back.

After several months, I landed again at the end of 1990 looking for another place to stay. Back then, we didn’t really worry about it too much — we could always find a place.

My dear, late cousin Bill Donovan, two months apart from me, lived in this space. I grew up with Bill, loved him very much. I miss him terribly. He was a wonderful artist. He lived in this space, once filled from wall to wall with his paintings. He worked at Pearl Paint on Canal Street at the time. Bill fell in love about the same time I landed. He said, “I have to move out of my place, I just fell in love and it's looking serious. (Marriage and beautiful daughter Kirsten ensued.) Why don’t you take my apartment?”

I gave myself one month to live here. Absolutely tiny, but I could put my bags down and look for another place. I never intended to stay here. As you can see, I wouldn’t be able to have a wife or child in this apartment. It probably contributed to my being single these years.

I got really busy and didn’t have time to look for another place. The apartment was convenient. The location was good. I always felt my history here. My great, great grandparents on my mother’s side, the McAllisters, were married on Avenue B and Eighth Street in St. Brigid’s in 1867.

Since 1864, McAllister tugboats, barges and shipping family still ply the waters of our harbor. Our great protected harbor, the prime reason the Dutch settled and world trade became centered here. I worked in the shipyards and tugs as a youth, including a wild offshore adventure.

But as a teenager, I was right around the corner at the Fillmore East a lot. The Fillmore was a spiritual place in my memory. It was where black, brown and white kids met through music and carried the message of our time: stop war, get together. I have this apartment today only because of the way the universe works.











What do you love about your apartment?

I was reluctant to live here. I got over the fact that the apartment is tiny after traveling the world and seeing poverty in many areas of the world. I realized how precious it is to have a small space, to have a space of my own.

I give thanks for the space and for the refuge. Having a tiny place has forced me to not have clutter. What you see here now and under here and over there is because my beloved mom passed away. I haven’t gone through all of her boxes yet. It’s an ongoing process.

A small place enables one to focus. I’ve been able to produce all of my documentaries and writings in this little space. At one time all of the walls had to be covered with storyboards. It’s become a sacred space for me.

It has also become a refuge to rescue two beautiful companions — my cats. I do have a penchant for space. I spend a lot of time not in this space, but in our city and in our neighborhood. I am compelled to spend much time in this neighborhood's religious spaces.

Within a 10 minute walk of this apartment in any direction, there is a Tibetan temple, a Hindu temple, three Jewish synagogues, a Catholic, Protestant, Episcopal, Russian Orthodox, a few Latino churches, a Sufi group, and a Mosque, etc. I've learned to love these sacred spaces and their faith leaders, the true living preservationists of the culture and history of our neighborhood.

I grew up with parents who were very open, curious, loving and very appreciative of other cultures. My father was a world historian and my mother lived the phrase “a stranger is a friend you haven’t met yet.” She saw the best and the light in all people. It's the gift from these two humans. I just love the different faiths being so close and the ethnic diversity in a place where I could pursue my passions and not have to spend all of my money and time worrying about rent.

My heart and efforts go out to the youth today. We've lost most of all the mom-and-pop shops due to rents doubling and tripling. We've had to fight hard the developers and irresponsible DOB and landlords, but my apartment remains a refuge and a haven.

For decades my passion is to help stop the secretive, non-democratic nuclear weapons industry, with it's false sense of security, lies, their unfathomable taxpayer cost and great current threat to all life, climate and humanity.

The last large work made in this apartment is my 2015 film "Good Thinking, Those Who've Tried to Halt Nuclear Weapons."

What initially bothered me about my little place here is I didn’t have those cavernous spaces over my head where expanding thought comes more naturally. I so appreciate space. This little spot on earth forms the center of the universe, of a wheel where I can then venture out.



If you're interested in inviting Susan in to photograph your apartment for an upcoming post, then you may contact her via this email.

Q-&-A with Susan Seidelman, director of 'Smithereens' and 'Desperately Seeking Susan'

[Image via]

"Smithereens" starts a weeklong revival today at the Metrograph, the newish theater complex down on Ludlow Street.

The 1982 dark comedy, which marked Susan Seidelman's directorial debut, is set in the East Village (and other downtown locales). Wren (Susan Berman), a suburban New Jersey escapee, is eager for downtown fame, plastering "missing" posters of herself on the subway and elsewhere. She sees a meal ticket in Eric (Richard Hell), the hot guy with a short attention span in a band. And there's the too-nice Paul (Brad Rijn), who pursues the uninterested Wren. Hustling ensues.



Seidelman started filming in late 1979, and continued on and off for the next 18 months. (Production shut down when Berman broke a leg during rehearsal.) "Smithereens," made for $40,000, was the first American indie invited to compete for the Palme d'Or at the Cannes Film Festival.

She went on to make several female-focused comedies, including 1985's "Desperately Seeking Susan" with Rosanna Arquette and Madonna and 1989's "She-Devil" with Roseanne Barr and Meryl Streep, among others. (She also directed the pilot for "Sex and the City.")

I spoke with Seidelman about "Smithereens" and her follow-up, "Desperately Seeking Susan," also partly filmed in the East Village, during a phone call last week. Here's part of that conversation, edited for length and clarity.

On why she wanted to tell this story in "Smithereens":

I was living in the East Village and I was also at NYU. And at the time, NYU Film School, the graduate film school, was on Second Avenue — part of it was where the old Fillmore East used to be. So for three years, that area around Seventh Street and Second Avenue was my stomping grounds.

I started NYU in 1974, and I was there until 1977. So it was interesting to watch the transition from the older hippie generation and hippie-style shops and people as it started transitioning into the punk and new wave kind of subculture. I was a music person, so I frequented CBGB and Max’s Kansas City at that time. And so, that world was interesting to me, and telling a story set in that world about a young woman who’s not from that world, but wants to be part of it in some way, was both semi-personal and just of interest.

On production shutting down:

There were challenges throughout the shoot because I never had all the money. The budget ended up being about $40,000, but I probably only had about $20,000 at any given moment. I was borrowing and racking up bills. I wasn’t really thinking about how I was going to pay it. I figured I’d get to that when I needed to pay it.

Aside from those challenges, when Susan Berman fell off a fire escape and broke her leg during rehearsal, there was no getting around that. We had to quit filming. I kind of thought, oh, you know, fuck it — I’m not going to let this stop me. It made me actually more determined. I had the time to look at what was working and what wasn’t working, and I learned a lot of stuff. I started editing the footage. I could rewrite stuff and change the story a bit.

On casting Richard Hell:

That was when we redefined the character of Eric, who was originally not played by Richard Hell. It was played by somebody else who was not a rock-and-roller — he was more of a downtown painter/artsy type, not a musician — and was also played by a European actor.

By recasting and redefining that role with Richard Hell in mind, it shaped the tone of the movie and changed it, I think, in a good direction. I’m not going to give names, but the other actor — the other person is a working actor, as opposed to Richard Hell, who was acting in the movie, but was more of a presence and an iconic figure even at that time. So trying to make the character of Eric blend in with the real Richard Hell added a level of authenticity to the film.

On filming in the East Village:

In the scene when Wren is waiting out on the sidewalk and the landlady throws her clothing out the window and then splashes her with water, all the people and all the reactions in the background were from the people living on that block who had come out to watch.

