I see at least half a dozen of these signs every time I visit the East Bronx (the western portion of the East Bronx, to be precise). Who makes them??
Please ask them to get in touch with me. I only charge a 10% broker's fee.
Part of For Closure, a sculpture being installed in the plaza at West Farms Square.
This portal leads to something pretty amazing.
The universal sign of a disgruntled union, Scabby was stationed outside Beth Israel Medical Center today. His human companion was handing out flyers criticizing the hospital network for hiring "an irresponsible company to perform deadly asbestos removal."
These four acres were once part of the Stuyvesant family farm. In 1836, the Stuyvesants sold this land to the city (for a token five dollars) to be used as a public park.
This building was the second headquarters of Tammany Hall, the extremely powerful, and notoriously corrupt, Democratic Party machine that dominated New York City politics during the second half of the 19th century and the first few decades of the 20th.
The High Line, opened in 1934, was an elevated freight rail line built to eliminate the many dangerous street-level railroad crossings that once existed along Manhattan's West Side. After thriving for a couple of decades, it began to fall out of use as trucking became the country's dominant mode of freight transportation. No trains have run on the line since the last three cars of frozen turkeys rumbled down its tracks back in 1980. Following a quarter-century of (glorious) abandonment, and occasional threats of demolition, it was repurposed as a mile-long park (with another half-mile or so in the works), and its innovative design and landscaping have been a huge hit with the public. (Pictured here is the street theater, where you can sit and watch — and be watched by — the street.)
Those who found their way onto the High Line during its decades of disuse were rewarded with an extraordinary, magical sense of wild solitude amidst (and just above) the frenetic commotion of the city, but today that same structure is often more crowded and bustling than the streets below. The evolution of this vibrant public space is an inspiring story in many ways, but it's also always a little sad to see an authentic hidden treasure like the High Line — a place that requires some active effort to explore and appreciate and love — exposed to the world and transformed into something deemed more worthwhile.
Currently the Dream Downtown Hotel, this building was originally part of the National Maritime Union's headquarters annex.
After a couple decades of under-the-radar operation, the pedicab industry became officially regulated by the city back in 2009.
These stairs lead to the busiest passenger transportation facility in the United States. Today's subterranean warren is a far cry from the glorious edifice that once stood on this site (although the current incarnation does have its fans). The demolition of the original station in 1963, to make way for Madison Square Garden, was called a "monumental act of vandalism against one of the largest and finest landmarks of its age" by the NY Times, and it was a galvanizing moment for the architectural preservation movement in the US. There have since been many proposals to restore some measure of dignity and grandeur to Penn Station, including one plan currently in the works: an expansion into the Farley Post Office Building across the street.
Nearly full, it was perched right next to the Chrysler Building. And I bet this guy got a great shot of it.
Building and Trylons. Note the eagles jutting out from the 61st floor of Building.
Here's a somewhat ridiculous piece of information. According to its owners, the building outside of which this sculpture sits, 655 Third Avenue, was "the first building with a free-standing abstract sculpture on a New York City sidewalk: Windward by Jan Peter Stern."
Modeled after the Friedrichsbau at Heidelberg Castle, this building was originally a beer hall in the now-extinct neighborhood of Little Germany. It's been used well over the years, by O. Henry and Bob Dylan, among others.
This house is not the only rooftop residence in the city.
This is apparently how mango purée is transported.
One of the remaining eagle sculptures from the original Penn Station is perched on the roof of this striking new academic building at Cooper Union.
Opened in 1831, this little cemetery on East Second Street was home to the remains of James Monroe for 27 years until his body was returned to Virginia and reinterred at Hollywood Cemetery. Another notable burial-then-removal was that of John Ericsson, designer of the USS Monitor (built and launched in Greenpoint, as we've discovered).
Far more important than those two gentlemen, however, is an early-19th-century merchant buried here who just happens to have one of the coolest names of all time: Preserved Fish. But you can just call him Pickled Herring.
I've seen countless memorial murals on this walk, but I believe this is the first one I've come across that's dedicated to a pet.
We've already passed by the intersection with the highest street-number product in the city; here's the intersection at the other extreme.
