#roofing albany

[fuckinuhhh]

Take a Walk 09/22/24 - Albany, NY Special Edition

Just a note to the 3 day-one fans/followers of my take a walk commentary series, I have a few posts to catch up on that are dated and slated to be put together as soon as I find the time. But I just wanted to get this special edition out as soon as I could because its fresh and I have the motivation to and this one is short. (And because this is my blog, and I make the rules, and were doing this one first!!)

While I was visiting my friends in Albany, a place I called home for a number of years, I had some time to kill so my old friend and I decided to take a long walk and shoot some photos. :)

First off we have the Hinckel Brewery building originally built as just the right-most building in 1855, with additions made in subsequent years as the business began to grow to be one of the biggest beer distributors in the Northeast even rivaling Anheuser-Busch and Samuel Adams during the early 1900's.

The original architect is unknown, but to the best of my understanding many of the building's interiors as well as the surrounding building complex have been modernized and incorporated into the @HudsonPark apartment scheme. I wasn't able to find a lot of info on the apartments that exist therein within the apartment complex, and they don't exactly have rave reviews on sites like google and apartments.com.

When we walked into the small inner concrete courtyard underneath the old docking bay in the office building, the vibe was very vacant aside from being locked and then this strange noise I caught of one of the seemingly-annoyed tenants who wasn't happy we were all up in their business. (either that or it was a ghost, give the sound a listen in the last 5 seconds of this video and let me know lol).

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Then we walked past some of my favorites, that I neglected to get pictures of -_- bc I didn't think I would be making this post, BUT that I'll def be able to get pictures of from my archives/google. I'll throw together a short run through of those real quick and then get to the main event.

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The Van Ostrande-Radliff House at 48 Hudson Ave, a must see (even if you cant see much) in Albany. This is the oldest standing building in the city, originally built in 1728. Preservation efforts are ongoing to restore it to its former charm, but it remains covered for the time being so as to not fall into further disrepair. I recommend checking out the sick pictures that Historic Albany Foundation has on their website of the current interior.

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Down the street is the SUNY Headquarters Building, an old railroad building that served the state capitol under the Delaware & Hudson Railroad Co. Architect Marcus T. Reynolds designed this one, it was originally built as six separate buildings from 1915 on and connected to form one continuous structure, this imposingly beautiful Flemish Gothic building is one of my personal favorites in downtown Albany.

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Turning around we see this beautifully ornate neo-classical building at the corner of State St. & Broadway. Originally built as the Albany Trust Company building in 1902, also by architect Marcus T. Reynolds! This building has such a striking facade and the renaissance revival dome is truly an architectural masterpiece (if not bordering on a little gaudy). I was so lucky to find out they had just given it a fresh spruced up paint job when I walked by it! Today it operates as the SUNY Research Foundation building.

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Then juuuust up the street 2 buildings away is BY FAR my favorite little guy in the city (I would treat her so right, please god give me a chance).

This is 63 State St. Being built originally by one of my favorite architects, Russell Sturgis in 1876 for the Mechanics & Farmers Bank. For such a small sliver of a property footprint this building just does so much right with its balance of form and ornament. The turret on the corner is stunningly delicate, as well as the bright red brick to complement the light sandy stone. Not to mention that beautifully ornate third floor circle window. This building changed hands a couple times throughout the centuries but retains the old vault door in the basement as well as the brass fixtures and marble floorings inside that give it quite the stately presence upon entering.

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How could I not include the most imposingly large, ornate, stately, balanced (every other adjective I've ever used on this blog...) building in Albany, the state capitol building!? Main architect: Henry Hobson Richardson, along with Leopold Eidlitz, Thomas Fuller, and Isaac G. Perry. Finished in 1899 after 32 years!

I'm going to keep this very brief because we only stopped here briefly on our walk and this building deserves it's own deep dive post at some point anyway. Plus it isn't even the aforementioned "Main Event" of our walk. But the detail in the scrolling on the columns here is absolutely insane. My friend and I were discussing it's architectural style/influences and we weren't completely convinced it falls into any one, Italianate/Neoclassical/Victorian/Georgian/Flemish/Gothic/Spanish influences... the confluence of styles in this design is absolutely masterful. As well as whether one would consider the columns corinthian or not, maybe composite? But just take a look at these bad boys, I would sit and take a full semester's course just on the symbolism sprinkled in and throughout this structure.

The scrolling is unique on EVERY column and sprinkled with tons of historical imagery and symbolism but they all have the same visual weight and if you weren't paying attention you'd never notice.

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If you think nothing could compete with the capital building's insanely intricate detail look across the street for it's closest competitor, The State Education Department building and Chancellor Hall at 89 Washington Ave. I think I remember thinking for a long time this was my favorite Albany building for years before discovering the charming old gothic bank building on lower State St.

Spanning a whole city block (a long one) is this building's imposing Greek-revival corinthian colonnade with 36 massive columns along it! Another scale-defying building joining the capitol building at you-have-to-see-it-in-person scale, the columns on this bad boy are comparable to the width of a redwood tree (see the picture of my legs as I lay down between them to get shots of the ceiling).

Originally Built in 1911 by architect Henry Hornbostel, this building has retained it's integrity and intention by functioning as the base of operations for the NY state education system since its completion. Its structure and facade, including the intricate brass lighting fixtures and the beautiful tiling along its exterior, has been kept in immaculate condition and is incredible to look at in person. This is another architectural feat with such minute detailing that I could sit there with an expert for probably weeks just in awe of it's symbols and attention to detail. I sat there for about 20 minutes when we visited it just looking at it and taking its beauty in. This is the type of building that just transports you somewhere else when you really take it in, it could've easily been cherry picked from the acropolis and plopped in upstate New York and you wouldn't question it thats how beautifully true to form it feels in person.

I didn't know I would be making this post in the moment while taking the walk so I don't have a dishonorable mention, but if you've ever been to Albany, NY you know there are far too many of those to ever pick from so I'm going to give myself a pass this time.

[alamoroofingllc]

Alamo Roofing LLC specializes in new construction roofing, delivering high-quality, durable roofs for residential and commercial projects. Our expert team ensures precise installation, using premium materials for lasting protection. Trust us to provide reliable and professional roofing solutions tailored to meet the specific needs of your new construction project.

[seohaker]

theroofcleaning: Roof cleaning in Albany, New Zealand (theroofcleaning1.blogspot.com)

[centerconstruction]

Helpful Tips for Getting Commercial Roofing in Albany

As an Albany business owner, your commercial roof is an important shield for your enterprise. Fixing up your business roof doesn't have to be a headache. With a bit of research, some quality checks, and good communication, you'll find the right team for the job. This blog covers helpful tips for getting commercial roofing in Albany.   You will get to know about both commercial and  residential roof replacement tips in this comprehensive guide: https://hackernoon.com/preview/emH8gQ63lfN7e2oR8IQq

[ncommercial]

Elevate Your Business with Top-notch Commercial Roofing Services in Albany, NY

In the bustling business landscape of Albany, NY, where innovation and success go hand in hand, ensuring the longevity of your commercial property is paramount. One of the most critical components of any business establishment is its roof – a shield that protects against the elements and preserves the integrity of the structure. When it comes to commercial roofing, partnering with a reliable and experienced roofing company in Albany, NY, is a strategic decision that can significantly impact the longevity and performance of your property.

The Importance of Commercial Roofing

Commercial roofs face unique challenges compared to their residential counterparts. The sheer size of commercial buildings and the complexity of their structures demand specialized expertise. Albany, NY, with its diverse climate throughout the year, presents a unique set of challenges for commercial roofs. From harsh winter snowfall to the intense summer sun, a robust and well-maintained roof is essential to withstand the elements and protect your business assets.

Roofing Company Albany, NY: Your Trusted Partner in Excellence

Choosing the right roofing company in Albany, NY, is pivotal for the success of your commercial roofing project. A reputable company understands the local climate intricacies and is well-versed in the specific requirements of commercial roofs. Look for a roofing partner with a proven track record, extensive experience, and a commitment to excellence.

1. Expertise in Commercial Roofing Systems

A reliable roofing company in Albany, NY, should have a team of skilled and certified commercial roofers with expertise in various roofing systems. Whether it's EPDM, TPO, PVC, or built-up roofing, a knowledgeable team can assess your property's unique needs and recommend the most suitable system for optimal performance and longevity.

2. Local Experience Matters

Local experience is a key factor in successful commercial roofing projects. A roofing company familiar with the Albany, NY, area understands the specific challenges posed by the local climate and building codes. This familiarity ensures that your project is executed efficiently and in compliance with local regulations.

3. Comprehensive Roofing Services

Choose a roofing company that offers a comprehensive range of services, from initial inspection and consultation to installation, maintenance, and repairs. A one-stop solution provider can streamline the entire process, saving you time and ensuring consistency in workmanship.