At the time, New York was coming out the bankruptcy crisis. There weren’t a lot of police on the street, there wasn’t a lot of red tape and paperwork. These days to film on the street, you have to get a mayor’s permit — so many levels of bureaucracy. Back then, either it didn’t exist … but also I was naïve to what probably needed to be done.

We just showed up with cameras and we filmed. We had some people working on the crew who were friends and they told crowds lining in the street — just don’t look in the camera. Sometimes they did, sometimes they didn’t, but it was all very spontaneous.

That’s the advantage of doing a super low-budget movie — you can just go with the flow. For example, there’s a scene with a kid who’s doing a three-card Monte thing on the sidewalk. He was a kid we saw in Tompkins Square Park with his mother. We didn’t have to worry about SAG or unions or anything. I thought he was interesting and [we asked his mother] if they come to this address at this time and be in our movie.



On the lead characters:

My intention wasn’t to make likable characters. My intention was to make interesting characters and who had some element of ambiguity. There are things that I like about Wren; on the other hand, I think she’s obviously somebody who uses people and is incredibly narcissistic. I’m aware of that. But she’s also somebody who is determined to recreate herself and to live the kind of life that she wants to live, and redefine herself from her background, which you get a little hint at, this boring suburban New Jersey life she must have run away from.

On the independent film scene at the time:

The definition of an independent filmmaker has changed so radically. Nowadays, being an independent filmmaker could mean you’re making a $5 million movie that’s really financed by the Weinstein Company, or it could mean you're doing a cellphone movie like “Tangerine.”

But back then, there weren’t that many independent filmmakers. I know there were some people working out of Los Angeles who were doing stuff and a small pocket of people in New York City. So either you knew them or you were friends with them or you just knew what they were doing and had mutual friends. It was truly a small community. And within that community, there were also a definite relationship between people who were musicians, filmmakers or graffiti artists.

So everyone was borrowing people, trading information or sharing resources. Also, the world wasn’t as competitive as it is today. People were eager and willing to help somebody who was a filmmaker would act in somebody else’s film or tell them about a location or a musician. It was pretty simple, like — hey, let’s make a movie, without a lot of calculation.

On her follow-up film, "Desperately Seeking Susan:"

I didn’t have anything lined up after "Smithereens." I didn’t know what I wanted to do next. I just finished the movie when it was accepted into the Cannes Film Festival.

But I did know that there were very few female film directors. And the one or two I had heard about who had made an interesting independent film ... I knew that your follow-up movie, especially if it was going to be financed by a studio, you needed to be smart about the choice. You had to make a movie that you could still be creatively in charge of, or else you could get lost in the shuffle.

For about a year and a half, I was reading scripts. And they were, for the most part, terrible. I just figured these couldn’t be my next movie. I have nothing to say about this kind of material.

So then I got this script. It was a little different than the way it ended up being, but it was called "Desperately Seeking Susan." I liked that the character, Susan, felt like she could be kind of related to Wren in "Smithereens." I thought I could bring something unique to that kind of a role. So I didn't feel like I was out of my element there.

And also, part of the film was set in the East Village, a neighborhood that I loved and knew. The other good thing was I was so familiar with the characters and able to add my own spin using a lot of people from the independent film community in small parts, like Rockets Redglare, John Lurie and Arto Lindsay. Richard Hell has a cameo.



On working with Madonna:

At the time, Madonna was not famous when we started out. We were just filming on the streets like she was a regular semi-unknown actress. So there wasn’t a lot of hoopla around the film.

And then, you know, so much of life is about being there with the right thing and the right timing. It just so happened that the movie came out at the moment that her "Like A Virgin" album was released and they coincided and she became a phenomenon. But since that wasn’t during the actual filming, there wasn’t the kind of pressure that one would normally feel if you were working with a big star or a a super-famous person.

On the legacy of "Smithereens":

I think I was trying to document what it felt like to live in that neighborhood in that part of the city at that time. I never really thought about it in terms of whether the film would pass the test of time or be a time capsule or anything.

But the fact that it ended up being pretty authentic to the environment, to the neighborhood, is maybe what enabled it to pass the test of time.

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The Metrograph is showing "Smithereens," which features a score by The Feelies, on a new 35-millimeter print courtesy of Shout Factory LLC. Seidelman will be attending tonight's 7 screening. Details here.

Out and About in the East Village

In this ongoing feature, East Village-based photographer James Maher provides us with a quick snapshot of someone who lives and/or works in the East Village.



By James Maher

Name: Anna Pastoressa
Occupation: Jack of all trades
Location: 2nd Street and Avenue A
Time: 4:15 pm on Friday, July 15

I was born in Rome. As a young person, I thought that I was in a small world, and I wanted to see the world. So I used to travel a lot, and then I decided I wanted to come and visit the U.S. It was just a visit.

When I came, I liked it, and I traveled all over the U.S. I decided that I wanted to try to stay, but New York was not my first destination. I lived in New Orleans, I met somebody there, and I got married. That’s what made me stay here in this country. Eventually, I divorced that person and I decided to come to New York. I’m from Rome and I needed to be in a big city. New Orleans had a small-town feeling.

I moved here in 1983. I came right to the East Village. I used to live on Avenue C. It was the cheapest place to be, but it was also a dangerous area. It was like the wild west, but I have to say, the drug dealers who were in charge of the neighborhood, they kept the neighborhood safe. I used to walk around Alphabet City in the 80s by myself, at night. I knew the drug dealers would be in the doorways minding their business, and making sure that the neighborhood stayed safe.

You know, I felt safe, as crazy as this sounds. It was very hard to take a cab home, because cab drivers used to drop me on 1st Avenue. They’d said, ‘You have to walk. I’m not taking you to that jungle.’ I would be mad, because I wanted to go home, but they would systematically drop me on 1st Avenue, and I would have to walk all the way to Avenue C. But then I thought, ‘Okay, from 1st Avenue to Avenue C, there are going to be the drug dealers helping out.

In fact, there were some people who were pickpocketed, and the drug dealers were the ones who saved them, or they would chase the thief. They used to tell them, ‘Do not rob in this neighborhood. Do not come here to steal, because we will beat you up. We don’t want the cops here, so you don’t do this in this neighborhood.’

I knew the drug dealers, to the point where I had an old funky car, and I used to park it around the neighborhood. One time, the car got broken into. They broke the glass, and one of the drug dealers saw the car and said, ‘What happened to it?’ I said, ‘Well, look, they broke into the car, and I don’t even have a radio. There is nothing to steal.’ And he said, ‘Where did you park it?’ I said, ‘I parked it two blocks away,’ and he said, ‘You don’t park it there. You park your car on this block and nothing will ever happen to your car.’

I remember having a little trouble sometimes with kids in the neighborhood. They would play basketball and bounce it on my car, or be a little rowdy. There was one particular kid, I was trying to park the car near my house, and he was trying to take over the parking spot and put his ball there. So one time I wanted to park there, and he started bouncing the basketball on my car, and bent it.

I got so upset that I went to the drug dealer, and I said, ‘Listen, you told me to ask you for help. Please help me, this kid is not being nice to me. I know the kid, he lives right there, a few doors down from me.’ The drug dealer took care of it. He brought him to me and said, ‘You say sorry to this lady. Don’t you ever, ever bother her again,’ and the kid was like, ‘Sorry!’ I felt so bad for him.

