7th Street between Second Avenue and Cooper Union.
Ninth Street between First Avenue and Second Avenue.
Avenue C between Eighth Street and Ninth Street.
Eighth Street between B and C.
I’m growing tired - have been tired for some time, I suppose - of writers using their New York residency as a rhetorical device. Maybe this was once acceptable, when being from the Upper West Side or the East Village had a concrete connotation, but increasingly the device feels like an amateurish way of bragging about living in New York, about - woah - renting an apartment in a city that’s - woah - big.(Caine Blog)
Spectacular Soho Apartment * Skylights * W/D and D/W * Just a BEAUTYTRULY a BEAUTIFUL BEAUTIFUL apartment * Super Mini-Loft and HUGE, GORGEOUS SPACE * Spectacular kitchen with skylight, dishwasher, washer and dryer, microwave, FABULOUS counter space * Breakfast counter * Exposed brick * Skylights * Hardwood floors * Full, windowed bathroom * SENSATIONAL NEIGHBORHOOD AND LOCATION - near everything that makes Soho living sooooooooo wonderful (close to all the fabulous restaurants, cafes, boutiques, gourmet shops, services, transportation) and a short walk to Greenwich Village, Noho, Nolita, Tribeca, Lower East Side (you can even walk to the East Village and even Chelsea) * A MUST SEE IF EVER THERE WAS ONE !!!!
After watching all three films, New York just looks like the craziest place on Earth, which, for some including myself and obviously for Sandler, makes it just about the most beautiful place on Earth. There’s one touching scene in Sway when Sandler talks with an elderly gentleman about how great NYC is. The old man can’t find anything to love about it while Sandler gushes about the amazing parade of life that passes by everyday. And thank God Sandler was there with a camera to catch it all.
The freak's frontyard conceals an entrance to the strange world under the boardwalk, with long forgotten hamburger signs, picnic tables and strange lairs. Hidden in the freak's backyard is a concrete porch looking out on a vast empty plain that was once Coney Island's Go-Kart track, batting cage and mini-golf course. Beyond this empty lot lies the Wonder Wheel, which is now surrounded by the demolition of Astroland. The home of the freak, like the gritty spirit of modern Coney Island, may be gone by next summer, replaced by the promise of luxury condominiums.
A new SoHo boutique named The 1929 — after the Depression — and a place where fashionistas and the down-and-out soon could be rubbing shoulders. The street level store on 179 Mott St. is decked out with racks of snazzy dresses, pants and tops by independent designers.
The basement level has been transformed into an art and performance space by night and a spot where hungry shoppers, or even passersby, can pick up a free bowl of soup and coffee during the day.
“The store is inspired by the Great Depression,” said store manager Aaron Genuth, 25, one of three friends who created the business.
No it can't be. You are falling into their trap of believing and hope for the future. Don't do it!
Ha! You're right Jill! Bet they wait until the end to paint it...crushing all my silly hope!
Like a spinnaker frozen in glass, the 21-story Cooper Square Hotel billows above beat-up tenement buildings in Manhattan’s gentrifying East Village.
The slim, all-glass tower, enclosing just 145 rooms, makes plenty of attention-seeking gestures. It swells outward as it rises, then tips back. Facets along the side wiggle in and out, changing from glass to hole-punched metal panels. These surfaces look stretched taut, as if under enormous internal pressure.
If it sounds like too many ingredients and too many ideas, [architect Carlos] Zapata molds them into a seemingly effortless whole rather than a nervous assemblage of tics.
He has fused the hotel with a battered tenement building next door, which has been saved along with the tenancy of two women who have lived through the neighborhood’s extended tough times to see it flower.
Zapata animated the entrance by erecting a little four-story tower that bookends the tenement and looks ripped from the main tower at the base. Above, he has peeled away the shiny skin to reveal squared-off tubular shapes in tan and green. This lets the tower echo the ragged silhouette of the long-neglected tenement neighborhood. Its contrasting lightness doesn’t weigh down the layers of red brick, terra-cotta rickrack and dangling fire escapes that give the streets such evocative character.