Advantages of Professional Commercial Roofing

Investing in professional commercial roofing services in Albany, NY, provides a range of benefits that directly contribute to the success and sustainability of your business:

1. Longevity and Durability

A professionally installed and well-maintained commercial roof enhances the longevity and durability of your property. This, in turn, protects your investment and minimizes the need for costly repairs down the line.

2. Energy Efficiency

Many modern commercial roofing systems are designed with energy efficiency in mind. A reflective roof surface can significantly reduce energy consumption by reflecting the sun's rays, keeping the building cooler and lowering utility costs.

3. Cost-Effective Solutions

Professional commercial roofers in Albany, NY, can provide cost-effective solutions tailored to your budget. From selecting the right roofing materials to identifying areas for potential energy savings, a skilled roofing team can help you make informed decisions that align with your financial goals.

Conclusion

In the dynamic business environment of Albany, NY, safeguarding your commercial property with a robust roofing system is not just a necessity – it's a strategic investment. Partnering with a reputable roofing company in Albany, NY, ensures that your business thrives under the protection of a durable and reliable roof. From expert installation to proactive maintenance, choose a roofing partner committed to excellence and watch your business rise to new heights. Elevate your establishment with the right commercial roofing solution – because your success deserves nothing less.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Looks like I found another abomination this morning. Someone turned this 1929 Mansard roof home in New Albany, Indiana into 7 1-bedroom apts. and 1 studio. They are advertising it as a turn-key property, b/c it's almost all rented, so if the new owner wants to live there, there is an empty apt. available. Look at this mish-mash. It couldn't have been more than either a single family mansion or a duplex, at the most.

As you can see, it had a typically classic look center hall where the woodwork has been painted gray and white.

The apts. retain some wonderful original fireplaces and floors.

But the kitchen designs leave a lot to be desired.

They've fashioned small modern shower rooms into each unit.

I assume that this kitchen was once a bedroom and it has such a beautiful fireplace.

They didn't care about design or preservation, they just stuck kitchens in, any old way.

Small less-expensive stoves fit into exposed brick walls while lovely original fireplaces get ignored in the process.

Looks like someone started painting brown over the original floor in here.

I think that if the tenants cared, they could make these spaces look cute.

Nothing much can be done with these assorted shower rooms.

The 2nd fl. hallway. These were more than likely former bedrooms and sitting rooms.

I bet they only left all these great fireplaces b/c they didn't want to deal with them.

These apts. make me nervous.

These have nice exposed brick.

This bedroom has a great feature wall and fireplace.

Oh, this tenant painted the exposed brick, gray. I would put it in the lease- no painting.

The uppermost level has the vacancies. I guess not many people want to climb up here.

This apt. has access to the porch in the back.

Actually, this apt. looks spacious.

This is terrible.

Geesh, they just stuck everything wherever. Doesn't look like they even planned it out.

I wouldn't even buy this place as income property.

This unit looks like a nice one, too.

Oh, look at the porches on the back of the house.

Nice big yard, and it even had a fountain at one time. Well, I guess some landlord will buy it.

[seanpultz]

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles go to The Haunted Mansion

Leonardo led the way as the four Ninja Turtles approached the imposing structure that loomed before them. Gracey Mansion, a majestic Gothic Revival Pointed-style villa, mirrored the grandeur of the Joel Rathbone mansion from the upper Hudson River Valley area of Albany, New York. The setting sun cast eerie shadows across its intricate facade, giving the turtles pause. "Alright, guys," Leonardo announced, his voice firm but tinged with excitement, "We're about to explore the Haunted Mansion. Stay sharp and stick together."

Michelangelo, with a mouthful of pizza, mumbled, "Cool! This place looks like it's right out of a Scooby-Doo episode!" His nunchucks twirled around his fingers as he took in the mansion's spooky appeal.

Donatello, ever the intellectual, couldn't help but admire the architecture. "Fascinating," he murmured, his eyes scanning the details. "It's reminiscent of the works of A.J. Davis. The pointed arches and steeply pitched roof are quite authentic to the period."

Raphael, ever the skeptic, rolled his eyes. "Yeah, sure, Donnie," he said, his sai at the ready. "But let's not forget we're here for action, not an art history lesson."

The mansion's heavy doors creaked open on their own, inviting them in with a gust of cold, stale air. The turtles exchanged glances, a mix of trepidation and excitement. "Well," Leonardo said with a nod, "No turning back now."

Entering the queuing area, the turtles were met with the sight of an overgrown garden, a stark contrast to the manicured lawns they had seen in the city. "Whoa, this place is seriously spooky," Michelangelo whispered, his eyes widening at the disarray of the once-beautiful space.

"It's like nature is trying to claim it back," Donatello observed, his curiosity piqued by the mysterious workings of the mansion's decay.

They walked cautiously along the winding path, taking in the macabre decorations. The knocked-over birdbath looked like it had seen better days, and the black carriage hearse seemed almost alive in the fading light, as if it could move on its own. As they approached the invisible horse, they heard a faint, ghostly whinny that sent a shiver down their spines.

The music from the embossed musical instruments grew louder as they approached the crypt playing its eerie tune. "How does that even work?" Michelangelo asked, his voice hushed in amazement.

Leonardo nodded towards the crypt. "Remember, Mikey, we're here to investigate, not to be tourists," he said, though he couldn't help but feel a tingle of excitement himself.

They reached the gate adorned with the grim family busts, each with a twisted expression that told a tale of greed and betrayal. The crypt of Captain Culpepper Clyne caught their attention next, as water and bubbles began to spurt out rhythmically. Prudence Pock's tomb glowed with an unearthly light, and words appeared on its surface as if written by an invisible hand.

"Guys, check this out," Donatello said, pointing at the crypt. The words on the tomb spelled out a warning, but before they could ponder its meaning, the ground trembled, and the crypt's lid began to slowly rise.

"Looks like we've got company," Raphael growled, gripping his sai tightly.

The turtles shared a look of determination and nodded. This was more than just a theme park ride; it was an adventure that called for their skills as Ninja Turtles. With a deep breath, Leonardo pushed open the heavy wooden door that led to the servant's entrance. "Let's go," he said, stepping into the dark, unknown depths of the Haunted Mansion.

The turtles stepped into the dimly lit foyer, the heavy door groaning shut behind them. The mournful tune of "Grim Grinning Ghosts" echoed through the grand hall, setting the mood for their adventure. To their left, a towering fireplace crackled with a fire that cast flickering shadows across the room. Above it, an unsettling portrait caught their gaze. The handsome young man depicted there seemed to be watching them, his eyes following their every move. "Looks like we're not the first guests tonight," Michelangelo quipped, trying to lighten the mood as he popped another slice of pizza into his mouth. Leonardo studied the portrait, his eyes narrowing. "This must be the owner of the mansion," he murmured. "We should be respectful and careful."

Donatello, ever curious, approached the painting, inspecting the frame for any signs of tampering or hidden mechanisms. "It's eerily lifelike," he said, his voice filled with wonder. "The detail in the brushstrokes, the use of light and shadow… it's like he's about to step out of the canvas."

Suddenly a voice boomed out from the darkness: "When hinges creak in doorless chambers. When strange and frightening sounds echo through the halls. Whenever candlelights flicker when the air is deathly still… That is the time when ghosts are present, practicing their terror with ghoulish delight."

The turtles spun around, their eyes wide with shock. The portrait of the young man above the fireplace had begun to morph into a grotesque, decaying visage, his eyes sunken and skin rotting away. "Who said that?" Michelangelo repeated, his voice quivering slightly. The wall beside the portrait creaked open, revealing an octagonal room bathed in an eerie green glow.

Leonardo's grip tightened on his katanas as he cautiously approached the opening. "Everyone, stay alert," he warned, his eyes darting to the four paintings on the walls. The room was alive with the sound of their own breathing and the crackling fireplace. The portraits depicted a bearded gentleman holding a document, a pretty young lady with a parasol, an old woman with a rose, and a man in a bowler hat. Their expressions remained unchanged, but the flickering candlelight cast eerie shadows that danced across their faces.

"Guys, these paintings… they're not just for decoration," Donatello said, his voice low and thoughtful. "They're part of the story."

Michelangelo, his nunchucks at the ready, stepped into the octagonal chamber. "Cool! Like those paintings that move in Harry Potter!"

Raphael rolled his eyes but couldn't deny the sense of unease that washed over him. "This place is giving me the creeps," he muttered, scanning the room for any signs of danger.

"Welcome, foolish mortals, to the Haunted Mansion." The voice boomed out. "I am your host, your Ghost Host. Our tour begins here in this gallery. Here, where you see paintings of some of our guests as they appeared in their corruptible, mortal state. Kindly step all the way in please, and make room for everyone. There’s no turning back now."

