Greenpoint
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The Toilet Spot
Those of you who bemoan the lack of public lavatories in north Greenpoint will be pleased to learn about the Green Street privy.
This receptacle for human defecation was discarded March 31, 2008 (which is when the above photo was taken, note Magic Johnson’s condominium craptacular rising in the background). It has resided on my block going on six days now.
With predictable results.
Looks like someone needs to call a plumber.
Miss Heather
Dung Of The Day: Nassau Avenue
Last weekend I had the pleasure of having two friends accompany me on my weekly walk of Greenpoint. It was a most enjoyable experience for yours truly. We not did we chatter away but I got to play tour guide to boot. Of course there came a point on Nassau Avenue when I had to drop the amateur act and get down to business. What kind of business, you ask? The business that graces much of our neighborhood’s sidewalks. Yes, I am talking about dog shit.
I think. As soon as I saw this pasty pile of poo in front of the local funeral parlor I knew exactly what to do. To this end I opened my backpack, retrieved my bust of George Herbert Walker Bush and put it to good use.
This act of social commentary did not go unnoticed by my fellow passersby. The above two gentlemen stopped walking and engaged in a heated discussion in front of my object de arte. You have to hand it to us Greenpointers, we love to talk about politics.
Miss Heather
The Shittiest Corner in North Brooklyn?
I have a confession to make: living in Greenpoint has made me pretty jaded when it comes to encountering mass quantities of dog shit. As I went for one of my infamous four hour walks earlier this week I was summarily jolted out of my torpor by the utter HORROR which awaited me at the above-depicted intersection.
This is Bushwick Avenue. When you turn the corner onto Melrose Street it doesn’t get much better.
Words fail me.
Miss Heather
Crappy— In More Ways Than One!
It’s been awhile since I have seen me some super shitty construction fences, so this morning I moseyed on down to West Street to get my fix. I was not disappointed.
The above fence can be seen at the southwestern corner of West and Kent Street.
Here’s a nice shot of the hole in the fence.
Next to it resides this festering pile of garbage.
The sidewalk in front of this fence has a nice crack…
as did the gent taking a shit behind it. I don’t know what the hell this guy ate, but I could smell the Ghost of Dinner Past* over fifteen feet away.
In closing I would like to state that I prefer to envision the glass as being half full. This site is not a public safety hazard: it is an al fresco public lavatory. Don’t laugh, it’s probably cleaner than the women’s crapper at McGolrick Park.
Maybe I should call the CRACK PROS?
Miss Heather
*Or would that be the Ghost of SHITmas Past?
Explosive Gas & A Bunch of Hot Air
Filed under: Bum Shit, Crazy People, Dung of the Day, Greenpoint Magic, Other Shit
Last week I came across a comment* on the Gowanus Lounge from an oil spill disbeliever (yes, they really do exist). I couldn’t help but snicker when I read this:
…As for the explosive gas, it was Keyspan natural gas lines that needed to be repaired, not the oil spill.
Maybe he’s right? It’s something else. Just this weekend I saw the remains of a massive explosion on Java Street.
It’s the Greenpoint Chili Relleno Spill! Maybe I should contact the EPA and request a vapor test be conducted?
Miss Heather
*Be sure to check out the novel this whack job defender of Greenpoint’s virtue wrote in response to my rebuttal. It’s a hoot! Be sure to strap on your tin foil hat first so the many conspirators behind the vast smear campaign that is the GREENPOINT OIL SPILL won’t come to get you!
The Gruesome Twosome
Yesterday my husband and I went to Manhattan. Being the colossal klutz I am, I managed to utterly destroy my cell phone last week. The beginning of our jaunt in the city was spent at the Verizon store on Broadway securing a replacement. What happened next will be permanently ingrained in my olfactory memory.
As we were exiting Forbidden Planet my new phone rang. It was my buddy Rachael. Not knowing how to use my new toy, I hung up on her. She called back. I promised to call her back in a moment. And I did— but not before passing by some crazy homeless dude on 13th Street shouting at his reflection in storefront window while doing his best Kung Fu moves.
This guy was bat shit crazy. If a convention was held for insane homeless people, this chap would be crowned the craziest of them all. I took note and called my buddy Rachael. That’s when it happened.
OH
MY
GOD!!!
Gasping for air, I yelled into my cell phone:
Rachael, I have to call you back!
Not only was this dude the most insane homeless person I have ever beheld, he was the creator of the MOST MALODOROUS PILES OF BUM SHIT I have ever whiffed. The above photographs do not even come close to conveying the horror my nose experienced. Even 24 hours later the sight of these shits make me throw up a little.
Miss Heather
Code Brown: 51 Street and Lex
I have always made it a point to avoid the 51st and Lexington hub of the MTA. There are a number of reasons I eschew this station, but the two main ones are:
- Its thoroughfares are clogged worse than sideshow fat lady’s arteries.
- It smells bad. Really bad.