The funny thing is that I saw him growing up after that, and he turned into a very nice man. To date, when I run into him, we laugh. He keeps telling me, ‘I’m so sorry for what I did as a kid,’ and I say, ‘Stop it. A long time has gone by. You’re a wonderful, nice young man. Leave it alone. You were a kid.’ We still laugh. We can never forget that incident.

I had a lot of friends in my neighborhood. We were all artists, musicians. I know a lot of people here who are into visual arts, music, theater. We used get together and Tompkins Square Park was our playground; that was our meeting point. We would go together to plays. There used to be a lot of alternative theaters in this area. People had theaters in their homes, and they had galleries in squats. It was a very nice period. As much as it was considered bad, or it had a negative connotation, I think it was a fun time of New York City, and of this area. There was a lot of freedom. We knew everybody. It was like being in a village. It was a real village.

Then we grew up, we got married, we had children, and our children play together in Tompkins Square Park. It was the playground for our children. We would have parties and be with our children. We looked out for each other’s children.

James Maher is a fine art and studio photographer based in the East Village. Find his website here.

RIP Alan Vega

[Image via]

Alan Vega, one half of the seminal electronic duo Suicide, died yesterday. He was 78.

Henry Rollins first reported the news via his website. Rollins also posted a message from Vega's family:

With profound sadness and a stillness that only news like this can bring, we regret to inform you that the great artist and creative force, Alan Vega has passed away.

Alan passed peacefully in his sleep last night, July 16. He was 78 years of age.

Alan was not only relentlessly creative, writing music and painting until the end, he was also startlingly unique. Along with Martin Rev, in the early 1970’s, they formed the two person avant band known as Suicide. Almost immediately, their incredible and unclassifiable music went against every possible grain. Their confrontational live performances, light-years before Punk Rock, are the stuff of legend. Their first, self-titled album is one of the single most challenging and noteworthy achievements in American music.

Alan Vega was the quintessential artist on every imaginable level. His entire life was devoted to outputting what his vision commanded of him.

One of the greatest aspects of Alan Vega was his unflinching adherence to the demands of his art. He only did what he wanted. Simply put, he lived to create. After decades of constant output, the world seemed to catch up with Alan and he was acknowledged as the groundbreaking creative individual he had been from the very start.

Alan’s life is a lesson of what it is to truly live for art. The work, the incredible amount of time required, the courage to keep seeing it and the strength to bring it forth—this was Alan Vega.

Alan is survived by his amazing family, wife Liz and son Dante. His incredible body of work, spanning five decades, will be with us forever.

As NME noted, the Jesus And Mary Chain, Bruce Springsteen, Thurston Moore, Nick Cave, New Order, Steve Albini, MIA and LCD Soundsystem are among the bands-musicians who have cited Suicide and Vega as an influence on their own music.

Early on, though, Vega, who was born in Bensonhurst, didn't think that people liked the band so much.

From a profile in Brooklyn magazine last December:

Vega, New York City punk icon, spent over a decade convinced that no one liked his band. “Suicide was hated by everybody. Everybody! It’s true. You should have seen the night we opened for The Ramones [at CBGBs],” he says. “They were late. Hilly [Kristal, CBGBs owner] was going nuts. So we had to go on… again! You should have heard the fuckin’ ‘Booooooooooooooooo.’ You couldn’t stop it, it was endless. Finally, the Ramones showed up, but Jesus Christ, we still had to do a few songs.”

He can laugh about it now, but for him and bandmate Martin Rev, the 70s were pretty rough. “They hated us from the day we started.” So he started swinging bicycle chains at their gigs to overtly menace the crowds unready to embrace Suicide’s brutally minimal, sorta terrifying music, because, fuck ‘em.

Updated

A few tributes via Instagram...

Rest in peace my friend - Alan Vega will be Dearly missed. Such a fucking true artist and beautiful person!!!

A photo posted by Jesse Malin (@jesse_malin) on Jul 17, 2016 at 9:50am PDT

RIP Alan Vega of Suicide who died yesterday, sad. A really sweet guy, innovator. Here with his partner Marty Rev and Debbie someplace around times square mid seventies

A photo posted by 🅒🅗🅡🅘🅢 🅢🅣🅔🅘🅝 (@christein) on Jul 17, 2016 at 6:28am PDT

Thinking of Alan Vega today. Woke up to this picture floating around the web portending the bad news. Unlike anything I'd ever seen onstage when I shot this at CBGB in 1977. Always warm & supportive in person. My thoughts go out to his wife Liz & son Dante. Also Rev. So glad I saw them astound the crowd at Webster Hall last year. Dream Baby Dream. #photobygodlis

A photo posted by Godlis (@godlis) on Jul 17, 2016 at 12:33pm PDT

RIP #AlanVega You were beyond us. A future beyond any youtu.be/7WqOMPakGCg

A photo posted by Ryan Adams (@misterryanadams) on Jul 17, 2016 at 12:21am PDT

The apartment where the golden rule 'is that no one else can tell anyone else to be quiet'

[Via @TimHerrera]

An East Village apartment-for-rent listing via Craigslist has been making the rounds of late. (The ad is no longer live.)

Esquire wrote about it last week in a post titled Is This the Worst NYC Apartment Listing You've Ever Seen?

Sounds promising!

Apparently the ad is for real... here are some excerpts...

"We are all in our late 20's - early 30's here in NYC to live it up, take advantage of the sweet neighborhood, and have as much fun as possible while still managing to make it to work on time!"

"We all play in bands, love live music, and entertain guests on a regular basis along with the occasional open jam session at random hours of the night."

"If you are the type of person whose main source of entertainment is sitting at home, watching Netflix on your laptop, this apartment is definitely not for you.

"The neighborhood is loud, people in the building make a ton of noise, once in while, you may even want to pop in some ear-plugs... but we love it here!! There is a drum-kit in the common room along with guitars & amplifiers, where we jam out on a regular basis, create art, and engage in stimulating conversations with other tenants in the building. If this is something you would enjoy, please join us!"

The rent is $1,325.

And the room measures 11 x 6.

Anyway, Esquire spoke with the person who takes out the for rent ad. His name is Haffro.

And here's part of the Q-and-A between Esquire and Haffro:

How big is that place? It seems pretty small from the description.

It's a four-bedroom. Actually, a three-bedroom apartment, but I moved into the utility closet. It's a pretty big closet, 6 x 5. I live in there, and I just rent out the rooms. The biggest bedroom is 12 x 11, the middle is 12 x 10, the smallest is 11 x 6. They're all fully furnished, so when people come in, I don't have them bring their own shit. The ideal roommate would be someone moving in, coming to NYC with a suitcase and a backpack. The entire place costs $3800.

What reactions have you gotten to the Craigslist ad?

We don't really get that many responses. I probably get five or six each time I repost it. You can repost it every 48 hours. When I do get a response, I have another response I cut and paste in there, and the main thing is, I'm like, "All right, I just want you to know, in our apartment I think of it like a living, breathing art space. We have one golden rule, and the one rule is that no one else can tell anyone else to be quiet."

