Filed under: 11222, Boobification, Greenpoint, Greenpoint Brooklyn, Greenpoint Magic, Urban Artifact
The offerings may be dwindling, but I am pleased to report as of today, April 25th, the Greenpoint Avenue teddy bear is still in effect!
Here’s looking at you, kid…
Filed under: 11206, Boobification, Bushwick, Bushwick Brooklyn, Carbecque, Criminal Activity, East Williamsburg, East Williamsburg Brooklyn, Urban Artifact
…among other things.
Filed under: 11211, Boobification, East Williamsburg, East Williamsburg Brooklyn, Williamsburg, Williamsburg Brooklyn
Taken March 28, 2012.
Taken by Elias Williams.
From Kent Avenue.
Filed under: 11211, Boobification, The Word On The Street, Williamsburg, Williamsburg Brooklyn
From South 1 Street.
P.S.: No, I did not write this.
Filed under: 11222, Boobification, Greenpoint, Greenpoint Brooklyn, Greenpoint Magic
Yes folks, yours truly recently had a fit of artistic inspiration and has decided to resume her long-dormant Boobification Project! I would like to take a moment to thank the person who helped me to secure the additional cleavage required to make this happen. You know who you are.
To be continued…
Filed under: Boobification
It hasn’t even been 24 hours and I have already received some interesting feedback regarding my Cut and Pasty project. Such as this comment from MaineBarnCat:
How about a non-pixellated set? I favor American Realist art myself.
While I am flattered, I regret to inform MaineBarnCat (and everyone else for that matter) the answer is no. Not for free anyway. I myself am an American Capitalist. The perversion this person proposes has a hefty price. Cash. Upfront.
Will we be seeing these on various billboards and sculptures and kiddie-rides anytime soon? (If so, I request the fake Donald with a football on 5th and 46th.)
The purpose of this exercise is audience participation. Use your imagination. Why stop with Donald Duck? Why not wear these bad boys the next time you’re called for jury duty? At your nephew’s bar mitzvah? Job interviews? Community board meetings? The possibilities are endless.
Thankfully this was not lost on everyone. Case in point:
I can’t honestly say I saw this one coming. Thanks, t!
One of the things I have been endeavoring to do over the last two months is dedicate more time to my own art work. Unfortunately after I get done writing New York Shitty I find myself bereft of any energy to do so. Last weekend this changed. Thanks to my site being down I had the time. Lots of time. What’s more, I had the inspiration. My “eureka moment” came in the way they often do: a discussion at a bar.
The topic of said discussion was the lack of privacy one has in New York City apartments. One need never know when he (or she) will glance out a tenement window to see a neighbor au naturel. I myself have had this experience. Its consequences exacerbated an already tense situation.
I never learned the woman’s name. This is a shame as I know quite a lot about her. This is because she had a habit of sitting in her apartment window chain smoking and talking on her cell phone for hours on end seemingly oblivious to the fact my husband and I could hear every word she was saying. These lengthy monologues would waft into our bedroom along with traces of the crappy weed she would occasionally indulge in. I can’t really bring myself to disdain this woman for predilection for the latter. After all, she was a city employee and probably on a tight budget. But I digress.
As time waxed on, the Mister and my amusement over Cathy’s activities morphed from amusement to annoyance. After she started throwing parties for her equally noisy friends the latter, in turn, transmogrified into extreme hatred. I suspect she sensed this and a cold waresque cloud of mutual contempt formed over our respective households. Chez Shitty was South Korea, our mutually shared “back yard” was Checkpoint Charlie and Chez Cathy was Democratic People’s Republic of Dumbass. Coexistence was for the most part peaceful. Nonetheless one could palpably sense all that was needed to send the situation to hell in a hand basket was a provocation. One day it finally happened: I looked out my bedroom window.
My husband was reading in bed. He wanted to speak to about something. I do recall what. That has been clouded by the fog of war and what happened next: after talking to him I looked up. To see Cathy buck naked. Before I could avert my gaze we locked glances. I could see the rage fill her face. It was done. She promptly shot me the finger and yanked the drapes shut. I suppose I can understand her reason for upset. Then again, her assumption I wanted to look at her rather pendulous breasts was a wee bit presumptuous. Mammary glands hold no amazement for me— and even if they did I needn’t go far to find a pair. Why go out for hamburgers when you can stay home and have steak? But back to my story.
Conversely, one need always be on the lookout for his or her own privacy. These things happens to the best of us. The phone rings as you are about to step into the shower. You dash to answer it and two thirds into your discussion you look up to see an old lady hanging her laundry staring at your hairy ass in abject horror. What to do, you ask? Well at long last I have the answer. Courtesy of lady named Rebecca while having drinks at a place called the Brooklyn Ale House:
I think I am going to get my nipples tattooed so they look pixelated.
That’s when divine inspiration struck. I don’t how the following found its way out of my mouth, but I am very happy it did:
That sounds kind of painful. Why not just make pasties of your own pixelated nipples instead? It’d be a lot cheaper.
The die had been cast. I simply had to find the time and wherewithal to implement my nefarious plan. Then lo, New York Shitty crashed! I considered this to be a sign and got cracking. I did not make the Mister aware of my project. Such endeavors are best done in artistic seclusion.
Long story made short, the cat eventually bolted out of the bag when he shifted his attention from the Lehrer News Hour to my computer monitor.
Those are your breasts.
Yes, they are.
Do you need me to take more pictures of them?
He inquired with disquieting alacrity.
No, I have the situation well under control.
I assured him.
Are you sure?
Quite sure, thank you.
He went back to watching the news and I went back to work. As the creative process unfolded I had a second epiphany:
Why hide my pixelated lights under a bushel? Why not make it so as anyone can wear them? Why not let “the girls” go global? And so I did. After a few fits and starts Boobification 2.0: Project Cut & Pasty was finally born!
By clicking on the above image you can make your very own Cut & Pasties! What you do with them is your own business.
If there is a lesson to be learned here it is this: do not let, under any circumstances, let New York Shitty go offline. All this does is give me WAY too much time on my hands. I get bored. And as you can see when I get bored interesting things tend to happen.
Filed under: 11211, Bloomblight, Boobification, Street Art, Williamsburg, Williamsburg Brooklyn
For reasons that probably do not need to be explained, today was (and still is) a red letter day for yours truly. Those of you who have congratulated me via comments and email, I want to take a moment here and now to tender my kindest regards and gratitude. You see, I did not sit on my laurels checking email and moderating comments today. I got right back to business.
I have been wanting to do this for months. Today, at 3:30 p.m. (and much to the amusement of the youths dismissed after a busy day at the Automotive High School) I finally made it happen. This one’s for you, kids. If you can believe it, you can achieve it!
P.S.: While I’m titularly on the subject of eastern Europe, get a load of this sexy beast I encountered on North 8 Street!