Here, “Details” means Details magazine–which features stories about Marc Jacobs’ grooming regimen (he “uses no fewer than five skin-care products a day“) and how to find “the best men’s shoes in the world.”

They’ve launched their gritty urban ad campaign in the Meatpacking District, just outside the Standard Hotel, on the side of the former Interstate Foods, the last big packing plant to shutter in the new MePa.

Interstate Foods was always interesting to walk by. There were often carcasses and hunks of meat hanging on hooks outside, or rotting in big garbage barrels. The sidewalk was slick with animal fat drippings. It stunk. And men would come out of the doorways in blood-stained aprons to have a smoke. Until recently, some rugged tabby cats were living in the basement.

But that has all been erased. This building is going to be demolished to make room for a controversial 10-story glass tower. Until then, it’s the canvas for a street-art campaign conceived and funded by a corporation’s fashion magazine.

“THE CITY IS OUR CANVAS” it says, printed so neatly as to be legible, adorned with accompanying tags from “Scaner” and “Joker 1.” Are these actual graffiti artist tags? Or were they developed in a marketing meeting? See how the whole thing was painted by a guy in a black hoodie, and some other guys, in a time-lapse video on the Guild’s site.

The battle of food truck vs. food cart is on. [EVG]

Hey MTV, Miss Heather wants her neighborhood back. [NYS]

Check out 80 Blocks from Tiffany’s. [Stupefaction]

Enjoy the nautical New York paintings of Nick Jakubiak.

Sharon Florin offers this reflective portrait of Gordon’s Novelty shop in better days:

As we know, New Yorkers get excited when a new product is first released to the market. They line up for hours outside Apple stores for new iPhones and iPads. They sleep outside big boxes like IKEA the night before a grand opening, just to be the first inside. They even do it for books, camping by the doorways of bookstores on the nights when fresh Harry Potters come screaming into the world.

So I figured, with all the Franzen hoopla, there would at least be a small line.

But there was no line. Not even Greg Packer, the guy who camps out in line for everything, was there. Shortly before midnight, about 6 people were in the bookstore, milling about. Billie Holiday sang the blues over the loudspeakers. The shop had a hollow feeling. It was sort of depressing.

Still, I imagined that when the books arrived, there would be some fanfare. They’d be wheeled out on a festooned palette, in a big stack like a frosty birthday cake. Bibliophiles would suddenly appear at the door to grab up multiple copies for posterity. Hey, this guy was just on the cover of TIME magazine! But that didn’t happen.

When the clerk announced, in a weary, bemused voice, “Ladies and gentleman, it is midnight and we are now legally permitted to sell to you Jonathan Franzen’s Freedom, the book that the New York Times just cannot stop praising,” there was a barely discernible ripple of acknowledgment from the patrons. He placed a handful of copies on the New Fiction shelf, mixed in among the other authors whose names begin with F.

One young woman perked up. I think she might have exclaimed, “Oh boy!” She was the first to grab a copy and the first to buy it.

“How does it feel to be the first person to own that book in New York City?” the clerk asked her.

“Am I really the first?”

“Well, the first to own it legally.”

Then a couple of young men sidled up, real casual, as if they weren’t there for one reason only. They picked up the book and inspected it. They turned a few pages, looking unimpressed as they pretended to be making a decision. They bought it, too. Then another. And maybe one more. One guy left without even looking at it. And then the store was pretty much empty.

Maybe if it was a new flavor of cupcake, people would have been there.

This area just north of Union Square was once filled with novelty shops. If you scroll through microfilm images of those streets at the Municipal Archives, in the grainy shots you will see the word NOVELTY everywhere, along with: Balloons, Bingo Games, Favors, Party Hats, Bridge Prizes, and Souvenirs.

I imagine that walking through those streets, at mid-century, must have been like walking into the world behind the mesmerizing novelty ads in old comic books. Just looking at those pages could fire the imagination for untold hours.

Like “Appetizing,” which I wrote about here, the word “Novelty” (and its plural “Novelties”) is a rare find on a New York sign. Many have vanished, some remain.

Here is the Gordon storefront before it was gone.

The plural appears today on a floral supply shop in the Flower District, and probably doesn’t refer to hand buzzers and whoopie cushions.

When Anthropologie moved into B. Shackman’s favors and novelties shop on 5th Avenue, they left the plaque on the wall. It’s still there, but the heavy wooden revolving door was removed. Shackman’s, as I remember it, was also not the fake-vomit breed of novelty shop, but sold mostly dollhouse furnishings and greeting cards.

photo from kiminnyc’s flickr

1932 catalog selling on Amazon

And here is a shot of Jimson’s Novelty shop, vanished from 18th and Broadway sometime in the mid-1990s, if I remember right. There’s a noodle or dumpling place, or something similar, there now.

photo: Jack Szwergold’s flickr

Keep your eyes open for “Novelty.” If you come upon this rare word in New York City signage, please add your shots to the Vanishing NY Flickr pool.