As the doors behind them slammed shut with a finality that seemed to echo through the very bones of the mansion, the turtles' eyes grew wide with astonishment. The walls began to stretch upwards, the paintings on the walls elongating in a way that defied logic. The bearded gentleman's portrait revealed him in a precarious situation, clad only in his underwear, standing atop a keg of dynamite with a fuse burning dangerously close to his bare feet. The young lady with the parasol had transformed into a daring tightrope walker suspended over the jaws of a hungry alligator. The old woman, once serene with her rose, now sat atop a tall gravestone, the headstone of one George, with a gruesome hatchet lodged in his stone skull. The man in the bowler hat had become part of a bizarre human pyramid, the bottom figure sinking into quicksand. "Whoa, this is some wild decorating," Michelangelo exclaimed, his voice a mix of awe and fear as he took in the macabre scenes unfolding before them.

Leonardo stepped forward, his katanas at the ready. "Stay alert," he ordered his brothers, his gaze never leaving the stretching paintings. "These are warnings, not mere decorations."

Donatello nodded, his eyes wide behind his glasses as he studied the stretching images. "The mansion is telling us a story," he murmured, his mind racing with the implications of such advanced technology. "A grim tale of greed and fate."

Raphael's eyes narrowed as he took in the stretching figures. "Well, if the ghosts are trying to scare us off, they're gonna have to do better than this," he said with a snort, though his grip on his sai betrayed his nerves.

"Your cadaverous pallor betrays an aura of foreboding, almost as though you sense a disquieting metamorphosis." The Ghost Host said ominously. "Is this haunted room actually stretching? Or is it your imagination — hmm? And consider this dismaying observation, This chamber has no windows and no doors… which offers you this chilling challenge: to find a way out!" The Ghost Host unleashed a bone chilling laugh which reverberated throughout the room. The turtles had all eyes glued to the celling. "Of course, there’s always my way."

The lights flickered off with a dramatic flair, plunging the room into an inky blackness that seemed to swallow them whole. A split second later, a blinding flash of lightning illuminated the chamber, revealing the skeletal form of the Ghost Host hanging from the cupola's rafters, a ghastly sight that made even Leonardo's stoic expression falter. The sound of thunder crashed through the mansion, shaking the very foundation beneath their feet. In unison, the turtles let out a startled cry, their fear palpable in the tense silence that followed. And then, just as abruptly as it had come, the horror ended. The room was again bathed in the soft, greenish glow of the candles, but the wallpaper was now a stark, cracked wall, the portrait frames empty and gaping like mouths of the damned. The air grew colder, and a chilling scream pierced the silence, only to be replaced by the unmistakable sound of bones shattering and falling to the floor. The lights stuttered back to life, and the turtles found themselves staring at the wall where the skeleton had been, now a grim reminder of their grisly encounter. Their hearts pounding in their chests, they turned to face the new discovery: a hidden passage had emerged, beckoning them further into the mansion's shadowy embrace.

"Oh, I didn’t mean to frighten you prematurely," The Ghost Host said apologetically with a slight touch of mirth. "The real chills come later. Now, as they say, “look alive,” and we’ll continue our little tour. And let’s all stay together, please."

The turtles cautiously approached the waiting Doom Buggies, their eyes darting around the dimly lit hallway. The Ghost Host's voice grew softer as they climbed into their designated vehicle, the leather seats crackling beneath their weight. "Alright, guys," Leonardo said, his voice steady despite the racing of his heart. "Stay on guard. This is where the real fun begins."

Michelangelo swallowed hard, his nunchucks at the ready. "You mean the 'real' scary part, right?"

Donatello nodded, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "And possibly some real ghostly technology!"

Raphael grunted in agreement, his sai gripped tightly in his hands. "Let's do this."

"And now, a carriage approaches to carry you into the boundless realm of the supernatural." The Ghost Host said. "Once on board, remain safely seated with your hands, arms, feet, and legs inside. And watch your children, please."

Leonardo and Donatello climbed into the first Doom Buggy, with Leonardo in the front, his katanas sheathed but within easy reach. Michelangelo and Raphael piled into the second, Mikey's pizza slice balanced precariously on his knee. "Do not pull down on the safety bar, please," the Ghost Host's disembodied voice instructed. The turtles exchanged glances, a mix of amusement and trepidation, as the bar descended with a metallic clank, securing them in their seats. "I will lower it for you," the host assured them, his tone playfully sinister. "And heed this warning: the spirits will materialize only if you remain quietly seated at all times." With a click, the bars locked into place, and the turtles felt a gentle nudge forward. The darkness of the mansion swallowed them up, and the only sound was the whirring of the ride system and their own uneasy breathing.

The Doom Buggy lurched forward, and the turtles gripped the bars as they ascended the steep stairwell. As they passed under the floating candelabra, its flickering flames cast eerie shadows across their faces. "Wow, this is like a real ghost story," Michelangelo murmured, his voice a mix of wonder and fear. The turtles emerged into the hallway, their eyes drawn to the two windows on the left, where each flash of lightning revealed a new, terrifying scene beyond the billowing drapes. On the right, the four paintings transformed with each flash, revealing their hidden horrors. "Guys, check out these paintings," Donatello whispered, his eyes glued to the shifting images. "It's like they're alive."

Leonardo nodded, his gaze flickering between the windows and the paintings. "Remember, we're here to investigate," he said, his voice a low growl. "Stay focused and be ready for anything."

As they continued through the hallway, the paintings grew more menacing with each change. The woman in the black dress morphed into an anthropomorphic tiger, its eyes glowing with a malevolent light. The sloop was now a ghost ship, the waves around it churning with supernatural fury. The knight's skeletal form was stark against the backdrop of the stormy night, and Medusa's stony gaze seemed to follow them as they passed.

"Oh yes, and no flash pictures, please." The Ghost Host continued. "We spirits are frightfully sensitive to bright lights."

The turtles exchanged nervous glances but remained silent, their senses heightened as they ventured deeper into the Haunted Mansion.

Leonardo's eyes darted around the library, his instincts telling him to stay on guard. "Keep your wits about you," he murmured to his brothers. "We don't know what's real and what's an illusion here."

Michelangelo's gaze followed the rocking chair with a mix of curiosity and apprehension. "Do you think the ghosts really read those books?" he whispered, his voice echoing faintly in the vast room.

"I doubt it," Donatello said, his eyes scanning the bookshelves with an engineer's scrutiny. "But the technology behind these effects is fascinating. Look at the way the ladder moves—it's almost as if it has a mind of its own."

Raphael snorted. "Let's not get too distracted by the decor," he warned, his sai at the ready. "We're here for a mission, not a ghost story time."

“Our library is well stocked with priceless first editions, only ghost stories, of course, and marble busts of the greatest ghost writers the literary world has ever known." Boasted The Ghost Host.

Among the shelves, marble busts glare at our heroes as they move along in the gloom.

Leonardo tightened his grip on the Doom Buggy's safety bar as the turtles rolled into the grandiose Music Room, the haunting melody of "Grim Grinning Ghosts" swelling around them. The sight of an invisible pianist's shadow playing a Rachmaninoff-style masterpiece on the gleaming piano sent a chill down their spines. The room's opulence was marred by the storm raging outside, casting an eerie glow through the windows. Michelangelo's eyes widened. "Is that… real?" he whispered.

"The ghosts are as much a part of the mansion as the bricks and mortar," Donatello mused, his gaze lingering on the shadow's flawless performance.

Raphael scoffed, trying to hide his nerves. "It's just some fancy holographic trickery."

"Perhaps," Leonardo conceded, his eyes still on the shadow. "But let's not underestimate our hosts. We must stay vigilant."

"They have all retired here, to the Haunted Mansion." Continued The Ghost Host. "Actually, we have 999 happy haunts here. But there’s room for 1,000. Any volunteers?"

Leonardo led the turtles into the main stairwell, their eyes widening at the sight of the gravity-defying staircase. "This is definitely not part of the original blueprints," he murmured, watching as the steps twisted and turned in impossible ways.

Michelangelo whistled. "It's like a skate park for ghosts!"

Donatello leaned forward, scrutinizing the ectoplasmic footprints that adorned the steps. "Incredible. The engineering behind this must be phenomenal!"

Raphael scoffed. "Yeah, or we're just in some kind of sick hallucination."

The turtles cautiously ascended the stairs, their weight seemingly affecting the gravity of the room as they went. The eerie green light cast by the flickering candles danced on the shimmering footprints, creating a surreal dance of shadow and light. As they reached the top, the staircase behind them folded away, leaving them in a disorienting space where the walls, floor, and ceiling blurred together.

"Well, if you should decide to join us, final arrangements may be made at the end of the tour." The Ghost Host continued. "A charming "ghostess" will be on hand to take your application."

The Doom Buggy jolted to a stop, and the turtles found themselves surrounded by absolute darkness. The only light came from the glowing, blinking eyes that had emerged from the shadowy wallpaper, creating an eerie pattern that surrounded them. "What the…?" Michelangelo squeaked, his nunchucks clutched tightly in his hands.

