It was only a matter of time before the marriage of Jeff Koons and the High Line took shape.  Obviously, this rendering is in very premature phases because you wouldn’t want that thing to fall on your head.

The art installation, called Train, would feature a full-size replica of a 1943 Baldwin 2900 steam locomotive suspended from a crane above the Spur. 

The sculpture itself would be a completely new fabrication, and it would accommodate all the features to ensure public safety. As part of their research for the project, Koons and LACMA have conducted an extensive feasibility study for the project, and the German fabricator Arnold is currently conducting additional engineering studies, cost estimates, and exploring methods of fabrication. Prior estimates have placed the cost of the art installation at $25 million.

As you always say you are getting “old” and The New Club Kids are moving…close. Edging in on your beloved downtown. Smack your bitch, up.

Your old boy Mattie is moving to Bunker comparing it ever-so-slight to the catacombs of Paris.  Dude; how does Kenmare stack up?  He dumped the Fedoras for Knitted Caps and he has nice advice “As a kid, I got rejected all the time. If you dress nicely, show up with a good attitude and a pretty girl, you can cut down on your rejections. But no one can ever be 100 percent. In anything. That’s my philosophy.”

Watch out Chloe: Mia is coming. Sorry, Samantha: she DJ’s.

What else?  Gay Australians! Check.Band of Outsiders Button Down.  Seattle Flannel shirts.  Eyes Wide Shut New Years themes.

Don’t worry; they aren’t donning your fancy suits.  Nope. These are plaid kids. Plain and simple.  Beards.  Unruly.  Jeans. And they DJ. And they are knocking at your door. Nicely?  Hmm….

Dear Little NoLita Cupcake Boy and Girl:

Ah, you are in luck, now.  Even though, this place was here before you…promise.  You probably never had their nice bar steak and glass of red.  You walked by a million times thinking it was an old diner. No worries, it was just honest food but as you know “jardin” means garden in French, so little cupcake, there is some nice real estate waiting for someone.

These days, fifteen years is a New York lifetime….Le Jardin was there that long. Today, just now, Grubstreet reports it’s closed.  Great, with that nice backyard it’s only a matter of seconds before Paul Sevs or Serge or any of the Nolita cupcakes invade and snatch up the goods.

One day little boy, maybe even soon, like at your Delicatessen, you will be in this lovely retreat sipping your $15 mojitos laughing without a care in the world. You will be clueless to the fact Nolita wasn’t always about the Duane Reade, the Crepe joint next to Ceci Cela nor was it about the block of Kenmare (as you know it now).  You might forget when you now pick up your coffee was once a funeral home. You might forget Kitchen Club and the feisty dog Chibi anchored the corner of Prince and Mott for 25 years (that is older than you little boy). Now look at it; good paint job though; don’t you think?It’s not about the cupcakes (which 50′s style cupcakes, COME ON guys; this is New York, CREATE! Magnolia Bakery did that (yes think we me); years ago.

NOW WHAT!  WHAT NEXT? God Save the Queen!

Oh well, little boy, I must be going.  Eat your brunch at the sparkly new Jardin with Polaroids in the bathroom stalls, drink your pricey watered down drink and walk over to Rag and Bone and buy your $200 shirt; ask for the rice and beans special. Oh no, that’s right Cafe Colonial is gone now. Phew; I’m getting too old at thirty-two.

The Wall Street Journal reports Chelsea’s legendary and magnificent specimen on West 23rd Street, Hotel Chelsea (where does one even begin?) is “now the latest New York icon up for sale.”

LOVELY. I forecast an upscale, boutique hotel.  Why not?  New York simply doesn’t have enough of them.

“The Chelsea’s 15 shareholders, led by three Hungarian families who bought the 12-story red-brick building in 1946, are selling the property after concluding that the task of modernizing the hotel and apartment building was too challenging, one owner said. A buyer also would likely end the Chelsea’s tradition of giving artists breaks on payment schedules to assist their careers.

Hotel Chelsea opened in 1884 as one of the city’s first co-ops. Much of the early Queen Anne architecture remains, including a grand staircase and the black cast-iron balconies. But hotel analysts say its aging lobby, retail and corridors are in need of renovation.

The cost of those improvements, which could run to millions of dollars—and the infighting among the controlling families—helped motivate the decision to sell, say people familiar with the matter.”

Over the summer, I read JUST KIDS, Patty Smith’s love letter to her New York days and time spent at the Chelsea, this is particularly bittersweet.

From the HC Site: “Owing to its long list of famous guests and residents, the hotel has an ornate history, both as a birth place of creative modern art and home of bad behavior. Bob Dylan composed songs while staying at the Chelsea, and poets Allen Ginsberg and Gregory Corso chose it as a place for philosophical and intellectual exchange. It is also known as the place where the writer Dylan Thomas died of alcohol poisoning on in 1953, and where Sid Vicious of the Sex Pistols may have stabbed his girlfriend, Nancy Spungen, to death on October 12, 1978.

Famous visitors and residents of the Chelsea Hotel include Eugene O’Neil, Thomas Wolfe, and Arthur C. Clarke (who wrote 2001: A Space Oddyssey while in residence). Janis Joplin, Leonard Cohen, Bob Dylan, Jimi Hendrix, and the Grateful Dead passed through the hotels doors in the 1960s. Virgil Thompson, Larry Rivers, William Burroughs, Willem de Kooning, Jasper Johns, Patti Smith, Arthur Miller, Dylan Thomas, Quentin Crisp and many more.

Wow; History is starting to hurt my feelings.

