Greenpoint
Cafe Cito Bogota
The Sights & Sounds Of Atlantic Antic
I am spending this lovely (if a bit brisk) Monday afternoon recovering from my jaunt to Atlantic Antic yesterday. My feet may be killing me today but it was totally worth it: not only did I have a lot of fun but I also bumped into Norman Oder of Atlantic Yards Report! Anyhoo, here’s a short film highlighting some of my favorite (and in one case, LEAST FAVORITE) experiences at this year’s Antic. Enjoy!
Be sure to check out my photo set on Flickr for more highlights from this year’s event!
(Yet) more to come!
Miss Heather
Enough With The Anal Glands Already!
I have been rather grumpy of late. This is due in large part to a seemingly never-ending series of pet-related maladies. First it was an abscessed anal gland. In treating that the veterinarian noticed the front of our cat wasn’t looking so good: this entailed having three teeth pulled. An appointment was made. Next it was two (other) cats getting ringworm. We are treating this with some level of success on our own.
After getting a deep cleaning of my own teeth (which entailed being given Novocaine) I hurried home (and in so doing got spritzed with cement) took a bath and ventured back out to retrieve our cat Artemis from having his teeth extracted. I was not in a good mood. So I arrive at the vet. As is usually the case I had to wait a good 20 minutes.
Then it was my turn. I am told the surgery went well and then the vet said:
That anal gland is healing nicely. Have you looked at it?
I took a deep breath and replied:
You are the second such person to ask me this question this week. The fact of the matter is I have looked at that cat’s asshole more in the last two weeks than I ever cared to. For a lifetime. If you and my husband say it is healing well I’ll take your word for it.
Believe it or not I think the vet understood. He thought it was funny in any case. He’s paid (handsomely, I will add) to look at this shit anyway. I am not. I seemingly cannot avoid this subject matter. It is follows me where ever I go. Those of you who are old enough might remember the old Tootsie Roll commercial: their cheerful protagonist saw Tootsie Rolls everywhere he (or she— cannot remember which) went. I see anal glands where ever I go— or are forced to talk about them. This is no way to go through life.
CASES IN POINT:
I have been wanting to get back to doing collages. I am not only good at creating them and I also enjoy the process. It relaxes me. To this end I needed material so I picked up this book at the junk shop. I get home and crack it open. Here is what I saw.
A few days later I went to dinner with a friend. She asked me how Artie’s anal glands were doing. I said “just fine”. Then she regaled with a tale about the time her old dog’s anal gland got backed up and the vet had to “drain it”. It seems like everyone has their own anal gland story and now I have mine. Lucky me.
This week I went out with a friend for a walk. As we were walking down North 12th Street I spied this.
Me: Hey look, another tree twat.
Friend: Tree twat?
Me: Someone has been going around Greenpoint and Williamsburg painting knot-holes pink, which lends them a certain “sexual” feel. I call them tree twats, although this one looks more like an anal gland.
Friend: It does?
Me: Yup, only less disgusting.
It was at this point I realized I had a problem. I needed to quit anal glands and move on. I needed closure (in more ways than one). So I decided to try a little art therapy on India Street.
Every dog has a pair of anal glands located on the sides of and just below the opening of the anus. These small glands secrete a lubricant which helps the dog move his bowels easily. Sometimes these anal glands become clogged and accumulate a putrid mass in side. When this happens, the dog becomes listless, his eyes appear dull, and he often tries to lick the anus or pull himself across the floor on his haunches for relief.
The Complete Poodle Clipping & Grooming Book by Shirlee Kalstone.
If you’re wondering if rabbits have anal glands: they do. Someone has even written a dissertation about them.
Miss Heather
Art Therapy Part II: Welcome To Booblyn
The powers that be provided me a pair of “AA” mammary attachments. I have never had a problem with them. They don’t interfere with my use of power tools and I can wear tube tops and go bra-less with total abandon.
As long as the elastic is tight, the kids are alright!