After being told that some people think it sounds like the worst living situation ever, Haffro responds:

If you don't like live music, what do you like? What're you gonna watch, Netflix? It pisses me off. We're trying to create a creative environment; people can bring their guitars, smoke weed. It's a very progressive building. Some people will walk by and say, "I saw the door open, I heard some music, I thought I'd stop in." I mean, you know the East Village, you know the idea. It used to be very punk rock. It's not like that now, kind of boutique a little bit, fancy cocktail bars. For me, I just live at dive bars, just mop bucket, disgusting-smelling bars. Those are the places I like...

H/T @FashionByHe

Out and About in the East Village

In this weekly feature, East Village-based photographer James Maher provides us with a quick snapshot of someone who lives and/or works in the East Village.



By James Maher

Name: Satie Saurel
Occupation: Musician
Location: Jules Bistro, 65 St. Mark's Place
Date: 2:15 pm on Tuesday, Aug. 5

I’m from France. I was born in San Diego, and I grew up in France — in Nice. My father lives in Chile and is an astrophysicist. Because of that I was born in California, because he was working at Palomar Observatory. My mom, she lives in Nice and she works for the mayor.

I was 4 years old when I left San Diego and I grew up in France till my 20s. I started ballet when I was four because I had one foot that was inside the other, which was a problem when I was walking. So the doctor told my parents, ‘She can wear shoes to rectify the feet or she can try to do ballet.’ My grandmother was so happy because she was a dancer. My father was against dancing. He hated dancing. So they brought me to the first ballet class and I said, ‘Yeah I want to do that!’

Also, at home I always had too much energy, so it was a way to channel it. I always feel like a 5-year old child. I always need an audience to do my shows. They told this to the ballet teacher and the ballet teacher said, ‘You should try the theatre.’ So I started the theatre at 7 and at 9 I did the vocal and ballet.

I’m a singer/songwriter. It’s kind of step-by-step that I arrived to be a singer/songwriter. When I was 9, I went to a theatre musical company. Theatre musical is vocal, theatre and dance — the three together. I toured with them from 9 till 17. Monday morning you’d go to middle school and in the afternoon you’d go to dance classes, vocal classes and theatre classes. I was doing ballet, contemporary, jazz, and tap dance. It was every day, school in the morning and dance in the afternoon. It was super nice. During holidays we went to Tunisia, Italy, around France.

I travel a lot. I love to travel. I love to move. I moved to London, Paris, New York for a year and a half, after I went to Barcelona, Germany, the Bahamas, Montreal and I came back here last year. In London, I was waitressing and taking some dance classes. It was a bad experience for me, then, one day I did the audition for Euro Disney. I moved back to Paris because I got a job as [the character] Maleficent. She is a villain. It was fun. Ha Ha Ha. The children were afraid of you. I loved it. It was so cool. You were with children everyday. You just had fun everyday, life is beautiful, you know? At the same time I was doing a school of musical theatre in Paris and after that I did an audition for the cabaret because I love to dance, to be nude, hey!

After I did the audition for Moulin Rouge I broke my leg, so I stopped dancing. It was permanent. I can dance but I can’t anymore put my legs over my head. So I said, ‘OK, I can’t dance now. What am I going to do in Paris?’

So I moved to New York. It was better for me to record my album in New York. You have really good people here to work with. I came here and I took some classes, did some audition for a theatre musical, but it was always, ‘No French accent.’ I was taking the vocal classes and I met this teacher and she told me to be part of an international choir with her, so I did that. I sang at Carnegie Hall.

I had used cover songs and I thought I could have my own show with my own songs. I started to take piano classes and I started to co-write my own songs with my ex-fiance. When we broke up I started to write my own songs in French, so now I have some French songs and some French-English songs. In April, I found a producer and we’re working on my first music video here. I didn’t work when I was with my ex-fiance, so after we broke up I needed to find a job. I couldn’t afford an apartment here, so I first went to the Bronx and I rented a room, but I did not have a [closet] in my room. I was putting all my clothes and luggage in the French restaurant that I was working at. After one month of doing that I finally had enough money to find an apartment on Allen Street, with no window — nothing. It was horrible. Then I moved to Chelsea. In Chelsea it was kind of a cage for a bunny. Four months ago I moved around here. I love this area.

I found this place, Jules Bistro, that has live jazz. I’ve been working here for one year and I became the manager [during the summer]. Every night we have live music, live jazz with no cover charge from 8:30 to 11:30. Every day you have music. What is good is that you can sing. For the third set, when it’s less busy, I say, ‘Can I sing a song?’ It’s kind of cool because we don’t rehearse, so they need to feel me and my work. What I hate in jazz is the same tempo and they don’t want to change and they hate to follow a musician. So I stop them and we have a laugh. And now that I’m the manager, they can’t say no.

James Maher is a fine art and studio photographer based in the East Village. Find his website here.

On the end of Kim's

Editor's note: The last of the Kim's closes for good today at 124 First Ave.

By Kelly Sebastian

As any job-hunting 19-year-old in New York City might, I became a bike messenger. Yes, one of those. On a soggy summer day, fate threw me a delivery in the Empire State Building. It felt cool to have this job; that said, it also felt completely fucked up when I walked out of the building to find my bike … missing. Through a crackly-sounding payphone my delivery dispatcher told me to take the rest of the day off. I was sad. I was unemployed.

With my head hung low I began an aimless walk away from Midtown hell, eventually ending up on St. Mark's Place in the East Village. After passing the Astor Place cube and crossing over Third Avenue I spotted that unforgettable purple and yellow sign with it's aggressively playful font. Kim's. I needed a dose of salvation from my shitty day and, as I was beginning my flirt with filmmaking, I decided to get lost in something I loved. In that beauty … film. On the third floor of 6 St. Mark's, the video rental floor — as I was reading VHS sleeve after VHS sleeve, getting lost in the cover art and other people's stories — a clerk from behind the counter asked if I needed help. I told him about my stolen bike, he told me he was a vegan and the next day I started a job a Kim's. If you loved film, you knew Kim's. One word: KIM'S. It was THE place.

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I realize now how lucky I was to have been a part of the experience of Kim's, the Kim's culture and the Kim's community. Kim's stores were an anomaly in the cluster of chain-store clutter with a curated collection of film (and music) way beyond the underground. I worked at a destination. A spot people went to discover films, to talk about films (with clerks or other customers). A place where travelers who had heard of the legendary stock, would pop in for a look, as if they were admiring a piece of high art in a gallery.

Working there on occasion I would chance a glance of the mastermind himself standing at the other end of our video rentals floor, beyond the maze of his meticulously categorized collection. I would see Yongman Kim, buttoned up, well-dressed in a suit with arms folded and his smiling eyes observing from a distance — watching his masterpiece perform. I always wondered if he did this at all his store locations. Mr. Kim was passionate about the art of film and the art of business with the spirit of a risk taker having wild ideas from first renting movies out of his original laundry cleaning store to that very brief third floor Smoke Cafe. It's hard to explain Kim's to the plugged-in youth or non-film'centric folks, you just had to have been there.

Kim's was my film school and I know many others could claim this same core-curriculum. The breakdown of cinema history — organized by genre, by sub-genres, by niche and Country, by decade and Director — was any cinephile's dream. Sure, we carried mainstream flicks, but the majority of Kim's customers would be waiting for the newest Herzog film to be released. I would come to understand any given Director's journey by working my way through their catalog. From Godard to Lee, Varda to Linklater. Our organization style could often receive heated friction from our customers. Some loved to complain that True Romance should be excluded from Tarantino's section because he only wrote the screenplay. My out? The sale of that script gave us Reservoir Dogs. We all had our tiffs. I was forever annoyed that Bigelow didn't have her own section yet and that Hitchcock was shelved with American Directors. I wonder who among the contemporary crop of Directors, film movements and episodics would have enough titles and thunder to secure their own tag. The Dardenne Brothers, both Anderson(s), Lisa Cholodenko - surely. Mumblecore and "Peep Show" would have end caps. Orange is the New Black would be in Cult filed under "Women in Prison" alongside Caged Heat.