Leonardo's voice was calm but firm. "Stay still, everyone. We don't know what we're dealing with here."

"Maybe it's just part of the ride," Donatello suggested, his voice quivering slightly. "A way to keep the suspense going."

Raphael scoffed. "Or maybe we're in deeper than we thought."

The eyes grew closer, the wallpaper seeming to come alive as it stretched and contorted around them. The turtles tensed, ready to leap into action at the first sign of danger.

"We find it delightfully unlivable here in this ghostly retreat." The Ghost Host said. "Every room has wall-to-wall creeps, and hot and cold running chills."

The Doom Buggies pass a second floor passageway that seems to go on forever, lined with doors. A lone candelabra floats in midair halfway down it. Flanking the hallway entrance are a subtly-moving Suit of Armour and an armchair designed to have a "face."

"Shhh, listen!" The Ghost Host hissed. A keening sound is heard.

Michelangelo leaned out of the Doom Buggy, his curiosity getting the better of him. "What's that noise?" he whispered.

"It sounds like a banshee," Leonardo murmured, his eyes never leaving the shadowy corridor. "A harbinger of death in Irish folklore."

Donatello's eyes lit up with excitement. "And look at that floating candelabra!" he exclaimed. "The physics-defying effect is incredible!"

Raphael rolled his eyes. "Don't get too excited, brainiac," he said, his sai at the ready. "This isn't the time for a science lesson."

As the Doom Buggies glided into the conservatory, the turtles couldn't help but stare in horror at the desolate scene before them. The once-thriving plants were now nothing but twisted, lifeless husks entangling the walls. The raven's mournful caw echoed through the space, adding to the atmosphere of despair. In the center, a coffin creaked and shifted, its wooden lid straining against the skeletal hands that pushed from within. "Let me out! Let me outta here!" the muffled cries grew louder, the nails piercing the wood seemingly futile against the desperate struggle.

"This place is giving me the creeps," Michelangelo whispered, his grip on his nunchucks tightening.

Leonardo's eyes narrowed, his gaze fixed on the coffin. "We can't get sidetracked."

Donatello nodded, his curiosity piqued by the disturbing sight. "But can you imagine the technology behind that?" he murmured.

Raphael, ever the pragmatist, brought them back to reality. "Whether it's a ghost or a glorified pop-up book, it's just part of the show," he said, though his knuckles were white around his sai.

The turtles' Doom Buggy jolted into motion again, retreating backward down the eerie corridor. The doors on either side of them seemed to pulse with a sinister life of their own, as if the very walls were alive and trying to keep their secrets. The sounds of tormented souls grew more insistent, their cries for help mingling with the manic laughter that echoed through the space. The family portraits on the walls twisted into grimaces of despair, the subjects' eyes following the turtles with a haunting gaze. Michelangelo's pizza slice slipped from his grip, forgotten amidst the horrors around them.

"This place is messed up," Raphael murmured, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"But it's also… incredible," Donatello whispered, his mind racing with the technical marvels hidden within the mansion's walls.

Leonardo's gaze was drawn to the grandfather clock ahead, its hands spinning in reverse, counting down to an unsettling crescendo. "Thirteen…twelve…eleven…" he murmured, his heart racing.

Michelangelo's eyes widened in horror. "Guys, did you see that?" He pointed to the shadow that flitted across the clock's face, a clawed hand reaching out as if to grab them.

"Keep it together, Mikey," Leonardo said, though his own voice betrayed his tension.

Leonardo's grip on the safety bar tightened as the Doom Buggies entered the shadowy Séance Circle. The flickering candles cast an eerie glow on the faces of his brothers, each one etched with a mix of awe and unease. In the center of the room, a crystal ball floated above a table, the spirit of Madame Leota's head swirling within it, her eyes locking onto them as she chanted her incantations. The raven on the chair's back let out a caw, sending a shiver down Michelangelo's spine. "Whoa, this is getting intense," he whispered, his nunchucks clutched tightly in his trembling hands.

"Serpents and spiders, tail of a rat," Leota's disembodied voice grew louder, the words echoing through the room, "call in the spirits, wherever they're at! Rap on a table — it’s time to respond. Send us a message from somewhere beyond…Goblins and ghoulies from last Halloween, awaken the spirits with your tambourine! Creepies and crawlies, toads in a pond, let there be music from regions beyond! Wizards and witches, wherever you dwell, give us a hint, by ringing a bell!""

Donatello leaned forward, his eyes transfixed on the floating crystal ball. "The holographic projection is so lifelike," he murmured, his voice filled with amazement.

"Yeah, yeah, cool party trick," Raphael muttered, his sai at the ready, "but let's not forget why we're here."

The Ghost Host's voice boomed once more, the words sending a shiver through the turtles. "The happy haunts have received your sympathetic vibrations and are beginning to materialize," he announced with a chuckle. "They're assembling for a swinging wake, and they'll be expecting me… I'll see you all a little later."

Leonardo's eyes widened as they approached the balcony overlooking the grand hall. The sight below was like nothing they had ever seen before. The room was alive with the spectacle of transparent spirits, each engaged in their own macabre revelry. "Look at that!" Michelangelo exclaimed, pointing to the dining table where the orange-haired ghost was blowing out candles, causing the others to vanish and reappear in a flash of light. "It's like a never-ending birthday party for the dead!"

Donatello leaned over the railing, studying the phenomenon with a mix of awe and skepticism. "The illusion is flawless," he murmured. "But how do they do it?"

Raphael's gaze shifted to the duelists stepping out of their paintings, their phantom swords clashing in a silent dance of rage. "This is getting weirder by the minute," he said, his grip tightening on his sai. "But we're not here to join the party."

Leonardo nodded in agreement, his eyes scanning the room for any sign of the mansion's secrets. "We need to stay focused," he reminded them. "There's something more going on here than just a bunch of floating ghosts."

Michelangelo took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. "But, Leo, isn't it amazing?" he whispered, his eyes shining with wonder. "I mean, we're in the middle of a real-life ghost story!"

The turtles watched as the phantoms continued their never-ending party, the organ's haunting melody filling the air. Despite their initial fear, the sheer spectacle of it all was impossible to ignore. They had encountered many strange and dangerous foes in their time, but nothing quite like this.

Leaving the Grand Hall behind, the turtles' Doom Buggies glided into the shadowy attic, the air thick with dust and the echo of a sinister "Wedding March." Michelangelo's eyes widened as he took in the eerie scene of abandoned wedding decor scattered among the cobwebs and dusty antiques. "Leo, this place is giving me serious 'Bride of Chucky' vibes," he quipped, trying to shake off the growing sense of unease.

Donatello leaned closer to one of the five marriage paintings, his curiosity getting the better of him. "Fascinating," he murmured. "It's almost as if the artist knew the fate of each union."

Leonardo's gaze was fixed on the bride in each portrait, her smile growing more sinister with every passing moment. "This isn't just a ghost story," he said, his voice low and serious. "There's a message here."

The sound of a beating heart grew louder, pulsing in time with the ominous tune. The turtles' eyes widened as the heads of the grooms in the paintings began to vanish, only to reappear as the music reached a crescendo. "Guys, this isn't funny," Michelangelo whispered, his nunchucks clutched tightly.

Raphael's eyes narrowed as he spotted the shadow of a pianist playing the haunting melody. "This place is messing with our heads," he growled.

Suddenly, the ghostly figure of Constance Hatchaway appeared before them, her eyes gleaming with mischief as she recited her macabre twist on wedding vows. The spectral hatchet materialized in her hand, adding a chilling touch to her already eerie presence. The turtles watched in horror as she cackled, the sound sending a shiver down their spines.

Leonardo made a swift decision. "We need to get out of here, now!"

The turtles bolted from their Doom Buggies and sprinted towards the open window, the cold wind rushing in to greet them. As they leaped into the night, the clatter of the hatchet followed them, a grim reminder of the dark secrets that lay within the Haunted Mansion's walls.

Leonardo led the charge as they sprinted down the stairs, the caws of the raven echoing in their wake. The graveyard scene was alive with spectral activity, a stark contrast to the lifelessness of the overgrown gardens they had passed through earlier. The turtles took in the bizarre sight of the Caretaker and his dog, frozen in terror as the spirits around them danced and played. The music grew more chaotic, a cacophony of instruments played by invisible hands. To their left, the macabre sight of the King and Queen on the see-saw and the Duchess sipping tea from a swinging branch was almost too absurd to be scary. Yet, the reality of their situation hit home as the five Singing Busts came into view, their vivid faces lit by an unseen source, each one singing a verse of "Grim Grinning Ghosts."

Michelangelo couldn't help but crack a nervous smile. "Now this is what I call a jam session," he quipped, trying to lighten the tension.

Donatello, ever the observer, took in the technical mastery behind the illusions. "The way the lights are synchronized with the music… it's like nothing I've ever seen before!"

