
... "authentic Vietnamese sandwiches and other treats." Curious how this food will fare with the Cherry Tavern crowd next door...

To hold space for the incoming town cars, Dwell95 planners implemented those festive "do not slip" signs indigenous to maintenance crews.
It began with a belief that better living is achieved through harmony: of mind and body, of time and place, of luxury and lifestyle. Introducing 311 E 11: Village Green. Developers Michael and Izak Namer created 311 E 11: Village Green with one goal in mind: to define environmentally responsible 21st century luxury living. 311 E 11: Village Green is targeted for LEED-Gold certification and serves as the vanguard for a new wave of eco-indulgent lifestyles. From its energy efficient amenities to the sophisticated wellness center it houses, 311 E 11: Village Green is the template for what all future luxury living will be.
i get to walk by the b&t velvet-rope crowd daily, and can barely get by them all sprawled out, texting, celphone chatting, smoking, flicking cigarette butts everywhere and generally being gross. i usually just walk in the street. NOW with this "cafe" taking up half the sidewalk, plus the velvet rope line, what does that leave???
[T]here were also many hardships in running a café that could barely stay afloat. Kathy held an office job in midtown and all the work was straining her marriage. The couple split in 1984 and David wanted to sell the café. Kathy refused and resolved to run it by herself, just as New York City sank into the crack epidemic and the East Village swarmed with unpredictable junkies.
"It was hard for us working in a little neighborhood café, forced to do drug intervention, something we weren’t trained in or prepared for," she said. "We had people shooting up and OD-ing in our bathroom and things were getting pretty ugly."
"The flyer/cards are my first stab at trying to collect memories people might have of their day-to-day encounters with now empty businesses along 14th Street. I will then re-frame these memories and create a series of ephemeral text drawings placed in front of unoccupied commercial spaces. The texts combine these donated stories and daily observations, evoking past and present moments of daily life at the transitional sites. Laid out in ash and other impermanent materials, each work disintegrates and disappears quickly under the rush of ongoing urban life, echoing the temporal and transitory nature of the moments documented."
"It's an interesting, intricate social situation," Nathaniel Hunter Jr. observed early yesterday morning from the bench in Tompkins Square Park, where he has lived for the last six years. "The internal contradictions are constantly slamming into each other."
In the after-midnight darkness, nearly 300 homeless people were stretched out in the park -- sleeping, trying to sleep, talking and drinking. Their number has steadily grown from some 137 who were evicted when the police tore down their tent city two weeks ago after a series of clashes. A cooking fire smoldered near some bushes, a tepee and other shelters had been set up from sheets of plastic and cardboard refrigerator boxes.
More and more homeless people have been trickling into the park, attracted both by the latest burst of public attention and the number of soup kitchens operated nearby by religious groups, turning the park into a kind of a sanctuary and rallying point for the homeless.
Tompkins Square Park, 10 1/2 tree-shaded acres of worn pavement and scuffed grass, is the center of a singular part of Manhattan known variously as the Lower East Side, the East Village, Loisaida, Alphabet City, Community Board 3 or the Ninth Precinct, an uneasy community that is the meeting ground of the two most powerful forces in the city today: drugs and real estate.
The story told by Mr. Hunter -- a gentle, shrewd-spoken, gray-bearded black man known as Junior, who keeps a small rake and shovel by his bench to tend the nearby cherry and black-oak trees -- is that of many of the city's homeless: a single, massive blow pushed them over the margin. In his case, he said, it was the purchase of the nearby high-rise where he lived by speculators who turned it into co-ops, leading to a long, unsuccessful struggle against eviction.
"I was doing everything right, paying my rent on time, paying my cable TV on time," said Mr. Hunter, who was then a self-employed contractor. "But they wear you out after a year and a half or two. I was physically, financially, psychologically pooped out. I just wanted to be left alone, to find a spot in space to cool my head out. So I came here. I found a sanctuary, really, trees, open space, solitude.
"Of course at that time, it wasn't so pulsating with events. But now we have cook fires burning, political activists yelling, police around, all the things I had been running away from," he went on, suddenly bursting into a whoop of laughter at the irony. "Now I'm worried about my actual eviction from the park."