[Image via]

Being a video store clerk in the East Village was the most interesting public-facing job I would ever make a buck from. Through a customer's rental selection, us clerks got to know our clientele. We got to know your taste in film and what your girlfriend hated. Your Saturday night suggestions came from me, a person, not an algorithm or paid suggestion. A place in time before the Internet had touched and tagged every spec of existence. There was no IMDB — just a clerk who, when you attempted to rent Almost Famous, asked if you'd seen Crudup in Grind or Without Limits.

Soon enough you'd be tossed down a rabbit hole that took you from Crudup to Prefontaine to Leto to Requim for a Dream to Aronofsky to Connelly, which led you back to Crudup, who she shared the screen with in a beautiful movie called Waking the Dead. Remember the times you dashed to Kim's right after work on a Friday night to grab that new release but shit, all the copies were already rented. You instead ended up with the obvious double-feature of La Jette and 12 Monkeys. Or how about that time you realized it was a cinema verite night with Kopple after all. It was a time when the Criterion Collection was just becoming the original viral video everyone wanted to see with, GASP — a commentary track (a groundbreaking idea at the time). Also, a place in a time where you got a same-day porn rental for a dollar and would return the tape warm.

Our daily crowd resembled the poster art for Rock 'n Roll High School. From behind that melamine purple counter four clerks faced a line of genuinely nice folks, sarcastic pot-heads, painfully shy people, everyday assholes, hardcore film nerds and cinema elitists alike. We served established directors, actors and all the pivotal crew members who made film, and really any art, come to life. Oh, and of course those aspiring filmmakers too. We served the ever-changing street kids staying in the rehab facility across the street and the die-hards who came back week after week checking to see if our copy of Two Lane Blacktop had been repaired. At Kim's your celebrity status didn't matter, it was more about if you were renting Van Sant's Ma La Noche.

Of all the eclectic renters there was only one customer who could get me to place any title on hold for him, and he was the mightiest of film aficionados — a guy named Dukkor. Standing high at 6'4", skinny as a beanpole, tucked in a trench coat with his shoulder length, and always wet, jet black hair. Dukkor. An older, ageless man drenched in a cologne called tobacco. Dukkor gave me Dogme 95. When he learned that I was binge watching Von Trier titles he said "Kelly, you MUST watch The Celebration tonight. Not tomorrow but tonight, so that we can discuss Dogme 95 tomorrow." Dukkor, a man with a double-digit membership number, The Duke of all film knowledge, deeper that any Leonard Maltin's Movie Guide.

Our third floor staff was also a cast of characters. There was Matt, Mike (the vegan), Maria, Mike B., Mike P., Sam, Fred, Jeff and other floor employees like Aurelio on the music floor, Igor on the sales floor and Kenny in security. If you knew Mondo Kim's in the late 90s to the early oughts then you know these people. They influenced you and you influenced us. Sure the rumors of rude clerks is true. Do you know how many rude customers we had to deal with? It's fine, we learned to laugh it off and I hope you have too. Maybe I recommended Rosemary's Baby to a pregnant woman; perhaps I ushered a student to the Nick Zedd section when they asked for Citizen Kane in order to fulfill a homework assignment; and yeah, I totally refused to stop watching Poor Cow on our in-store television so a customer could rent it.

Matt, my first manager at Kim's, once told me that our rental floor at Mondo was the East Village's own "Town Hall." So true. Before neighborhood blogs, word on the street, like the lineup of hardcore bands playing at Matinee Sundays at CBGB's, the shuttering of Coney Island High, and Dojo's Soy Burger seventy-five-cent increase, traveled via Kim's. Neighborhood people would come and go. Some never to be seen again. That guy Daniel, for example, was in some band called Interpol who hit the ground running. Oh, and that really nice dude Zoriah, who worked across the street at Joe's CDs, left the city to pursue war photography. The news came through Mondo Kim's doors and echoed from there forward, out into the world. Or at least through the East Village.

I quit my gig at Kim's twice. First, to start working in production and to make more films and projects of my own. The second time I left was for good — a bittersweet exit to again work deeper in the film industry while also taking a job building and curating a new video shop in that triangle below canal — Tribeca Video. I left to apply all my Kim's knowledge and education elsewhere. Over the years I'd stop in to various Kim's locations, an alumni of sorts, to say hi to whoever was still working there and hello to the new round of clerks. I would dig through the genres, see what was new and check on that copy of Two Lane Blacktop.

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Now with the heartbreaking news of the final location closing today, I felt it time to share my little slice of the legend that is Kim's. There are endless rumors about the various Kim's locations closing one by one. Was it the skyscraper high rent hikes or was it another case of the Internet slamming it's tsunami of instant gratification down on the slower, organic avenues? Perhaps the Feds were circling back to make another bust on suspected bootlegs. When Mondo Kim's closed the complete rental collection flew off to Sicily after a deal was struck to keep the collection available to all Kim's members. But how do we access that portal? What came of that deal? Could there be a grand dream allowing access of the complete collection online?

Kim's is a cherished experience. One that is shared by all who knew it. When I look inside my memory files I see Mondo's third floor, its physical layout of black wire racks crammed with boxes, precisely labeled - the big purple and yellow genre signs — the maze in all its curated splendor. A place and a time I sadly miss. My years spent at Kim's deeply influenced the person I am today and anyone that new Kim's surely has this personal sentiment as well. Kim's gave us a lot of things, including a neighborhood go-to, a cultural phenomenon, and a film school education for the taking. Thanks, Mr. Kim.

Kelly Sebastian is a former video store clerk at Mondo Kim's (@kel_sebastian)

Previously on EV Grieve:
[Updated] A really bad sign outside Kim's Video & Music on First Avenue (31 comments)

Out and About in the East Village, Part 2

In this weekly feature, East Village-based photographer James Maher provides us with a quick snapshot of someone who lives and/or works in the East Village.



By James Maher

Name: Melissa Elledge
Occupation: Musician, Subway Performer
Location: East 9th Street and 1st Avenue
Date: July 31, Second Avenue F stop

I just finished a solo CD a few months ago for a suggested donation. I’ve met so many people and I’ve gotten a lot of gigs from it too. You’re a walking business card. That’s the reason why I’m in probably half the bands I’ve been in.

I also decided to tryout to get a permit for Music Under New York (MUNY). They give you a permit to play. There are certain stations that you need a permit to play in, like Grand Central and Union Square. It’s kind of hard to get a permit. About 300 people apply every year. When you apply you send in a CD or DVD and they choose about 50 to audition and, of those, about 25 get permits.

So I got one in 2012, but I don’t really play in those spots a lot. I tend to stick to 2nd Avenue on the downtown F and at 14th Street and 6th Avenue. The MUNY spots are not actually lucrative. Times Square is just a million people walking by and they have all these different paths. On a platform they have to walk by you. It’s a captive audience. I feel closer to the public down there. People think that I get most of my tips from tourists, but it’s really not. It’s people who work and live in the neighborhood.