The latter always confused me; I could never pin-point the source of the stench. Sure, everything looked clean (inasmuch as that is possible in subway station anyway), but my nose always told me something was amiss. This was the first lesson I learned about living in New York City: always trust what this highly underrated organ is telling you. Stink don’t lie.
Today I got a submission from Jen (of the wonderful blog, lastnightsdinner) from the 51st Street and Lexington subway station which, ironically enough, features last night’s dinner for someone… or something.
She writes:
I took a different route home from work yesterday than normal. As I walked to the back of the 6 train platform at the 51st/Lex station, I noticed a couple of guys in business casual wear wiping their feet. I looked at the platform in front of them and noticed a trail of flattened shit that lead all the way to the elevator. I’m hoping that the poop was the result of a service dog who couldn’t quite make it outside and whose owner was unable to clean it up, but to be honest, this being New York Shitty, I doubt that was the case.
Anyway, I couldn’t not take photos for you. Enjoy!
All good dinners go to heaven…
Here’s looking at you kid!
Miss Heather
Fun With Public Urination Part II: Scarano’s Skidmark
Needing a projection screen for Kevin Walsh’s presentation at this week’s blogger meet-up, today I headed over to my boss’s store in Bushwick to pick one up. Although I could have taken the G to Metropolitan, transfer to the L and take it to Montrose Avenue, I decided to mix things up a little. So I took the G to Broadway and hoofed it.
If you want to see firsthand on how completely and utterly impotent this city’s regulatory agencies are in regards to policing irresponsible developers, walk down Meserole or Scholes Street from Union to Bushwick Avenue. The best way I can describe the landscape is Beirut circa 1985. It’s a fucking disaster.
Here is a textbook example of one of the many derelict construction sites to be found in this area. You will probably not be surprised to learn that Robert Scarano is responsible for this turd.
You know, if I were getting the kind of negative press Mr. Scarano has been getting lately, I would at least pick up my trash. Being branded as a litter bug is not exactly stellar PR.
Come to think of it, getting cited for having a “dirty sidewalk” probably isn’t good publicity either. Note: the above ticket lists a “used mattress” as one of the pieces of refuse obstructing 130 Scholes Street’s sidewalk.
Yup, that looks pretty used alright…
They failed to mention the piss and shit stains on said mattress, though. I think I will give above photo the title Scarano’s Skidmark.
To call 130 Scholes Street “deplorable”, “inexcusable” or “revolting” is to make a gross understatement. As far as I am concerned Scarano made this bed and he should be forced to lie in it. I strongly suspect there are numerous others who share the previous sentiment, many of whom are probably relegated to negotiating this eyesore every day. But then again, this is just an educated guess.
To the poor people who have the dubious honor of calling 130 Scholes Street (READ: Robert Scarano) a neighbor: please accept my sincerest condolences.
New York Shitty to Robert Scarano: PICK UP YOUR SHIT!
Miss Heather
Pulaski Poo
Yesterday evening my husband and I went to the Creek and Cave for dinner. After we reached the Queens side of the Pulaski Bridge, we happened upon a token of someone’s (or something’s) gastronomic distress.
Why did the Greenpointer cross the bridge?
To take a bigass dump on the other side.
Miss Heather
Bushwick Bung du Jour
As many of you are aware, I (and a fair number of other Greenpointers) have been without a telephone and Internet access since Tuesday. Initially Verizon said everything would be back up on June 28th. On June 28th, the date was pushed back to June 30th or July 1st. Now July 2nd is the supposed date for my restoration of access to the outside world. I’ll believe it when I see it.
Let’s just say I’m seriously considering taking Semaphore lessons.
But Miss Heather is not one to whine about such trivial matters. I have gone ten days without electricity. I’m still standing (albeit stinkier) after an entire week without hot water. I have shimmied through my own bathroom window— using the fire escape on the fourth floor as a fulcrum— after having my locks filled with glue by a former Superintendent’s wife.
I have learned to be resourceful. Mostly at using other people’s resources. I have spent the last five days drifting around the north Brooklyn landscape looking for one thing: Internet access. FREE Internet access. FREE AND PRIVATE Internet access.
Perhaps I have become a diva? If I am, I am a low-budget one. Any place where I have to wear a bra and intuit enough social pressure to refrain from scratching myself (and/or cleaning my ears with a Q-Tip) is simply not conducive to fomenting my creative juices. The Dog Shit Queen of Greenpoint has needs— and one of them is having non-itchy ears.
Thankfully a good friend of mine down in Bushwick lent me a hand (and her apartment keys) to this end. The last time I trudged down there I found something that made riding the (ever tardy) B43 bus and enduring the numerous shouts of “Hey mami, I love you” totally worth it.
I found this gargantuan pile of feces on Montrose Avenue just east of Humboldt.
Here is a photo that will give you some idea as to how large this revolting refuse is. It’s big.
Really fuggin’ big.
Every dark cloud has a shitty lining. And when you’re a Dog Shit Queen, that isn’t necessarily such a bad thing. This Greenpoint “Mami” loves her some Bushwick bum poo!
Miss Heather
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