I always said. Until the boobadiers got to me. “Bigger is better” they said. They were right.
I felt inadequate until I was provided a pair of DD cups. My life has become much more enjoyable upon acquiring my new rack. No back pain, special bras or silicone: just pure Greenpoint girlie joy. What’s more, when I am done with my mamazons I can throw them into my backpack and move on.
I mention this because my first installment of Brooklyn Boobification garnered some curious praise:
Bitchcakes writes:
That was great, Miss Heather! What a great use of plastic boobies! I only hope there will be more adventures for this rubbery pair.
SuzyO writes:
holy hannah, heather, this takes the cake… you consistently amuse and inform, but this is mad genius. i especially love the starboobs … it is just so pink vanity table, you know?
Bodmin raves:
In the thirteen years I lived in Greenpoint I will confess that I sometimes felt the neighbourhood had more than its share of boobs. You have just proven that it could be improved by the addition of lots more – at least in the right places. Brilliant!
And lastly…
Rowan writes:
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! i choked on my coffee looking at these. hopefully it will become a series. Can you try to pose these somewhere with the Shit Tits in the background?
(the only thing funnier would have been if there were such a thing as fake heinies. Greenpoint would become Moonpoint.)
They have fake heinies for sale (at “Just For Fun” I think) but I have yet to invest in one. I bought one too many rubber dicks and fake tits on margin. Hopefully the Feds will bail me out. In the meantime this paltry offering will have to do.
I call this composition Ten Tits At Sunset: Eight Blue, Two Pink. It was pretty brisk last night on the Pulaski Bridge so my gals (all four of them*) were pretty perky.
Miss Heather
*The same logic goes with buying my url: $1,000 (or $500 a boob) doesn’t cut it. So don’t expect to see “Mary Kate & Ashley” (as I like to call them) anytime soon.
P.S.: Look very carefully at the image gracing the beginning of this post. Better yet, click here and see a larger image. You might find it amusing.
P.S. #2: In the wee hours of the morning (2:57 a.m.) I received the following email regarding this post. FranklinSt134 writes:
Hi, I don’t wish to spoil your fun, but I think Booblyn is a insult to Breast Cancer patients, survivors, and families who have lost loved ones to Breast Cancer. I hope you never experience Breast Cancer or lose a loved one from it. Maybe a donation to Susan G. Komen for the Cure would be in order.
Your wish is to spoil my fun. That said, perhaps I should do a photo series using said boobs, sell prints and give the proceeds towards to said foundation? Why not raise awareness of sexism, street harassment and breast cancer in one clean sweep? Does this sound like a good idea to you “FranklinSt134″?
Summer Doldrums
Today I have made two efforts to get out of the house and take a walk. Both times I found myself hauling my ass back home in the rain. I guess it is just not in the cards for me to go out today.
To alleviate my boredom I have tried— really tried— to spend my time productively. Over the last hour IÂ have fired up the dishwasher, bagged recyclables and even made preparations to vacuum the floor. The bugger is being productive is dull as dishwater. What’s more, I had a creative itch to scratch. Not wanting to bother cleaning this up so I would have a work surface, I decided to venture around the block. It didn’t take long for me to find inspiration.
This piece is entitled “Orphans”.
When I got done I noticed I had an extra leg, so I said “What the hell?”. Waste not, want not.
Surprisingly enough, it didn’t take much time for my petit opus to garner attention. This man not only stopped and looked at it, but he also took several photographs of it with his cell phone.
Back to bagging up trash.
Miss Heather
Little Murders: Meeting Elliott Gould
(sort of)
On Friday night I finally saw Little Murders for the first time. At B.A.M. with a very entertaining Q & A session afterward with Elliott Gould. It was a most enjoyable evening and I found Mr. Gould’s frank and irreverent (if esoteric) repartee very refreshing.