There are people who give me a dollar every single time they see me. And tourists appreciate it like it’s part of their tour package. You’re constantly looked at like you’re in a fishbowl and I’m like, ‘No, I’m doing this for a living.’ I’m not just a statue. People sometimes see me down there and they think, ‘Oh she’s so mysterious, where does she live?’ I want people to know that I’m not a mole person. I actually live somewhere. I live in the East Village. This is my job.

I did actually get robbed and assaulted when I was busking once. This was two years ago. It was bizarre because even that was under the guise of being loved. It was this crazy crackhead lady. I saw her the day before and even that was weird. She was like, ‘Oh, you are so great, you go girl’ and just chatting me up and everything. She was like, ‘Hey I just have a $5 bill, I’m just going to get change.’

I had this weird feeling that day that she took more than she put down and I kind of made a mental note that it was time to stop letting people do that. So the very next day I was in the same spot at the same time and I saw her again and once again she was like, ‘Oh man, you’re so great, I love it when you’re here’ and she was chatting up everybody on the platform. I was watching her and she started standing closer and closer to me and the train comes up and then all of a sudden her hand plunged into my case. I stopped playing and pushed her hand away and said, ‘What are you doing?’ She was like, ‘Oh, I just dropped a $20 in there and I’m just getting change.’ There wasn't a $20 in there.

The train was there but nobody was noticing. There were hundreds of people around and it was like 2 p.m. on a Tuesday. I’m trying to attract attention. She was huge, like twice my size, and she’s trying to push me back. I’m just grabbing at her and then she just turns around out of nowhere and just punches me in the mouth. I’ve never been hit in the face in my life. It was like a dream until I felt the taste of blood in my mouth. I didn’t know what to do and so I just kicked her as hard as I could and then she turned around and punched me in the nose as hard as she could. But the funny thing was that the whole time she was taking her time to get into the train. She was not running down the platform or into the train. She was still obeying the law of etiquette where you let people off the train. She was waiting in a line of people to get on ... You can rob people, but you’ve got to follow the rules of the train. It’s been enough years where I can forgive her and say at least she knew that part.

I spent the rest of the day with the cops and they asked me, 'So are you going to keep doing this? Are you going to be back tomorrow or next week?' I was sitting there covered in blood and tears and sweat in early July, and I said I didn’t know. I felt very differently about what I was doing but they all said independently of each other that 'this is just an isolated incident. You can’t let this keep you from doing this. This is what you love to do and the city likes subway musicians.' I took a week off and then went back to the same spot.

There are people who come to this city and they expect something from it. They expect the city to give them something. I’ve never taken that viewpoint. I always felt like if I wasn’t giving something, I felt bad.

There were a couple of dark years after I got my master's and before I started playing the accordion and I would look at people collecting the trash or doing construction and I would envy them because they were actually putting something back into the city. I wasn’t doing that. I was just checking coats at Don Hills. I never want to feel like that, to feel like I wasn’t contributing, and for me that is playing in the subway. It’s a small thing to do. It’s not like I’m building places for the homeless but it’s my contribution.

Read Part 1 here.

James Maher is a fine art and studio photographer based in the East Village. Find his website here.

Out and About in the East Village, Part 2

In this weekly feature, East Village-based photographer James Maher provides us with a quick snapshot of someone who lives and/or works in the East Village.



By James Maher

Name: Christopher Reisman
Occupation: Police Officer, retired
Location: 9th Precinct, 5th Street between 1st and 2nd Avenue
Time: 11 a.m. on Monday, May 5

Read Part 1 here.

In 1975, my partner, Andrew Glover and my boss, Sgt. Fred Reddy were murdered. It was a stupid killing. It was on 5th Street, between Avenue A and B. They were just getting into the car … it was a replacement, because the regular car they had was in the shop. The replacement cars were almost always clunkers. They worked just well enough to roll. So they’re getting into the car and my partner sees a car double parked behind him and a guy is behind the wheel.

There was always pressure to write summons and he was driving the boss, so he said, ‘I’m gonna go back and check this guy’s license.’ To make a long story short, he asks the guy for his driver’s license, and the guy reaches for his driver’s license and shoots my partner in the chest. Then he runs up to the police car. The sergeant was sitting in the passenger seat, but the door was so stiff that you couldn’t open it. You had to turn and kick the door open with both feet. By the time he got the door open the guy was on him and shot him and then he went back and shot my partner.

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The Hells Angels chapter was founded here after I came. There had been a small gang run by a fellow named Sandy Alexander. I think the Angels today are much more circumspect than they were then. There was a fellow they use to call Big Vinny. Vinny was large ... he never wore a shirt. All he wore was the patch with the colors and that was it. Vinny was arrested for allegedly throwing a girl off the roof at a party in 1977.

The District Attorney’s office, in their infinite wisdom, allowed him out on bail, which meant that all the witnesses to this disappeared. But Vinny died about that time anyway from a burst pancreas.

Anyway, most of the people who were victims of the Hells Angels kind of provided themselves. These were exotic characters; they were bikers, outlaws. The clueless would gravitate to them. They would like to hang out with them not realizing that the Angels were a closed group. They were kind of hermetically sealed within themselves. If I was a Hells Angel and I considered you a good friend and another Hells Angel was mad at you and hit you, then I’d hit you too. As far as they were concerned, anybody outside of the club was a civilian.

It was kind of a blue-collar fraternity in a sense, and that’s not being fair to blue-collar people or fraternity people. Quite often drugs were involved. For the most part, they made an effort to avoid us largely because of the organizational structure. It was kind of a standoff. It was considered bad form to get locked up. You were bringing ill repute on the club and they didn’t want further examination.

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Drugs became worse in the 1980s and, not surprisingly, it was when many more white kids came to the neighborhood. The kids from the outer boroughs came in here, often because of music, drugs or a combination of such. The kids were street savvy in the sense that a blue-collar kid knows a lot more than a white collar kid, but they weren’t that down and mean.

Then you had the whole punk rock era, which was great. This was always a very creative area. There were a lot of poets. There were a lot of well-known artists, not necessarily famous, but well-known within their own artistic community. Even if kids were screwed up on drugs, they would get these tremendous creative influxes, but they wouldn’t last long. You would find an abandoned apartment and there would be half a project, and you’d go into another and there would be another half a project, whether they were building something with wood or painting, then for whatever reason they would move on.

The drug organizations became bigger and they got meaner. They became more organized. The neighborhood had already started to be crushed. The housing was diminished by fire and neglect. So we had the guy who might have been selling small bundles of heroin out of his apartment and now he’s moved to Brooklyn and he’s connected with another guy, so instead of selling a small bundle of dope, now he’s got a kilo of dope. He’s got an organization, and the moment you’ve got an organization and the moment you’ve got a lot more money, you in turn are much more vulnerable.

It’s true of all crime. The thing that the criminal needs more than anything else is a police department. This is what the Mafia does. There’s no such thing as a sit down where they plot bank robberies. There’s a guy who controls the area and it’s understood that if you ply your trade in his area you have to pay tribute, and if you pay tribute then nobody else can rob you.