In spite of its size and contemporary styling, the hotel is no heedless intruder.
Two years ago, when the country's financial health was superficially strong, the Mets-Citigroup naming rights deal -- a record-cracking $20 million for 20 years to call the new ballpark Citi Field -- wasn't just gaudy, it was downright obscene.
Now, with Citi laying off thousands while reaching for billions in government bailout money, and with Citi's clients having taken a brutal beating, the declaration by the two parties that the ballpark naming deal will proceed as agreed upon is nauseating.
Two years ago, the $400 million deal to call the Mets' new stadium Citi Field was nothing better than an irresponsible vanity buy, one rooted less in advertising than in mad money beyond Madison Ave.
Today, that the deal will be sustained is no different than a welfare mother spending her family's subsistence money on booze, bracelets and the down payment on a brand new BMW.
We are pleased to announce our fourth annual Urban Folk Arts & Craft Fair these next three Saturdays, 6th, 13th and 20th December, from 3 until 7:30, in our heated back-patio. "Drink good stuff" while doing some relaxed holiday gift shopping from local artists & crafters - beating the high street mania - shopping for eco-friendly, hand-crafted, fair-priced, original, one-of-a-kind holiday gifts. Buy a beer from one of the 18 draughts, including two hand-pulled ales, or choose from one of the 360 bottled beers, fine wines, or whiskeys, from Gina the lovely bartender, then come on back into the warm and welcoming patio. BYO bags for extra green points! And small bills are always welcome.
I live in one of these buildings, and Westbrook has been hell, to say the least (Extell pretty much left us rent stabilized people alone, at least in my building). Now, I am not looking forward to another flip, but here's the thing:
1. The 17 buildings can now be purchased separately, which may mean improved landlord-tenant relations in some cases, instead of the current collective of tenants dealing only with the shadowy PVE Associates and the repulsive Josh.
2. In some buildings, up to 40% of the rent-regulated tenants have already been forced out, meaning the ones who remain are: in possession of solid leases; good tenants who pay rent on time and do not sublet illegally, etc.; and have been through this fight for the past several years and know their rights.
Adding to this, I assume new landlords will want to avoid the terrible recent press Westbrook has received.
Finally "renting for as low as 20% of market" is deceiving. The individual listings linked to at Curbed show that there are far more stabilized units left than controlled ones. I am stabilized and my rent is only about 10% below market. In NYC's uncertain future, it may be better to have rent-stabilized people adding to the rent rolls than vacant apartments contributing zero.
Or I am being a completely naive optimist, and more unforeseeable hell awaits.
Brokerage giant Massey Knakal has announced, in an e-mailed press release and on its blog, that the firm has been retained to arrange the sale of 17 walk-up apartment buildings in the East Village. But not just any 17! The mix of buildings—sprinkled throughout the 'hood in many shapes and sizes and with widely varying numbers of rent-stabilized apartments per building—make up the "East Village Portfolio," purchased by megadeveloper Extell for $72 million in 2006 before the company spun if off to former cohort Westbrook Partners for $97.5 million in the summer of '07
According to Massey Knakal, "The rent regulated units are renting for as low as 20% of market creating a tremendous opportunity to increase revenue in the future. All of the free market units have been recently renovated featuring new hardwood floors, stainless steel appliances and granite countertops."
It wasn't open when I went by, but all the paper was down and everything looked ready for business. The signs inside say it's an organic, gourmet, dairy-free ice cream place. It looks like every other boring fro-yo joint, with space-age white stools and blonde wood. Very swedish -- like Ikea.
Bari Equipment is a family-owned business with roots that go back generations. The company was started by my grandfather when he came over from Italy more than 75 years ago. Located in New York’s fabled Bowery District, the business is still in the very same neighborhood. It has also remained in the family. Through the years, my father, uncles, and I – along with our amazing staff – have all upheld the traditions of excellence started way back when.