I had been admonished by my buddy, Larry da Junkman, that Mr. Gould can be quite cantankerous in person. This, his, assessment was based on interviews he saw from the 1970′s. What I saw on August 8, 2008— 38 years later— was a person who had no time for fools but openly admitted his own tomfoolery. Gould struck me as being a great big teddy bear. Mind you, you my idea of a “big teddy bear” is a little different than most people; I learned warm and fuzziness from my father. A man who has been kicked out of a furniture store for listing William Jefferson Clinton as a reference to rent a bed. But I digress.
Mr. Gould has rather piquant wit —and more importantly, he was not reluctant to use it. When one person in the audience asked him if Little Murders glorified the shooting of a police officer he replied the movie was satire and that the leader of our country would fill Alan Arkin’s role quite beautifully. That bon mot with quickly topped with this one:
You’re the expert taking notes. I’m just the artist.
The above quip is one I will undoubtedly use quite often moving forward. For this reason (and a few others*) I wanted to express my gratitude. What’s more, I had an opportunity. A window, if you will. It was announced at Friday’s event that Mr. Gould agreed to another Q & A session at the 3:00 p.m. viewing of The Long Goodbye the following day. Mr. Heather loves this film so he bought a ticket. And in so doing he became my emissary.
I had to work Saturday. Before I left all the preparations were made. All Mr. Heather had to do was take the envelope I prepared, pick up the 8×10 print I ordered (of this), insert it into said envelope and give it to Mr. Gould. 5:00 p.m. rolled by. Nothing. As did 6:00 p.m. Then finally the call came.
Mr. Heather: The package has been delivered.
Miss Heather: AND?!?
When we met later in downtown Brooklyn I finally got a straight answer.
Miss Heather: So what happened?
Mr. Heather: I told him that my wife was in an art show last year and wanted to give him something.
Miss Heather: Okay.
Mr. Heather: I handed him the picture and he said:
Oh, that’s shit. Does she want me to autograph this?
Mr. Heather: I said no, she just wanted you to have it.
Miss Heather: Good.
Mr. Heather: Then he asked Is this horse shit? I said no, we think it was human or canine.
It was at this point in our conversation that the Mister and I encountered this on Bond Street.
Miss Heather: They put out cat litter but I don’t think this came from a feline. Is that red stuff catsup or blood?
Mr. Heather: I wouldn’t taste it to find out.
The End
Miss Heather
*Among them:
- M.A.S.H. is one of my favorite movies. EVER.
- Anti-heroes have always been my heroes. Hey, I’m a 70′s child!
Press Conference At Newtown Creek
Filed under: Bushwick, Dog Shit, Dung of the Day, Greenpoint Magic, Long Island City, Queens, Williamsburg
It got off to a late start but the press conference conducted by Nydia Velazquez, Anthony Weiner* and Joseph Lentol came to pass without a hitch. For those of you who were unable to attend this event, the following footage should give you some idea of its purpose: goading the Federal government to declare the area around Newtown Creek a Superfund site.
Here is the second half where Craig Michaels, legal counsel from Riverkeeper, and Assemblyman Joseph Lentol speak.
It looks like Ms. Velazquez and I agree on two things: the 2008 FISA Amendment Act sucks** and our community has waited long enough for a thorough clean-up of many a score of environmental abuse. 2026 is not good enough. We deserve better.
Miss Heather
P.S.: The new park where this press conference was held (and is still not open to the public) has already been given a hearty Greenpoint welcome!
Doggie dumplings.
*Who laughed when I waved at a passing Watertaxi and exclaimed:
Welcome to one of the most polluted waterways in the United States!
**I originally stated in this post she voted in favor of this act. This is not true. Ms. Velazquez voted against it. It was passed anyway.
Hey Joe
(Someone in the Garden Spot really, really does not like you.)
Yesterday afternoon I ran errands. Among my tasks was purchasing household cleaning products. Let’s just say one of our cats decided to use our bedroom as a vomitorium, I will spare you the details except to say it was quite disgusting.