It was the same with narcotics. The very fact that it became a much bigger business and there was much more money at stake, encouraged more sophisticated firearms. I have no way of proving this, but I often wonder if reduced homicides were just due to the drug business becoming more efficient. There is always a certain number of homicides that will never go down. Husbands will always stab wives and vice versus, somebody will just be stupid, and lots will happen in a neighborhood, but homicide is bad for the drug business.

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Two things changed the police department — the video camera and the machine gun. All of a sudden the bad guys had much better weapons than the police department and anything you did on the street was very likely to be recorded. Mostly the weapons were a function of protecting the drug situations, but if you were facing life in prison you would take a chance on killing a cop.

Here’s where I’m going to sound very pompous. If police work were simply a matter of apprehending criminals and throwing brush-back pitches at them — I think there are as many as 29,000 sworn officers in the city — you might need a thousand. The other 28,000 exist to protect me and you and our individual inner jerk. It’s the same as a stoplight. The police exist to stop me from that momentary lapse in judgment. It’s 3 in the morning and nobody is around and I’ll run this light or something. It’s to stop somebody from doing something stupid.

James Maher is a fine art and studio photographer based in the East Village. Find his website here.

Previously on EV Grieve:
Out and About in the East Village, Part 1

Exclusive: East Village Radio is signing off after 11 years; final day of broadcasting is May 23

[Image via]

East Village Radio, the 11-year-old Internet radio station with a tiny storefront studio on First Avenue, is shutting down operations next week.

"Every time we get a new listener, it costs us more money with licensing fees and Internet costs," East Village Radio CEO Frank Prisinzano said in a phone interview. "After doing some projections, we see that it is going to be very, very difficult for us to continue to break even."

The station ends live programming after Friday, May 23. The stable of eclectic DJs, with shows covering nearly every genre of music, will have the chance to broadcast a farewell show in the days ahead. (In addition, the station is releasing all of the archived shows to each DJ so that he or she can shop around for a new gig or syndication.)

Popularity hasn't been an issue with East Village Radio, who counted more than 1 million listeners worldwide a month (this after starting as a short-lived 10-watt FM radio station in April 2003). However, under the Congressional Digital Music Copyright Act of 1998, Internet broadcasters must pay a digital performance royalty for every listener.

"We pay a higher rate for royalties and licensing than Pandora pays. We live in a world where these behemouth music-streaming services keep going in for more capital," said Peter Ferraro, the general manager/head of programming at East Village Radio. "It's almost like we are being penalized for our growth.

"It's very difficult for an independent medium music company to survive in a world where Apple is paying $3.2 billion for Beats by Dre."

Still, East Village Radio was integral to the success of breaking new acts and giving airplay to musicians you might not have ever heard. The street-level studio was also a popular draw, bringing in celebrated music veterans such as Lou Reed (oops — he was a call-in), Richard Hell and John Lydon, among many others, through the years. You never knew who you might spot inside the studio at 19 First Ave. between East First Street and East Second Street.

[Duran Duran from 2010 via EVG]

While the programming is commercial free, East Village radio has survived by the advertising on its website and, most important, the funding from Prisinzano, the chef who owns neighborhood restaurants Frank, Lil Frankies, Supper and Sauce.

The radio operation was the proverbial labor of love, and a way to do something for the East Village.

"It has always been really pure to me. From the beginning I was thinking I had to give something back to this neighborhood," Prisinzano said. "I was worried about the music scene moving out to Brooklyn. It was important to represent the neighborhood."

So the thought of selling part of the station to secure the necessary funding to continue on with East Village Radio was never an option for Prisinzano and Ferraro.

"I don’t want to give up the integrity of the station. The only way that I really see it continuting is by bringing in another benefactor who would take over part of the station. I really don't want to do that. Pete and I understand the neighborhood. We want to run the station. I don’t want to sell it out," Prisinzano said.

Said Ferraro, "If another media or VC company came in, I don’t know if they would have understood the nuance of being local but global. There was a certain localness that we feel proud to be part of. But the mission has always been to amplify that out to the world, but to have it point back to the neighborhood."


[DJ Hannah Rad photographed last August by James Maher]

Prisinzano said that he isn't done with the East Village.

"I'm looking to come up with something else now. I have a lot of ideas. This particular model failed. We closed it down. I'll build up a little more capital and come up with a different idea," he said. "I'm really sad about the decision, but I think it has inspired people to do similar things all over the planet. We started out as a pirate radio station, and we decided to amplify it and design the local Internet radio model ourselves. The model is untenable. It just doesn't work. It's the system's fault. There isn't any legislation that will ever be written without someone lobbying for it. We can't afford lobbyists."

Prisinzano and Ferraro are still processing what the station's legacy might be.

"I hope that history proves to be kind to us," Ferraro said.

"This was a beautiful, amazing thing. I think something really positive will come out of this," Prisinzano said. "We took it to where we could take it. We are proud of what we did. Now it's time to stop. And that's OK."

The East Village — 'this place is still the best home for a lot of people'

[Photo by Gregoire Alessandrini]

By Jennifer Blowdryer

Of course the very bloodiest single-minded crimes in Manhattan are real-estate battles.

There was that locksmith of a landlord who allegedly made an entire likable middle-age couple go missing. More locally we have Danny Rakowitz, the so-called Tompkins Square Park Cannibal, and his temporary flatmate Monica, who thought she’d get his apartment and ended up in the stew instead. I always felt that the apartment was the key factor in that murder — anybody who was acquainted with Danny should have known better than to cohabit with him for even a moment.

Marla Hanson got her face slashed by landlord-hired goons and got famous the wrong way, enabling her to hook up with a tabloid-hungry author Jay McInerny for a minute. Gary Indiana’s great book, "Depraved Indifference," is a lightning-rod masterpiece about the mother and son who did away with a needy woman who, to be fair to their aspirational level, did in fact own an entire townhouse.

Most real-estate crimes here in the East Village are of the pettiest Dickensian kind – somebody’s got themselves an apartment, all the way indoors, in a building with or without a lobby, or even just a room in an apartment. Their quarters are often piled high with animal hair, collectibles, and palpable loneliness. Once an anchor tenant gives up or loses a domicile, they got nowhere, really, to go. Ever. Because as much as every jackass likes to mention that the East Village has changed, like they just noticed it, the way straight men don’t notice they’re older til they hit the wrong side of 50, this place is still the best home for a lot of people.

I suppose that on the yuppie/crazy/Puerto Rican/Dominican range of remaining East Village tenants, I’d have to be realtor-perceived as one of the crazies. You’ve got to stick with your own kind, even if it takes a microcosm of rezoning, so I sometimes put other crazies up in my small flat. Barflies, charmers, the well-spoken and unmatriculable, they need to be here, even if it means they're on the floor by my bed, under a table, or, worst-case scenario, sucking up my expensive cable TV watching endless episodes of "Wicked Tuna."

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My favorite guests of necessity were originally here in the 1980s, the 1990s, or the aughts, bein’ beautiful, working on the buildings, spackling, plumbing, and being difficult, going to Mars Bar every damn day, gossiping thoroughly about each other in a Yenta way that is more informational than dunning. Because to have a habit, a craft that’s useless in a technocracy, to slide into permanent befuddlement due to the alcohol-poisoned blood that washes over ones brain every 2 minutes or so, to inhabit a permanent state of virulent misinformation due to that cross bred and sprayed substance which weed’s become. Worse yet, future tenants are likely to suffer from the after shocks of some Dick Cheney version of a military invasion. Bad things just happen to a guy who thinks too much and plans too little.