Of course, it’s tradition that sets us apart. Our pizza ovens, crafted with an eye for detail and quality, have withstood the test of time. In fact, the very same ovens purchased half a century ago can still be found in pizzerias across NYC and beyond!
Ciao!
Jeanie
Watching all of these developments carefully is the family that owns Bari Restaurant and Pizzeria Equipment, a business that takes up 10 storefronts at Prince Street and the Bowery. As owners of one of the district's oldest shops, the Baris seem to know what's coming.
"I'm trying to envision it five, ten years from now," said Anton Bari as he sat on one of the restaurant chairs offered for sale in the Bari Gallery, one of the family's many enterprises. "I don't see the restaurant suppliers. I don't know if the reputation will still be here."
Mr. Bari, his brothers Mike and Nick and a cousin also named Nick run a company established in the 1940's by their grandfather, Nicola Bari, a radio repairman and purveyor of cheese graters. Besides selling an encyclopedic variety of restaurant supplies, the Baris manufacture pizza ovens and refrigeration units that are used in kitchens from Brooklyn to Russia.
On occasion, the Bari brothers are greeted by acquaintances who encourage them to turn their shops into trendy bars. But unlike many other suppliers on the Bowery, the Baris don't rent their stores -- they own them. They can sit back and watch the changes on the street without the pressure of a landlord or a lease.
Across from the Baris' main showroom at 240 Bowery, the family owns another building, but this one is not all mixers and ovens. Through a set of red doors marked "No Loitering" and up the stairs, an entirely different Bowery staple is still in operation.
"I can't stand the stink in here," said Mike Bari, squinting his eyes and turning toward the exit. He was standing in the hallway of the Sunshine Hotel, an S.R.O. above one of the Baris' warehouse units that the family inherited when it bought the building 15 years ago.
Once home to 200 residents, the hotel now houses just 40, with each man paying (or not paying) about $10 a day for the privilege of inhabiting one of its cell-like rooms. In the lobby, where a clerk collects rent and a painting of the main characters from "The Sopranos" hangs on the wall, the Baris greet nearly every resident with a warm familiarity.
"We're not looking to throw anybody out," said Anton Bari, when asked why he doesn't simply convert the Sunshine into $4,000-a-month apartments. "If they had to leave here, they'd be lost."
THE WALTERS FAMILY
Walters is your place for a peace of mind (well, sometimes you get a piece of our mind). The ambiance will remind you of a place long forgotten or finally found (they don't make 'em like they used to).
You see, you may walk into Walter's Bar a stranger, but you'll leave a regular. Walter's is like a home and the people are like family to anyone that walks in.
Okay, enough politeness, WE ARE A PLACE TO GET DRUNK!!!.
Having heard once too often that his outfit is kind of lame, Bobby (Justin Rice), a useless East Village hipster, tucks into the American Apparel store on Houston Street and picks out a baby blue T-shirt with some help from Charlotte (Charlotte Af Geijerstam), a failed actress in hot pants and leg warmers. Later they meet for a drink and commiserate about their boring, complacent, privileged lives.
“The old city,” Bobby muses, “like the one that I dreamed about, the one from the movies. It’s not there anymore. Maybe we’re both just maladjusted, you know, like we’re living in the past.”
And thus, for one brief moment, does “Let Them Chirp Awhile” acknowledge the source of its painfully unsympathetic take on postcollegiate New Yorkers who think themselves artists but don’t have an original thought in their heads.
Written and directed by Jonathan Blitstein, the movie really does live in an imaginary past, the one immortalized in classic Woody Allen films. How else to explain why Bobby and his circle of friends name-drop Chekhov, pontificate on Bergman, crack tired jokes about Los Angeles and spend all their time either failing at relationships or kvetching about their inadequacies while whimsical jazz coos on the soundtrack?
This sort of thing was indulgent enough the first time around; transplanted to the mumblecore milieu, it’s intolerable.
A new Citigroup scandal is engulfing Robert Rubin and his former disciple Chuck Prince for their roles in an alleged Ponzi-style scheme that's now choking world banking.
