No Escape

You may have noticed it's been pretty quiet around here, on this blog that is, not the neighborhood. The neighborhood is still pretty noisy, and the block looks like ass. When the green wall was removed, evidence of the pounding our block took for months on end was revealed in the form of cracks in the sidewalk. My fiancee awoke one morning to find that the front tire of my car, parked in front of my apt., had fallen into a sink hole in the hastily paved over street.

Which brings me to my latest grievance. First some history: Ratner owns my building, Ratner owns the construction mess going on outside. Ratner does not own the street, Ratner does not own me. The reason it has been quiet on this blog as of late is that I've been away on the west coast a-workin'. Yet the early awakenings and construction nonsense native to The Footprint somehow managed to find their way to my hotel in California.

I got a phone call at 4:30am PST from a construction worker:
"Hey how ya doin' buddy? It's the construction workers outside on Dean St. We need you to move your car ASAP. Thanks."

Apparently my super thinks it's OK to give out my cell phone number to construction workers who are in the process of dismantling my community. There a many levels of inappropriateness here. FCR has introduced a brand new way to harass the people whose homes they are bent on destroying by not only making a mockery of their block and the civic process, but now they'll give you early morning wake up calls with things they need you to do.

Anyhow, my car stays put.