When brutal things happen to a woman she gets a lot less social slack – the world can collectively shun a crone shuddering on a ledge, no longer mom, booty call, or interested listener, unable and unwilling to hear how the world done a man wrong for even a millisecond.

Homelessness is so rampant but dunning that toting around a very large bag on city streets is a social death knell. The art of the bag stash is an artful slight of hand you'd better master if you're in the position of no position. If you’re trying to get a footing in somebody’s apartment then you’d better not be too obvious – put your stenchy belongs under the couch, just behind a chair, in a corner of a closet you hope the host doesn’t use much. One so understands.

I mean hell, I’m not much of a joiner, and groups of, say, 7 folk or more tend to turn on me in a subtle display of hive mind that I often suspect would translate into a public square beat down in another century or town. If it wasn’t NYC and the last great vestige of street life it retains, I’d be a stray cat, a low-down talent snob, an impossible to please slow to anger woman with snarly hair who picks friends like illogical magnets, an artist that needs to be broken.

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[Photo by Gregoire Alessandrini]

In the East Village I fit right in. I can walk to Ray's, talk to Kim and the ad-hoc salon he hosts behind the counter, get myself a peanut butter ice cream and some Belgian fries. If the sun is out even a little bit I could walk across the street to Tompkins Park, swing by Crusty Row and say hello to G-Sus or the late LES Jewels, or the Circle part of the Park to find Eak, after craning my neck to see if Jay is in the chess area to the right side, dominating at a chess table, sober but happy to be only a few feet from the boisterous day imbibers at the 7th Street entrance.

If there’s a conga beat that’s going on more toward Avenue B there are definitely congo players and maybe some of that hard to master off-beat Latin singing, so I walk down more toward the Avenue B side of the benches and stay close by the music, listening, smiling hard. Every few months my endless pursuit of artistic hobbies means a flyer generating visit to Santos at The Source on 9th Street. He’s a good man with a narrow multi-purpose print shop who crinkles his eyes kindly when I’m there on one of my bad days, stammering out my request for a DVD copy, hunched forward and vague but terribly busy with a million projects no Grant shall ever shine on. Santos makes people happy.

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I spent so many nights in a nearby building with the best cuddler ever that one operator came to call me “The Landlord’s Girlfriend,” a sort of fiendish tag muttered from clenched teeth. I sort of was, especially with my responsibility of pointing out the boiler room. Often there’d be a call that required me to get out of his bed way too early for an East Villager, cram on my shoes, and totter down to the basement to show an indifferent city worker where the boiler was. The employee always had a pleasant world weary shrug of an attitude. They'd look at the boiler, check the clipboard, and we'd all keep moving on with our day.

I had to point out the boiler because somebody with a beef called the Housing Department about rats or noise or God knows what, and the city worker with the clipboard was just a guy with a job, and he had to check something off on a form. This was the easiest out for he and I. It wasn’t like they thought there wouldn’t be a boiler room there if they caught us unawares. It was that the accumulated animosity resulted in a promiscuous use of snitching and cross snitching to 311, 911, and any other have-to-respond social services that exist. It was a stunning and extended use of city bureaucracy and we all had to play our parts, just about every other day, there was no way to stop any of it once it got rolling, Common Sense is such a myth.

Construction and history wise it’s an alright building, and it had itself a nice little courtyard that the couple on the first floor ably ran as their own, which tends to happen with ground-floor courtyards. The East Village version of the real-estate death battle writ small was sometimes more interactive than calls to the Housing Department. Like when the special-needs guy from the second floor clocked the courtyard tenant who’d invited him in for a celebratory glass of birthday scotch. Don’t get too friendly with your neighbors, was the lesson.

On another floor an ex-con moved in with the 90-year-old mother of his dead former cellie and knocked her around. He was fond of trying to engage GOLES (Good Old Lower East Side), an exhausted tenant’s rights non-profit, when his tyranny of one became threatened.

Another standing tenant was a not-too-bright nutter who grew up in the building, drew a knife on his trapped walker-bound father. You could hear the son’s security guard shoes tromping around or spot him booking down the steps, spewing the angry monologues of the self trapped, eyes flashing, face puffed up to a bright and scary red.

The low-down sociopathology of Elder Abuse is pretty common in rent-controlled apartments here and maybe everywhere. Pity the very old, the crippled, and frozen agoraphobic hoarder, because once a predator gets past their dented doors that’s all she wrote. Elder Abuse is both a true evil and banal, a crime perpetrated by the illiterate whose goal to just, you know, stay inside is a tenacious mini genocide of a living soul. Most crime, after all, is just poor people doing heinous shit to each other, no millions involved. Homicide cops don’t think much of us, the uncunning poor.

The other day, as I walked down my hallway steps, a woman, too thin, too hard, too much at work, said “Do you like silver?” and I stopped dead in my tracks. “Yes. Yes I do.” I replied, the only answer, because without leaving my own building I had just met the most classic of peddlers and she is after all alive, and deserves to be here as much as the plants, the bankers, the children, the loafers, and the artists.

The female riff raff of the LES are those plants that are just too green, the ones who sprout through the concrete on a so-called esplanade just off the Con Ed plant on the FDR. These unweeds and the peddling riff raff are suspicious activity, which is the safest way to be around here. It’s fun. In turn we, the effervescent place saving plants, refuse to be suspicious of you, you, and you. That’s how you miss the good stuff. Come on over, you Albanian Supers, you wheezing pugs, you silk screening waitresses with no ability to fulfill an order of any kind. We've all got our nerve!

Jennifer Blowdryer is an East Village resident who's been here since 1985 and was conceived in a dumpy tenement off the Bowery, right on Bleecker. She is the lead singer of Jennifer Blowdryer Punk Soul.

More about the closure of Kim's: 'We are NOT closing because record stores are dying'

[Photo from last Monday by Williams Klayer]

As we first reported last Monday, Kim's Video and Music is closing soon at 124 First Ave. The following email went out this past weekend to the Kim's faithful…

If you haven't heard already, earlier this week we announced that Kim's Video & Music, here on 1st Ave, will be closing its doors this July. Business here has been steady and our Record Store Day last Saturday was easily the best yet with new and old customers flooding the store for 200+ exclusive releases. The point is, and you should be aware, that we are NOT closing because record stores are dying, business is bad, it's not like it used to be and oh terrible world. Not at all. The actual reason for our closing is that the lease is up in July and the rent is being raised to an amount we simply can't work with. It's an unfortunate situation and we really, really appreciate all the positive vibes and eulogizing that has been sent our way this week. We are hopeful that a new Kim's can be erected this summer, (likely at a smaller location), and we are in the process of exploring that possibility. Until then, please stop in at 124 1st Ave (between St. Marks/7th) to say hi and take advantage of our closing sale. ALL Music & Video is 30% off.

This will be the last New Music Newsletter until the foreseeable future. Kim's WILL be stocking New Releases as they come out until we close ... Other than that, thank you for your continuing support and business over the years and hopefully we'll see you at a new (and improved) Kim's later this year.

Previously on EV Grieve:
[Updated] A really bad sign outside Kim's Video & Music on First Avenue (31 comments)

Source: Kim's staff looking for ways to save their store