Raphael, his skepticism waning, couldn't deny the eerie beauty of the scene. "We're not in Kansas anymore, Turtles," he murmured.

Leonardo's eyes remained sharp, searching for any sign of the real danger lurking beneath the haunting facade. "Keep moving," he ordered, urging them forward. "We need to find out what's really going on here."

As they approached the Mausoleum, the Raven that had followed them from the mansion's entrance perched on the door, its beady eyes fixed on the turtles. It let out a final, chilling caw before the door swung open, beckoning them into the heart of the Haunted Mansion's mysteries. The turtles exchanged glances, their excitement now tempered with a newfound respect for the spooky world they had stumbled into. With a collective nod, they stepped into the Mausoleum, ready to face whatever lay beyond.

The Ghost Host's sudden appearance caught the turtles off guard. "Ah, there you are!" he exclaimed with a mischievous smile. "Just in time. There's a little matter I forgot to mention." His words sent a chill down their spines as they glanced around the Mausoleum, expecting a trap. Then, with a dramatic flourish, he warned, "Beware of Hitchhiking Ghosts!"

Michelangelo's eyes grew wide as he spotted the three ghostly figures lurking in the shadows: a Traveler with a top hat, a Skeleton with a sinister smile, and a Prisoner in shackles. "Whoa, dude, we've got some ghostly passengers!"

Leonardo's grip on his katanas tightened. "We can't let them follow us," he murmured, his eyes darting to the exit.

But as they approached the mirrors, the reflection revealed the Hitchhikers had already claimed their spots in the Doom Buggies. The turtles' images were replaced by the grinning ghosts, their eyes gleaming with mischief.

"They have selected you to fill our quota," The Ghost Host's disembodied voice echoed, "and they'll haunt you until you return!"

Michelangelo looked at his brothers, a mix of terror and excitement on his face. "Cowabunga, this is getting wild!"

Donatello's mind raced, trying to understand the mechanism behind the illusion. "This is… incredible," he murmured, his fear momentarily forgotten in the face of such an ingenious trick.

But it was the sight of Little Leota, the Ghostess, standing atop the crypt's ledge, her ethereal form casting a pale blue glow in the dim light, that truly unnerved them. "Hurry back," she called, her voice like a whisper on the wind. "Be sure to bring your death certificate if you decide to join us. Make final arrangements now! We've been dying to have you…"

The Ghost Host's laughter grew louder as he announced, "Now I will raise the safety bar, and a ghost will follow you home!"

With no time to question the authenticity of the threat, the turtles leaped from their Doom Buggies and sprinted towards the exit. The laughter of the Hitchhiking Ghosts and the haunting melody of "Grim Grinning Ghosts" trailed after them as they emerged from the mansion into the cool night air, their hearts racing and their senses on high alert. The adventure in the Haunted Mansion was far from over, and they couldn't shake the feeling that they had just been initiated into a supernatural game with rules they hadn't yet fully understood.

[primewritessmut]

47, 49, 81, 99

Also I'm soooooo curious about the 1930s Albany research 👀👀👀

47. what story are you most proud of?

Oh, damn. You just came straight out and asked me to choose my favorite child. 😂

I’m honestly proud of (almost) everything I’ve written but all for different reasons. Each one of them walks around with a special little trophy. First finished fic. First multi-chapter. First first person pov. First “dark” work. Etc. But the one I’m MOST proud of right now is the story I wrote for Spooktober; it’s the first original story I’ve actually buckled down and finished from beginning to end.

So now that I’ve proven I can do it, watch out world, I guess.

49. do you want to be published some day?

Yes? No? I have complicated feelings about being published, mostly because I don’t want this thing I really enjoy, that brings some small measure of peace in (gestures broadly) all this, to become something I have to do.

But, I also like to sleep with a roof over my head and eat so wouldn’t it be nice if this thing I spend so much time on could help with that?

I’ve “““monetized””” an enjoyable skill of mine before and still haven’t recovered. Funny to say here, maybe, but the social media requirements alone to be successful in a field like writing/publishing makes me want to disappear into a cave and never be seen from again.

I could go on so, yeah. Complicated.

81. if you could go back in time and give your younger self a piece of writing advice specific to you, what would it be?

Keep fucking writing, you industrial grade moron.

There was a looooong span of my life where I didn’t write anything at all. (Except those half-stories I’d tell myself to get my brain to chill enough to fall asleep.) When I look at the difference between things I wrote last year (when I got back into writing after way too long) versus stuff I wrote this year, the difference in quality is already so huge.

I just… I wish it was a skill I had kept up with instead of letting stupid adulthood raze everything to the ground.

99. was being a writer a dream of yours when you were little? or did it spring up when your older? or is it just a hobby?

It was never a dream of mine but, in a truly bizarro world twist, it was something both of my parents wanted me to pursue. Like, who does that? “No, Prime. Don’t go into astronomy or business admin, be a writer.”

Writing doesn’t really feel like a dream even now. It feels like coming home in a weird sense. Like breathing through a straw and then, finally, getting to fill your lungs all the way. So… I guess I wouldn’t call it a hobby so much as an imperative. That doesn’t mean anyone but seventeen people on Tumblr and 300 people on AO3 will ever get to read it, though.

In that sense, I suppose it’s a hobby?

Also I'm soooooo curious about the 1930s Albany research 👀👀👀

There’s this fic that takes place in the 1930s (shout-out to the Malevolent podcast) predicated on the fact that a Very Bad Thing™️ happened in Albany in the main character’s past. And he’s on this journey to find the thing he lost during the Very Bad Thing which takes him around various New York cities that eventually leads him back to Albany.

I’ve looked up census data, historical photos, distance between towns, the type of car someone might be driving and how fast it could travel, local churches (photos and floor plans), and then drew myself a dumb little map so I could trace his journey as I wrote it.

I don’t know if it’s made the story any better, but it’s definitely made me feel more comfortable when writing the scenery. 😂

[mackmontgomery]

Full Name: Mack Montgomery.

Nicknames: Mack Attack, Mackyew.

Pronouns and Gender: He/Him, Cis Male.

Age + Birthday: 27 + November 28th.

Birth place: Albany, New York.

How long have they been in town?: 5 years.

Sexuality: Bisexual.

Housing: Ocean Crest Apartments.

Occupation: Tattoo Artist @ Crescent Moon Tattoo.

Family: Trevor Montgomery (Brother), Macaulay Montgomery (Sister). // @aurorabayaesthetic

QUICK OVERVIEW.

Firstborn of the Montgomery trio, Mack’s parents had high expectations for Mack – all of which he seemed to make a personal goal to fall just short of. At two years old, his younger brother Trevor arrived, who from the very beginning was more adept at pleasing their parents. If Mack was eternal chaos, Trevor was eternal chill. Their sister Macaulay fell somewhere in the middle.

Where he faltered academically he excelled in other areas, namely art and music. Ever since Mack could steadily hold a pencil, he’s been sketching. It took years for him to actually consider himself good, but once he did he knew that as far as a future career was concerned, his would have to centre on that or he would have no chance of holding it down. That hypothesis was proved by the string of minimum wage jobs he had as a teenager that he was unable to keep for longer than six months. 

His first tattoo was a stick and poke he gave himself at 14 and ever since then it’s been a spiral of adding designs to his body that range from intrinsic pieces of body art to downright absurd additions that he only got because some form of alcohol was involved. 

It was also around this age that he picked up bass more seriously, rather than just a passing amusement. Once his high school friends decided to join a band, he threw his all into trying to be good enough to play along with them. It fast became an equally good outlet for his abundance of energy.

When he turned 18, his parents made it clear that if he wanted to continue staying under their roof he would be expected to go to college – something he had no intention of doing. He couch surfed for a year or so before eventually moving into a shared place with friends. As much as he adored New York, by twenty he was restless and wanted to seek out new scenery and a new coast. He eventually landed in Aurora Bay just shy of twenty-one where he once again found himself having to figure out a living situation.

It during his couch surfing days during his initial move to Aurora Bay that he was able to convince the owner Crescent Moon Tattoo to take him on as an apprentice after becoming a frequent flyer at the place, which became the first job he excelled at. After two years he became a fully fledged tattoo artist at 23 and there’s no one around who’s happier to have to go to work. 

PERSONALITY.

+ generous, warm, open-minded

- lazy, extreme, gullible

BONUS ROUND.

bisexual king.

