We ' ll Always Have Spring Street

My ongoing obsession with 11 Spring St. (it's been YEARS now) is very well-documented in the blogosphere.

My last check-in on the topic was a while back on Unbeige, but I've been holding back on you all. This is mostly because I mangled the cord that connects my digital camera to my computer, and just saying that there's a flurry of activity there without pictures to show it seems boring.

But it's true! Major, unprecendented activity at 11 Spring St. It started a few weeks back when I walked by and they were power-cleaning the floors, exuding an aroma even more distasteful than Summer in the city streets. Then there were some rather feeble "No Trespassing" signs posted up, which is amusing considering that the building is regularly and quite famously trespassed upon by street artists. Today I walked by and the doors are thrown open and ConEd is digging a big hole in the street just outside the Elizabeth St entrance. I thought to myself: Lachlan is finally ready to be my neighbor!

It is not to be however: I just read this breaking news on FishbowlNY: Lachlan Murdoch Resigns from News Corp. Apparently he is high-tailing it back to Australia, wife and child in tow.

So, now the question is: what of 11 Spring, which was meant to be his future residence? I was semi-relieved when he bought it because his intention at the time was to convert the place into a single family residence. Since he purchased it though, our humble little strip of Spring St. has become considerably more trafficked, which makes me think that the building will be much more desirable to commerical developers. I leave it to the intrepid crew at Curbed to gather some intell for me. Do it fast guys, I'm anxious!

Comments

[kdon]

Jeez...there's goes the neighborhood.

[jeepbastard]

It looks like a giant playdough bezel for squeezing out letter shapes!

[tibor]

i live a few doors down and have been watching with interest as well. next time i see that door open with a construction guy inside i'm gonna ask whats up — not that they'd tell me anything but it wouldn't hurt to try.