As anyone in the know will tell you, any and all consumer products in Greenpoint are to be found in one place: Manhattan Avenue, so I headed there without delay. When I reached the Greenpoint Furniture store I noticed a man standing in front of the door. Well, noticed isn’t exactly the right word— HEARD is much more like it. Imagine this, if you will, being bellowed in the biggest Brooklyn honk imaginable:
You know what you are Joe? You’re a fuggin’ piece of shit! That’s what! A fuggin’ piece of shit!
Over and over. I turned to the man next to me, gave him my best “wtf” look and said:
It’s always healthy to let your anger out. What’s more, if I ever meet a guy named Joe I will know he is a fucking piece of shit.
He laughed.
I then went back about my business, as did my fellow bystander and the man who hates Joe.
Several hours later after I accomplished all the chores on my “to do” list I decided to head home via my favorite thoroughfare: McGuinness Boulevard. I have extolled upon the magical qualities of the street named after Greenpoint’s favorite alderman many times. I will do so yet once again here: McGuinness Boulevard is the undiluted essence of all things Greenpoint. It is the very soul of the Garden Spot. Some of the most interesting things I have ever seen have been found on this boulevard. Yesterday was no exception.
This mural is located on Newton Street. It originally read “diva”. As you can see, someone has seen fit to make a few annotations.
I really like this shot. Methinks this image should be on a greeting card. Seriously.
Not since high school have I seen hatred meted out in such a passionate and heated fashion. This person is seriously angry. If any of you are wondering what that brown stuff is, use your imagination. If that fails, here’s a clue: read the url for this web site.
You know, I cannot help but respect someone who would do this. I do not condone their behavior, mind you. I simply believe it is good policy to have a healthy respect for people who have no qualms whatsoever about picking up shit off the sidewalk and smearing it on a wall. Even I wouldn’t do that. If you’re out there reading this Joe, take my advice: stay away from McGuinness Boulevard.
Miss Heather
Gift Giving: Williamsburg Style
One thing that never ceases to fascinate me about parked bicycles in north Brooklyn is the propensity people have for leaving “gifts” in their baskets. In Greenpoint this usually entails empty fifths of vodka and banana peels. I do not know why this is so, I suppose it is the average Garden Spotter’s idea of a balanced diet.
So needless to say when my husband and I spied this bicycle on Metropolitan Avenue in Williamsburg yesterday we simply had to see what “present” had been left for its owner. Let’s go in for a closer look, shall we?
Mmm… doggie dumplings!
Miss Heather
New York Shitty Hits Terrible Two!
As of today New York Shitty has been in effect for two whole years! To celebrate this most auspicious event, I will share cavalcade of colorful crap brought to my attention by none other than the proprietor of Brooklyn11211. He writes:
The Junior High school on South 3rd between Driggs and Roebling has a bunch of tagged poop (yellow, in that case).
Roebling is a wonderland of festively colored fecal matter! Read on and see for yourself.
This King Midas merde can be found between South 1st and South 2nd Street!
Here’s a pair of regal purple poops for your edification.
Just down the street there is this pink poo and its ghost (dogly) companion.
It’s beginning to look a lot like Shitmas!
As Crystal Gayle once sang:
Don’t you turn my brown eyes blue.
And last, but hardly least, my favorite.
I call this composition tree pit with peel and poop. Here’s a close-up.
Looks like the Easter Bunny left Williamsburg with much more than just Easter eggs last month!
Miss Heather
The Newest Williamsburg Craze: Turd Tagging
Actually, it’s not that new. I have received reports about this kind of activity around Montrose Avenue for some time but never found anything. Yesterday was my lucky day.
Driggs Avenue and North 8th Street!
Here’s a ghost turd from South 1st Street.
Once again, from South 1st Street. A wee bit sloppy for my taste but I suspect they ran out of paint.
Nonetheless these finds were like Christmas, the Fourth of July and a birthday combined! Speaking of birthdays, there’s a very special one coming this week. Stay tuned.
Miss Heather
NYS Flickr Pool