6'5, has been mistaken for an actual sasquatch and became a local reddit urban legend.

is pretty much covered in tattoos from the neck down, (similar placements to pete davidson’s actual tattoos but the designs are different) has very rarely been able to think of a fun tattoo idea that he doesn’t end up getting. 

refuses to tattoo his face or his neck, adamantly says thats his own prerogative but in reality it’s because he knows his mother would hate it more than she already hates the ones he has. 

doesn’t have a driver’s license, thinks it’s redundant (because he drives anyway rip, he just hates the dmv!!!)

pretty much always in search of inspiration for tattoo ideas for himself, it’s almost compulsive. 

has tagged a few buildings around town 🤫

adament that cardi b’s ‘park that big mack truck right in this little garage’ lyric is about him after inking her.

has never actually met cardi b.

oui’d enthusiast, is pretty much always good for green if you’re looking.

will try any drug once (unless it’s injected)

CURRENT CONNECTIONS.

older brother of @macaulaymontgomery

buddy bud of @thegillyxliang

one half of a whole dumbass with @rhyswilson

formerly in a band with @callme-harris / @rinaxcicero (not in game but still canon) / @gcldrushed

past / sometimes current hook up of @lorelailewis

ex-boyfriend of @cricketcampbell

close friend of @aidenxstevens

fan of @vanessagable / submergence

friend of @kyleexanthony

friend of @wesxevans

acquaintance of @maura-cortes

co-worker of @nirawuu

close friend of / she's his personal hairdresser @fxckaubreycarson

super fan of @bradley-banner

art friends / will always rock with @cassidyxcooke

employee of @aeris-flores

looks up to @annthcmpscn

childhood friend of @shilohsharma

fwb of @helenasoarcs

friend of / redeemer of his fuckass hair colour / court jester of @chelsabel

SPECIFIC WANTED CONNECTIONS.

tattoo / piercing clients: if your muse has any/wants any in the future, mack’s your mans.

people he’s let tattoo him: yes he is that ridiculous, even if it turns out to be the ugliest design of all time, if it’s done with good intentions chances are that he’s going to like it.

childhood friends: new yawk baby!

GENERIC WANTED CONNECTIONS.

connections wise he’s pretty much an open book right now, but some baseline ideas that can be springboarded off are:

friendly.

co-workers / former co-workers from his teen job hopper days / ride or dies / childhood friends / pseudo-siblings / friends / drunk friends / new friends / people who let him couch surf as a teen / people he’s encountered through his job somehow.

romantic

flirtationship / friends with benefits / one time hook ups / tinder matches / unrequited crush (can be either way) / exes from high school / exes from his twenties / exes on good terms.

antagonistic.

enemies / former (best) friends / former friends / exes on bad terms / frenemies / rivals / negative influence. 

[marxism-transgenderism]

The Great Lakes region—including the Ohio River valley, the area around the lakes themselves, and the Mississippi basin up to the edge of the Great Plains—was home to some of the bloodiest fighting and also some of the most aggressive and effective Indian resistance to colonization on the entire continent.

Our present mapmaking turns the lakes into a border between the United States and Canada, an upper limit, rather than the crossroads that they were. Moving from south to north, the Mississippi River and its twin tributaries—the Missouri and the Ohio, draining the west and east, respectively—point like a trident at the belly of the lakes. The lakes themselves draw water from as far west as northern Minnesota and bring it all the way to the ocean. To the north of the lakes, great rivers like the Rainy, Hayes, Severn, and Albany feed north into Hudson Bay and beyond into the Arctic. Seen this way, the Great Lakes and the land that rises on their northern and southern flanks are the confluence of a vast network of waterways. For Indians as far back as the Paleolithic they were the hub of the New World.

Migrating waterfowl, fish, and game have followed these waterways since the end of the last North American ice age twelve thousand years ago. The earliest Native peoples, who lived alongside the game on which they depended, used these waterways, too. By the beginning of the Woodland period in 500 BCE there was a vast cultural and technological network that followed the water, spreading knowledge along with the cultures that carried it. The use of the bow and arrow, pottery, plant domestication, architecture, and burial practices flowed from the Gulf of Mexico all the way up to north of Lake Ontario and back again. In the various climates found in this vast and fecund area native plants, including gourds, sumpweed, goosefoot, sunflower, knotweed, little barley, and maygrass, were cultivated long before the arrival of corn and beans. In the Middle Woodland period, what is known as the Hopewell culture (also called the Hopewell complex or Hopewell exchange network) arose. The Hopewell cultures typically made their homes in or near oxbows and floodplains that seasonally replenished rich planting grounds, aquatic food sources, and waterfowl. The villages could reach significant size and were surrounded by mounds of all shapes and sizes that were one of the hallmarks of the culture. The Hopewell Ceremonial Earthworks near Chillicothe, Ohio, for example, measures 1,254 feet long and connects thirty-eight mounds within an earthen rectangle measuring more than one hundred acres.

Most, but not all, mounds contained burials of staggering richness. (The purpose of many effigy mounds—like the Great Serpent Mound, southeast of Chillicothe, Ohio, the largest effigy mound in the world—remains unknown or, at the least, hotly debated among archaeologists.) The mounds themselves were constructed using large poles that supported a thatched roof. The deceased were placed inside the shelter and buried with an abundance of trade goods. In Ohio some mounds were found to contain thousands of freshwater pearls, mica, tortoise shells, Knife River flint (from North Dakota), and conch (from Mexico). The finds indicate that these communities were both well-off and well-connected. Around the burial structure, heaps of animal bones suggest that the dead were feasted in fine fashion by their relatives. After the feasting, the gathered goods were burned down and covered over with earth. Along with larger villages and greater economic and caloric security came an explosion in artistic expression. Hopewell Indians were expert carvers. One burial mound at the Mound City site in Ross County, Ohio, contained more than two hundred intricately carved smoking pipes.

But around 500 CE, the Hopewell exchange network, along with the large villages and the mound building, disappeared. So did the artwork. Populations seem to have gone into decline. No one knows why, exactly. Trade and commerce brought goods from all over the continent, but they might also have brought war: some villages from the end of the period were bounded by moats and wooden palisades. The climate grew colder, which may have made game grow scarce. Likewise, improvements in hunting technology may have caused a collapse in animal populations. Agriculture itself may have been a culprit: as of 900 CE, maize and beans were well established throughout the region, and the rise of agriculture could have generated a shift in social organization. Much later, the Mississippian period, from 1100 to 1541 CE, saw the advent of the bow, small projectile points, pottery, and a shift from gathering to intensive agriculture. Large villages replaced small seasonal camps. The largest Mississippian village was surely Cahokia, which was at its peak around 1050–1250 CE, situated at the confluence of the Mississippi and Missouri Rivers near present-day St. Louis, spreading over five square miles and with a population estimated to reach thirty thousand. One burial site there contained twenty thousand shell beads, another eight hundred arrowheads. That, too, went into decline and was abandoned. Whatever the cause, by the time Europeans arrived in the region in the mid–seventeenth century, Cahokia and similar settlements had been long abandoned.

While tribes in the Southeast, Southwest, and Northeast were involved in countless local struggles (and not a few large ones) with the Spanish, English, Dutch, and French, Indians west of the Appalachians had at first only fleeting contact with the newcomers. But as happened elsewhere, harbingers arrived first, in the form of trade goods and disease. Some of this arrived with waves of tribal newcomers as refugees from the coastal groups headed inland, sparking territorial conflicts well west of the Atlantic even before Europeans set foot in the contested territories. The political disruptions caused by masses of refugees were compounded by disruptions to seasonal hunting and gathering cycles brought on by disease. The time and energy it took to weave nets, knap spear and arrow points, set traps, spear fish, and weave material was lost to war, illness, and death. Native technologies had already evolved that were well suited to the worlds of the Indians who invented them, yet what was wanting were specialists to make and use that technology. European knives were no better at cutting. European axes were no better at felling. In the chaos of the times, it became expedient to trade for them rather than to make them. The increased reliance on European trade goods in turn caused more geopolitical conflict.

In times of upheaval as in times of strife and instability, the region was defined by its prehistoric routes and cultures. Jacques Cartier, exploring the Gulf of Saint Lawrence in the 1530s and early 1540s, did ship-side trading with Natives there, exchanging knives and kettles and the like for fur used in trim—unaware of the wealth waiting to be extracted from the Pays d’en Haut (Upper Country) in the form of beaver pelts. According to Cartier, the Indians he met “made frequent signs to us to come on shore, holding up to us some furs on sticks. . . . They bartered all they had to such an extent that all went back naked without anything on them; and they made signs to us that they would return on the morrow with more furs.” Basque fishermen—present since the 1490s—became deeply enmeshed in the beaver trade. Seasonal fishermen, operating on the Grand Banks as early as 1512, traded metal items for beaver furs, which would be sewn into robes to keep the sailors warm during their endeavors and then be sold back in France. It wasn’t long before beaver fur’s unique felting qualities dramatically increased European demand for it (the barbed strands clung to one another with extraordinary strength). This led to an increased focus on exploration into the Gulf of Saint Lawrence, and the returning reports of a vast continent loaded with furs and Indians eager to trade drove Europeans deeper still into the interior, with a predictable increase in conflict.