(image one: Unknown Hipster, image two: Chelsea Hotel 1982 Claudio Edinger. image three: Mapplethorpe + Smith in their room, 1970 Judy Lin)

The old (+ heavy water-damaged) Maggio Beef Company at 820 Washington (on the corner of Washington and Gansevoort Streets) will give way to the new Whitney Museum.

Maybe I’m too old-fashioned.  Come on; grow up little girl. Still, I like the blend of the old school, keep some of the butchers and the industrial mixed with the new world a la the High Line.

The Standard.  Scoop Street.  The DVP flagship.

Still, you won’t see this remains of the animals (save the rats) turn up anymore.

The West Side is the cultural place to be.

The Whitney space was once slated to be the DIA space.

Now it’s the Whitney Space.

Carcass’ be gone.

(Maggioimage via: Forgotten NY).

Sweet dude.  Yes, a new neighborhood of more boutique hotels, red rope Paul Sev-like private (read: gen-ah-ric) clubs and gentrification out the yin yang.  A bevy of more hipsters who will line up like cattle.  Wait until the Chinese are booted out of Chinatown for another white-people vanilla speakeasy.    I remember my old pal saying TEN YEARS AGO (that’s a decade folks) that Kenmare would easily be home run. Perhaps someone listened or in fact narced his idea.

Congrats! Downtown New York officially looks like any big city.

Didn’t they do a great job preserving the building? Love the font on the signage. Who does your work?
Oh well, as you well know, John Mayer resident above this fine, fine drug store is ready to load up on the $13.99 extra large KYNG condoms (man, who names these?)…should his ladies permit.  Just a hop, skip and jump away.

(Photos courtesy of Christina Dalle Pezze who risked life and limb albeit her street cred to procure the shots)

It remains to be seen.

It already goes without saying that Marc Jacobs snatched, um make that stole, most of the West Village properties.  A clean sweep to crown his little mini-stores with book shops, kids shops, condom shops and of course, clothing. Now, the Brits are in town, yes, that’s right the Three Lions have invaded Bleeker Street.  Sad when you consider this once quiet strip of restaurants (once Miracle Grill, Paris Commune), of course Biography Bookshop and antique shops is over-powered by little boutiques of big name business empires.

Burberry will replace Les Pierre Antiques (Formerly  Pierre Deux), and while French country antiques might not fit the vibe of the neighborhood, the different types of shops along Bleeker were always a good mix.

GROSS; gentrification can be SUCH a downer.  Really.

It’s almost the beginning of a bad joke…but it’s not.  Nope.  The hits keep on coming. Life is real in this downtown world as rumors swirl of Paul Sevigny, master of the house, Lord of the Rings, ex-Casio stroking downtown spinner is a knock, knock knockin’ on the door of long-time mainstay, Don Hills.  Don, the older grey-haired master of the house who once hipped his place a la Max’s Kansas City might need that life line.

Regardless, Black Book does quite a rim-job on talking up possibilities of such a marriage. And, Paul apparently sans his biking gloves talks to Black Book with glowing endorsement, speaking quickly and furiously (bumps…bumps…).  The BB author explains, (Paul) “gushed info at me. He’s wanted to talk about this for a while and is uber-excited. “We’re adding 5 bathrooms and seating, we’re going to fix it up.” I tried to take notes but it was hopeless. He was particularly excited to reboot the traditional all-ages Sunday rock shows. He told me to expect 2 or 3 big rock and roll shows a month.”

What a full loop.  Check out the grainy pic below (taken March 19, 2006) of A.R.E. Weapons at Don Hills and Paul in the left backdrop without much punching of the keys going on.  This was pre-his-Beatrice. Pre-his-Kenmare and pre-his -Brown Bunny wearing sis wore Save Paul shirts and thanking him on stage.  Pre-Atlantic City.  Pre-Purple Diary.  PRE PAUL BEFORE PAUL. And on and on.

Come’on, Paul. Everyone (who knows downtown and knows you) KNOWS without the Turk’s access to the old timers, your Bimbo(s) in the Limo wouldn’t be raking in the douja you are raking.

Lay down those tracks and recall Pitchfork’s amazingly insane review of the A.R.E. Weapons album (Rough Trade 2003) with a few of the best  sentences ever to be strung together: “Kicking around New York for fucking ever, Paul’s finally put together a scam that’s paying off: holding down three keys on an old Casio.”

Boy, is Paul forever free of those Casio shackles. Why do we care?  We really don’t.  It’s just interesting. It’s New York.  It’s a new city where hangers-on like Paul can make it.  New York is still a city of hope and dreams.  God bless America.  Seriously.

Kitty Bawler is back…finally. After a five-year stint of silence, the hip continue creeping and crawling out of the woodwork. Having been around the block, she’s studied the flashy trends and inner-workings of all the uber-pretentious, black labeled culture of the downtown New York crowd.  She’s cynical and a bit jaded. She detests aviators. She’s not scared.

The New York Times memoralizes the old venue and crowd change “ it was clear from the tanned, cheek-kissing clientele and the whiff of expensive tequila that this was no CBGB.”

I Loved New York can simply says gross.

(image one: CBGB website, image two: the Shophound)

Well, that certainly didn’t take long.  And, yes, the West Village eyes are alive and open today. The artist formerly known as Baby Buddha has been LEASED!! The most prominent and ever-reliable source, APK tells me: The spot is becoming a pizzeria by the same outlet/people behind Malatesta Trattoria, the low-key read: good food joint at 649 Washington.  This is a promising bit of culinary news for a nabe low on pizza options.

Other articles on the Buddha, Ripco matter: Bye, Bye Baby. Save Your Baby Momma…, My Own Private RIPCO and Red on RIPCO.

(photo image : Abbie Kunath Park)