Spend any amount of time perusing the photos on this stupid blog or on my Instagram page, and you’ll doubtlessly spot one, specific street making repeated appearances. I’ve always been compelled by Staple Street (see this old post for more extrapolation). Like lower Manhattan’s own version of Venice’s “Bridge of Sighs,” it’s a stately, historic and precious holdover from a vanished age, especially in our contemporary urban climate of avaricious real estate development. To stroll down its narrow corridor is to step back in time.
Staple Street’s signature atmosphere has been catpured in myriad films – from Jim Jarmusch’s “Stranger Than Paradise” through Phillip Joanou’s “State of Grace” to Chantal Akerman’s “News From Home” and countless others. From era to era and decade to decade, Staple Street has inspired and romanced virtually all who’ve passed under its striking, cast-iron skybridge, an architectural flourish dating back to 1907.
If you’re inspired by this post and heading down there now, …. mind how you go. Or maybe don’t wear your best shoes.
Since TriBeCa transformed from a comparatively desolate plot of city south of Canal Street in the 70’s and 80’s and morphed into the monied hotbed of tony exclusivity it is today, there is way more activity in the neighborhood. Where once these streets were deserted and whisper-quiet, they’re now regularly peppered with moms, kids in strollers, sweaty joggers, cellphone-chirping business drones and disgruntled motorists moving their sports cars to accommodate street-cleaning vehicles. And as with any residential neighborhood, there is a large contingent of dog-walkers.
Now, I get it. Dogs, like all of God’s creatures, have to poop. One of the primary reasons I don’t have a pet is the aversion to the task of regularly cleaning up after it. Having already reared two kids out of their toddler years, I feel like I’ve logged enough hours on poop detail.
Evidently, however, lots of TriBeCa residents just aren’t as bothered by that task, which is to say, they blithely ignore what is ostensibly their responsibility as dog owners, seeing fit to let their pooches defecate on the street (crucially without the “and pick it up afterwards” part of the equation). In TriBeCa, it seems the favorite street for that is Staple Street.
It’d be easy to write this post off as me being an anti-pet person. I’m not anti-pet. I’m just not a pet guy. Whatever.
What I am is an anti-poop guy. If you want a dog, that’s great … treat yourself. But do the rest of the world a favor, …. and clean up after it.
And by the way, it’s not just me that feels this way:
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