The Iroquois Confederacy maintained a stranglehold on travel into the interior via the Great Lakes waterways, which meant, in the middle to late sixteenth century, control over all the trade in the region. Unlike the loosely affiliated Algonquian tribes and nonaffiliated Iroquoian tribes such as the Huron, they had access to trade goods: metal traps, kettles, axes, blankets, guns, shot, powder, and knives. Such items conferred a decided military advantage, and between the end of the sixteenth century and the full blossoming of the fur trade, the Iroquois were engaged in endless wars of advantage with their tribal neighbors to the east. They also managed to negotiate punitive trade deals with the French along the Saint Lawrence and the English down the Hudson.

The tribes to the west of the Iroquois were numerous and powerful but spread out over a vast territory. They included the Shawnee, Odawa, Potawatomi, Ojibwe, Sac, Fox, Menominee, Ho-Chunk (Winnebago), Osage, Miami, Dakota, Cree, Mandan, Arikara, Hidatsa, and Huron (to name but a few). With the exception of the Huron, who lived in large agricultural settlements on the north side of Lake Ontario and later near Georgian Bay and whose population numbered 20,000 to 40,000 or more, western Great Lakes tribes were broken into small mobile villages of around 150 to 300 people, organized by kinship ties. These were the Indians of storybook legend: plying the vast woodlands in birchbark canoes and treading the hushed forests in moccasins. They were primarily hunter-gatherers, though they, too, grew corn, beans, and squash. More westerly tribes such as the Ojibwe had also begun harvesting and cultivating naturally occurring wild rice—a swampy aquatic plant in the oat family that provided a very stable and nutrient-rich food source.

In 1608, Samuel de Champlain (the “father of New France”) pushed deeper into the Saint Lawrence and landed at the site that would become Quebec. As historian Michael McDonnell notes, Quebec was less a colony of settlement than the site of a warehouse and trading factory. Trading posts or factories—which in no way resembled factories as we know them—were combination free-trade zones, consulates, military garrisons, and settlements. European and American goods would be brought there, while Indian trade goods (usually furs and buckskin) were brought from the interior. The factory would be run by a “factor,” essentially a trader, and staffed with other traders who worked under him, along with craftsmen with needed skills, such as blacksmiths and tanners.

The hope at Quebec was to catch furs coming out of the northland and thereby bypass the British to the east and the Spanish creeping up the Mississippi from the south. The French mode of settlement was for Indians in many ways preferable to that of the British and the Spanish. Instead of following a pattern of conquest, subjugation, settlement, and displacement, the French, preferring to trade rather than to settle, were much more inclined to adapt to the new country and its inhabitants. The new outpost was deep in Indian country, and to survive it needed the help of its neighbors. The French began trading with the Huron: metal goods and guns in exchange for stores of surplus corn. The Huron maintained good trade relations with their Algonquian neighbors, the Odawa and Ojibwe, so that, while they themselves did not have access to furs, they had access to and good relations with those who did. A year after Champlain landed at Quebec, the Huron were trading with the French vigorously, then trading with the Odawa and Ojibwe in turn. It wasn’t long, however, before Champlain recognized that in order to get premium northern furs (and at a better price), he had to deal directly with the Odawa and Ojibwe.

As they say: Location, location, location. At this time the Odawa and Ojibwe (Anishinaabe) were located around Michilimackinac, which sat at the straits that separated Lake Michigan from Lake Huron, a day’s paddle from the outlet of Lake Superior and perhaps the most strategically important location in North America at that time. Control the straits and you controlled travel and trade for the majority of the continent. The location also suited the cultural prerogatives of kinship unique to the Algonquians of the region: they were principally exogamous and had a very well developed clan system. Children took the clan of their fathers and typically married out of their village into nearby villages and even other tribes. The son would move out of his family’s home and into that of his wife, bringing with him his clan and sense of relatedness. As a result, “family” became a large thing indeed and pulled populations of mobile and separate tribes into incredibly durable and mutually beneficial relationships over great distances. This well-woven network was an incredible boon in times of war and matters of trade. Moreover, Michilimackinac offered access to reliable food sources. The lakes in all directions mitigated the effects of latitude with a microclimate that allowed for corn production well north of its usual limit and supported an incredible diversity of plants and trees. Ash, oak, maple, elm, spruce, cedar, and white pine grew in profusion. The fall spawn of whitefish was said to be so intense that one could walk across the straits on the backs of the spawning fish. Villages tended to be seasonal and small—groups of usually no more than 150 relatives who lived in largely single-family wigwams, made from saplings driven into the ground and bent and tied together into a dome shape, then covered with woven reeds, cedar bark, birchbark shingles, or elm bark. These populations shifted between winter hunting grounds, spring fishing sites, sugar bush, and summer berrying locations. In summer, when insects were at their worst, villages shifted to high bluffs or rocky promontories to catch the breeze. In winter, when temperatures dropped below zero, as in the Northeast, families often consolidated into larger oblong wigwams or lodges to conserve resources and heat.

In this way the Great Lakes Indians made the most of their homelands in the heart of the heartland. They also had the benefit of timing: they were there at the beginning of the seventeenth century, when the fur trade blossomed into the first—and for centuries the most important—global industry. Their strong position allowed the allied Anishinaabe tribes (Odawa, Ojibwe, Potawatomi) to pressure the French to supply more than trade goods if they were going to be suffered to stay in the Pays d’en Haut. In 1609, they coerced the French into joining them in war parties against the Iroquois Confederacy, who were a constant threat on the southeastern flank of the Great Lakes. And so began a well-regulated pattern of trade.

By the late seventeenth century the Anishinaabe allowed the French to build forts and trading posts as far north and west as Michilimackinac itself, sustaining a seasonal cycle of trade in Indian lands. The French followed Ojibwe and Odawa trade terms and their cultural protocols for feasting and gift-giving. When they failed to comply or tried to dictate new terms, the Anishinaabe would court the British and trade with them until the French fell back in line. With such leverage, the fate of the Great Lakes Indians came to differ radically from that of Indians in tribal homelands everywhere else in North America. Even during the French and British conquest of the Great Lakes, and disease notwithstanding, the population of Algonquian tribes such as the Odawa, Ojibwe, and Potawatomi boomed, quadrupling between 1600 and 1800. The land base of the northern Algonquians expanded by a factor of twenty. Material culture, arts, and religion flourished. The strategic alliances and balance of power that inspired this “golden age” were nowhere more in evidence than in the attack at Pickawillany in 1752.

The French, after early successes in the seventeenth century, had been losing (globally and in North America) to the British. Piankashaw chief Memeskia, having grown dissatisfied with French trade goods and the French themselves, formed an intertribal coalition and began attacking the French. Many disaffected bands and individuals joined him. They formed a village at Pickawillany (at present-day Piqua, Ohio). They welcomed the British and allowed them to build a garrison and trading post nearby. Memeskia was becoming formidable, and his pan-Indian alliances threatened the balance among European powers so crucial to continued Indian control of the Great Lakes. If the British and French were kept wrong-footed, neither could consolidate their power and expand. With that in mind, the Anishinaabe played to their strengths and engaged in some furious diplomacy with their allies and their enemies. They warned the British that they were going to attack them in a general war. And they traveled from Michilimackinac by canoe to meet with the Onondaga Iroquois far to the east. The Iroquois Confederacy claimed the land in Ohio as their own, but they were in a tough place: they were allied with the British, and the British were trading and working with Memeskia. They gave the Algonquians their tacit blessing to remove Memeskia and his people, saying that they would “not permit any Nation to establish posts there; the Master of Life has placed us on that territory, and we alone ought to enjoy it, without anybody having the power to trouble us there.” In other words, they would not clear out the offenders, but they gave the Algonquians leave to do so.

In the winter of 1751–1752, Charles Langlade, a young mixed-race Odawa-French leader, began assembling a war party of Odawa, Potawatomi, and Ojibwe warriors who traveled by canoe south to Detroit and then upriver and over land to Pickawillany. They attacked the village in mid-morning on June 21, 1752, when the women were in the fields, and killed thirteen Miami men and captured five English traders. The survivors of the first assault fled back to a rough stockade, where Langlade and the Anishinaabe warriors fired on them for the better part of the day. Eventually the Miami, down to twenty or so warriors and low on water, tried to negotiate terms of surrender. Langlade said he wanted submission, not defeat, and said the survivors could leave if they promised to return home and if they handed over the English. The Miami failed, however, to honor the agreement, sending out only three of the five Englishmen. When they reached Langlade’s lines his men set on one of them, “stabbed him to death, scalped him, and ripped his heart out. They ate it in front of the defenders.” Then they seized Memeskia himself. They ordered the remaining defenders to stand and watch as they “killed, boiled, and ate Memeskia in front of his family and kinsmen.” Afterward, they released the Miami women they had captured and left for Detroit with the four captured Englishmen and more than $300,000 (in today’s money) of trade goods. This frontier victory against the English set off the First Anglo-Indian War, helped to ignite the French and Indian War, and was one of the sparks that began the worldwide conflagration known as the Seven Years’ War.

