Widescreen Queens

The only way to do these photos -- and the freeway approach through Queens -- justice was to present them in widescreen format.

I took the pictures from the Greenpoint Ave. overpass above the Long Island Expressway.

Maspeth Horror Story

Giggling couples picnicked in the graveyard last summer.  Now ominous winds snap dead leaves from the trees, as Halloween descends on Maspeth, Queens.

The lonely weekend streets of Maspeth are lined with sleeping semi trucks.  I've lived and worked near truck yards, so I'm comfortable around them; I just wish I hadn't remembered that article about serial killer truck drivers as I walked through [map].

Then there's the DSNY garbage garage (left, at 47th St. & 58th Rd.) with all those bags full of who-knows-what.

Sanitation man: It ain't the stink -- a couple-ten beers will take care of that.  What bothers me is when I wake up sweatin' like a pig and the bed is full of garbage bags with zombie arms stickin' out, tryin' to get me!

Then the hyper-bright plant where they make concrete boots (right, on 49th St.).

Made man: Now listen Jimmy, they been doin' things this way since Columbus was bangin' Cleopatra.  How we gonna make this statue if you won't stand still in the garbage can?


Then the creepy ad at the deserted bus stop across from the Duane Reade warehouse (left, at 50th St. & 55th Ave.).

"There's Something Wrong with Esther."  For one thing, she hasn't got bus fare, and you do!

Then the graveyard right behind it (top, New Calvary Cemetery).

Where they buried all the people who died waiting for the bus, or waiting for a friend who's waiting for them at 55th St. & 50th Ave., not 50th St. & 55th Ave!

Then (right, at 48th St. & 54th Ave.) the huge billboards that reach for  freeway commuter eyeballs like sunflowers reaching for the sun...

...to escape the scattered bones at their feet, remnants of failed salesmen who couldn't return home empty handed, to face the wife and poor baby Esther, wailing in her misery, knotted like a scared snake around the bars of her crib.

Then finally, the campground for crazy people (below, on 47th St.).

In better lit parts of the city, people stay up all night, abuse substances and play at Crazy.  But the crew here quit playing long ago.  They sit circled around the fire, strumming broken guitars, roasting odd bits of meat, licking Bowie knives, and necking like reptiles in heat.  Screams from the hills -- the weed covered trash mounds that shelter the camp -- make their dogs whimper and move closer to the fire.

The crew bides its time, waiting for something to happen.  They won't know what until some stranger -- maybe you, when your car breaks down and your cellphone goes dead -- wanders up to the fire and asks something silly like "Hey guys, do you know where we are?"

[ Map of Maspeth for Trick-or-Treaters ]
[ Middle of Nowhere, Queens ]

Queens Plaza Playaz Club

I just wiggle my toes on a mink rug
and press Play on the remote, at the Playaz Club
- Rappin' 4-Tay

Last time I was on the platform at the Queens Plaza subway station I noticed the exclusive "gentlemen's club" pictured here.  You know you're headed for a class experience when it's above a Blimpie, as above.


A tour of the facilities: Above left, the swank building that houses the City Scape (or Cityscapes, depending on the sign you read) Gentlemen's Club.  Above right, fine dining is free at the club's rooftop BBQ, so you don't have to wander outside to the Blimpie or Taco King.  Below left, the penthouse VIP lounge.  And below right, I'd guess there's a hot tub in there somewhere, where high rollers can gaze at the stars, smoke cigars, and feed their brain the high class cognac oblivion it craves.


The stretch limo that brings you to the club is, of course, a subway train arriving at Queens Plaza Station, in all its pinkness below.

Queens Means Tourism

Pedestrians are an anomaly on this stretch of Van Dam St. in Queens, so I was surprised to be joined by the group of tourists above, staying at the Fairfield Inn in Blissville.  Marriott locates the hotel in "New York Long Island City / Manhattan View" because -- just like Gertrude Stein said about one of my other favorite places, Oakland, California -- "there is no there" in this part of Queens.  [ Google map; check the Street View ]


I guess the group decided it would be more exciting to walk to the subway, a mile away on Queens Blvd., than wait for the hotel shuttle.  It was a beautiful day, and I'm sure they had a great time -- when not wondering why we were the only pedestrians on that long stretch.  They had time to study the underside of the LIE, the storage facilities and mattress warehouses, the Gulf gas station proudly flying its Gulf War flags (top and above left), and the Queensboro Correctional Facility, ominously located right next to La Guardia Community College.

We parted ways at Queens Blvd.  They turned right toward the 7 Train at 33rd, no doubt headed for an exciting time in Manhattan.  Meanwhile I turned left, headed for an exciting time in Queens Plaza, above right and below.

I have had my fill of slickly packaged plastic; there's more nutrition in the oil-soaked weeds between the LIRR, the LIE and the Queensboro Bridge than in all the patio furniture in Times Square.

LIC's Taste of Brazil

I couldn't help but notice Long Island City's "mystery condo" (now known as "L Haus," pronounced "Hell House") from a mile away.  It shrieks for attention.

Nearly everything else -- including the Manhattan skyline featuring Donald Trump's Big Black Thing and Citibank HQ (flanking the building, below left) -- is a wallflower compared to this building.  Only the powerful accumulation of junk that is Newtown Creek (below right) can compete.

It looks like a fat parrot, and turns the LIC skyline (on top) into something straight out of Brazil -- in fact brighter than the Brazilian flag.  Let's hope the developer runs out of money before the parrot plumage is hidden under drab condo cladding and the building becomes just another "suit," another turkey.

Middle of Nowhere, Queens

Continuing my walk across Nowhere, some sights from 58th St. as it runs north out of Maspeth in Queens.

First up, above, an inscrutable security system on a building in deserted (weekend) Maspeth.


Above left, a scene out of any flat place in the U.S. (though I believe that is the backside of beleaguered St. Saviour's over there).  Across the tracks, above right, the backside of the Clinton Diner, looking greasy enough to give Bill pause.



Above, the distinctive Petro Cube; I regret I've never been by at night to see if it lights up.  To the left, just down the block, an equally cryptic antenna complex.

To the right, the sad view of Mt. Zion Cemetery nearly squashed under the Long Island Expressway.

The monuments below are in Mt. Zion; the one on the left was "erected in memory of the victims of the town of Bobrka, Galicia, slain by the barbarian hordes of Nazi Germany during World War II."