Whatever balance had been reestablished between the French and British in this region was lost during the Seven Years’ War, after which, for all intents and purposes, the French ceased to be a force in the New World. This left the British, who could be played off against the colonists only until the Revolutionary War, after which the Americans remained the sole colonial force in the Great Lakes region. This was the worst possible outcome for the Indians there. With the fur trade drawing to a close (by the mid-1800s the beaver was extinct east of the Mississippi), the Americans were free to force Great Lakes tribes into punitive treaties that reduced their territories, confined many to reservations, relocated others to Indian Territory (in what is now Oklahoma), and further eroded Indian influence. But while it lasted, the power of the Great Lakes tribes was immense, if underacknowledged. In part this is because these tribes, while they killed many French and English, didn’t engage in outright war with the new Americans. The cultural habit of negotiation (even from positions of relative powerlessness) persisted through the treaty period of 1830–1865. For this reason, as of 1891, Odawa, Potawatomi, Ho-Chunk, Oneida, Meskwaki, and Ojibwe tribes remained in their homelands around the Great Lakes in the same geographical range they had at the height of their power.

– David Treuer, The Heartbeat of Wounded Knee: Native America from 1890 the the Present

[fuckinuhhh]

Architectural Finds, 06/25/2023

Today's walk was short, I was just going in to DoBro to get some things from target but of course I had to stop and take some pictures along the way. Here are some architectural highlights from the walk there.

First were these row-houses along Fulton St, and this cool corner window aspect that the end house had.

Built 1882.

Located at 664-674 Fulton St these seemed like they were all the same architect save for the third house in at 668 that looked like it been rebuilt at some point or maybe covered with a brick facade.

You can see some of the rusting from the old Cast-Iron facade that was cutting edge technology in the day in the second picture.

Another row of houses that caught my eye were this row of brownstones with their beautiful ornamentation around the door frames. This is right around the corner at 109-117 S Elliot Pl.

I have no way of knowing if they were all built by the same owners originally as I cant seem to find any records for them online :/, but they were likely built around the turn of the last century 1890-1910 when this style of building was commonly constructed. It was likely that they were built by separate owners/architects, as their ornamental stone decorations aren't all exactly the same.

Moving on, A CHURCH! That's right I love a good ornate church and this one surely delivered. Just look at that gothic stone articulation above the entrance! Its so organic looking, it sends shivers down my spine just looking at it and I want to sink my teeth into it all in one.

Built in 1931 to the tune of the Hanson Place Central United Methodist Church, and today it sits abandoned, boarded up, and full of black mold.

The overall shape of the building is so interesting it has so much going on with its MASSIVE brick pillar motifs, likely intended to vertically gesture up toward the creator.

One source describes it as "Gothic restyled in modern dress, an exercise in massing brick and tan terracotta that might be called cubistic Art Moderne."

Someone with more theological architectural background could go further in depth than I can on it I'm sure, but it's always exciting to see the passionate attention to detail that a good cathedral has in it's architecture.

Next I don't know if I love this one but I just wanted to shout it out as having a BIG clock face! Like that thing is so high upppp it must be 100 feet in diameter!

Without even looking it up I'm going to take a shot in the dark and say this is maybe Brooklyn City Hall, or another government building??? It resembles the thing they're doing in all of the governing buildings I've seen up in Albany.

I don't particularly like this architectural style its boring and chunky in my opinion, but I have to say its not the ugliest thing I've seen. I respect the sense of radial symmetry its upper terraces and flanks suggest, and cmon you cant knock that clock.

Second to last, we have this red & black beauty. Love the Greek-Revival pediments on each wing of the building as well as the renaissance revival inclusions in the carved cords/ribbons hanging in between the pilasters.

After some research, this seems to be an old Schoolhouse built in 1892 that has unfortunately since been absorbed by the ultra-modern townhouse on the end of the street at 81 Hanson Pl and transformed into a massive painting studio/home by painter David Salle. Wish I could find more info on the original schoolhouse tho :/

(Second photo ripped from google images)

HONORABLE MENTION: Caught this Mansard Roof moment on my way into the subway station and oof, tug at my heartstrings this is cute.

Across the street from the dream studio/abomination this guy sits pretty at 83 Hanson Pl and is the only brownstone on the block with a cute hat (mansard roof).

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[TRANSCRIPT UNDER THE CUT]

4:37 PM | Rothschild Estate, Rothschild

[Irene on TV]: Albany now is the time to grieve and celebrate, to grieve the death of our beloved King Ryland, who served this country for more than 40 years-

[???]: *Chuckles* That man deserved what he got.

[???]: Mama? The car is here.

[Rosalie]: I still can't believe you invited that woman here at the palace Irene.

[Irene]: Aunt Marina was close to papa. She deserves to grieve with us.

[Rosalie]: Well she can live under the same roof as you. I'm leaving, I'm going to Melbury Palace. I can't bear to see her face here for the duration of the mourning period.

[Anthony]: Mama, this is what papa would have wanted, for us to come together as a family.

[Rosalie]: If it wasn't for your Aunt Marina, we wouldn't be here, carrying the burden of the crown.

[Irene]: Let bygones, be bygones, mama.

[???]: Your Majesties, Your Royal Highness.

[Rosalie]: Marina, it's so good to see you again.

[Marina]: It's good to see you too.

[Rosalie]: Anthony, Calvin, let's give them some privacy.

[Marina]: I'm so glad you invited us to stay here at the palace.

[Irene]: It's nothing. I know you and papa were close.

[Marina]: How are you? Your mama?

[Irene]: I'm fine. Mama... She is ok, but she is still having a difficult time.

[Marina]: You and your mama are strong. I know your family can get through it. I know what it's like to lose someone close to you.

[Irene]: Thank you, Aunt Marina.

[Marina]: ...Though, I would like to bring up a concern of mine.

[Irene]: Of course.

[Marina]: Before you were born, when we stepped down, we were promised by your father, that we would get back Duchy Rothschild, and my kids would get the HRH and Prince and Princess titles. Until now those promises have not been delivered.

[Irene]: How can I help you, Aunt Marina?

[Marina]: We were promised that my eldest child, your cousin, Calvin, would be given an HRH title with Prince of Rothschild, while I receive back my HRH and Duchess of Rothschild title. And for the rest of my children, their HRH Prince, and Princess titles. I would like to see those promises delivered, now that you are Queen, and you can pull the strings.

[Irene]: That promise should have been delivered a long time ago already. Leave it to me, Aunt Marina.

[Marina]: Thank You, Rina.

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Henford Palace, Wednesday 6PM

TRIGGER WARNING (TW): CURSING, MANIPULATION, YELLING, MENTION OF DEATH

Queen Victoria: Now, shall we begin.

Victoria: First and foremost, I would like extend thank yous to you all for attending this meeting with less than a 48-hour notice.

Victoria: Charles Adam Edward, I AM BEYOND DISAPOINTED IN YOU, AND YOUR FATHER WOULD BE TO IF HE WAS STILL ALIVE! WHAT IN THE ENTIRE HELL WERE YOU THINKING?!

Prince Charles, Duke of Warborough: MOM! I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU AND THE PALACE ARE SO ANGRY OVER ME HAVING A GIRLFRIEND! I will never understand why you oppose the beautiful thing I’ve created with Hannah.

Victoria: Son, what you and Hannah have created is a PR Nightmare! Not a day goes by where I don’t see you and Hannah in the headlines. You should have approached me first and maybe you would have received my unconditional support.

Lady Hannah Stanton: Your majesty, with all due respect it was never my or the Duke’s intention to hid our relationship from you. We were simply trying to figure things out considering that fact that he is a public figure and member of the royal family but, we just thought it would be better if we moved in together along with the Crown Princess and Lord Thomas so we could be more closer in distance and we could have more private time.

Victoria: Hannah, I totally understand that but, more private time to do what if I may ask. You guys are only 15 and you guys are not grown adults yet. When I was your age I was a princess of Oasis Springs and at the age I was told I would be marrying my now late husband at the time, The Duke of Albany. We did not live under the same roof until we were ENGAGED. 

Victoria: Also, Hannah with you mentioning the Crown Princess, that brings me to my next point. LAURA VICTORIA ELEANOR, WHY IN THE HELL WOULD YOU AGREE TO SOME SHIT LIKE THIS?!

Crown Princess Laura: Mother, I have tried so hard not to butt heads with you for the pasts 3 years but God damn! you make it extremely hard not to. Why you try so hard to stand in the way of true love all of the time I will never understand.

Victoria: Young lady, this behavior from you is simply unacceptable. especially with you being future queen!

Victoria: I will talk to my private secretary and the PR team to figure out the best solution to move forward. I hope to see you all soon!

Victoria: William, a moment in the corner please?

William: Of course, your majesty.

Victoria: I would like to have a meeting between you, your parents, and myself, Tuesday at 6pm sharp.

William: Of course, your majesty.