Filed under: 11222, Bloomblight, Greenpoint, Greenpoint Brooklyn, Greenpoint Magic, Hooliganism, Stuff That Makes Miss Heather Happy, Urban Artifact
At long last our fair city has gotten a long overdue dose of the white stuff (snow). It is a perfect day to curl up with a book and perhaps take a tipple. However I would advise you, gentle readers, to please do so indoors.
P.S.: Note that our prodigal Teddy seems to be also enjoying a fair number of books. Perhaps this lot has become a library of sorts? If so, I have a humble suggestion as to whom it should be dedicated!
Filed under: 11222, Greenpoint, Greenpoint Brooklyn, Greenpoint Magic, Hooliganism, Urban Artifact
Top o’ the morning!
(Taken November 14, 2015.)
Filed under: 11101, 11222, Crosstown Local, Greenpoint, Greenpoint Brooklyn, Greenpoint Magic, Hooliganism, Long Island City, Long Island City Queens, The Word On The Street
Last night the Mister and I went out to dinner for his birthday. This required patronizing the G train. In transit inspiration (if one can call it that) struck!
P.S.: I spied the above missive at Court Square on the trip home. Note how the MTA seems to have left a nice big blank area for, um, “feedback”.
Filed under: 11211, Greenpoint, Greenpoint Brooklyn, Greenpoint Magic, Hooliganism, Street Justice, Stuff That Makes Miss Heather Happy, The Natives Are Getting Restless, Urban Artifact, Williamsburg, Williamsburg Brooklyn
Many of you have undoubtedly noticed that I have not been terribly prolific on the blog. This should not be construed as a lack of interest in the affairs of this community (or this city in overall). Quite to the contrary: I have been quite busy. About a month ago I had a revelation: why not tap into what is the Garden Spot’s most renewable resource? This, of course, is garbage.
Think about it, gentle readers: litter is not only free but by making regular “collection” runs I am, albeit in a small way, making this community a cleaner place. What’s more, by (tongue firmly in cheek) “up-purposing” Greenpoint garbage I am raising awareness about the problem here. And we most assuredly have a problem.
Presently my focus is on drug baggies. These, as I have discovered, come in an array of colors and designs. The working plan is to fill the following 5 1/2 inch diameter snow globe with them.
The working title for this piece is “Taste the Rainbow” (for obvious reasons).
As you can see it is still in progress. Very pretty if I may say so myself! Over the last month I have acquired no less than
181 182 baggies. These were “sourced” exclusively in Greenpoint/11222. I felt parameters needed to be established. What’s more, Williamsburg probably would have proved to be too easy. But I digress.
This project has led to a number of fascinating discoveries. For starters, most of the baggies I have found were discarded (and presumably consumed) in our public parks. I have long suspected this was/is the case— now I have some numbers to back it up. Playgrounds are not spared either. The item to the left was found in the playground at WNYC Transmitter Park. I also found five on the premises of the Vincent V. Abate Playground. One specimen had the Superman logo emblazoned on it. Regardless of one’s position on the “war on drugs” you gotta appreciate that kind of wiseassedness.
This piece’s working title is “Magic Carpet Ride”.
The other location I have found a significant number of baggies is development sites. Especially those which are stalled and/or sport sidewalk sheds. Sidewalk sheds = privacy. Makes sense. Drug paraphernalia is not the only thing I have found at them, hence the (ostensible) purpose of this post. I have spied a few sullen utterances of revolt scrawl on them during my rounds. I am not the least bit surprised by this. Follows is a curated selection of those I found especially compelling and/or entertaining. Enjoy!
1. India Street
This one is somewhat indecipherable but the rage come across nonetheless.
2. 26 West Street
There are not less than three churlish missives on this one. Two are plainly visible. Follows is the third one. It is located to the left of “No Future”.
And last, but hardly least…
3. Orient Avenue at Olive Street
As you can see this property had been served a Stop Work Order. Let’s go in for a closer look!
Great stop more of these bastards.
If the Department of Buildings is paying attention someone is very appreciative of your work. Happy Monday!
Filed under: GENIUS, Hooliganism, New York City, Street Art, Street Justice, Stuff That Makes Miss Heather Happy
Taken by nelsonabeel.
Filed under: 11222, GENIUS, Greenpoint, Greenpoint Brooklyn, Greenpoint Magic, Hooliganism, The Word On The Street
I have seen a great deal of graffiti over the years. This is arguably one of if not the most brilliant of the lot. The message in and of itself is a winner, but what really puts this missive over the top is its placement: Lorimer Street at Bedford Avenue. Anyone who is familiar with this area can attest a great deal of drinking (both legally sanctioned and otherwise) comes to pass in this area. I have never seen Jesus among the quaffers— but who really knows? The ways of the son of god are mysterious! Bravo, anonymous hooligan. WELL DONE!
Filed under: 11222, Dog Shit, Greenpoint, Greenpoint Brooklyn, Greenpoint Magic, Hooliganism
Before anyone asks, no I am not responsible for this act of hooliganism (which hails from a tree pit on Freeman Street).
(Taken August 14, 2015.)
Filed under: 11222, Greenpoint, Greenpoint Brooklyn, Greenpoint Magic, Hooliganism, Stuff That Makes Miss Heather Happy
A person we’ll call “abc” writes:
Hi Miss Heather,This may be old news by now but saw from the ferry this morning that our beloved ‘Save the Palestine’ water tower now (less-legibly) reads something else— ‘Save GPOINT’These days it would seem Greenpoint could use some saving.
Filed under: 11205, Clinton Hill, Clinton Hill Brooklyn, Hooliganism, The Word On The Street
Taken March 30, 2015.
Filed under: 10003, 10009, East Village, East Village Manhattan, Hooliganism, Street Justice, Subway, The Natives Are Getting Restless, The Word On The Street
This sullen utterance of revolt was spied and captured at the First Avenue station of the L train after a pleasant, if brief, jaunt into “the city” today. It should be noted neither of the Metrocard machines in the background were 100% functional. The one on the left was not accepting bills. After discovering the card slot seemed to have something lodged in it, I patronized the one on the right. That one was unable to give receipts. As Kurt Vonnegut would say:
So it goes.
Much has been written about the recent subway fare hike. Some of which— such as this, for example— is quite good. I thought about the previously-linked tome while paying $2.75 for ingress to the Crosstown Local. Upon entering the G train I thought about it a little more. You see, something was amiss. However, instead of merely saying something I elected to do something. We’ll get to this shortly.
To preface, I and many others find the recent subway “etiquette” posters amusing. One fellow has gone so far as to create parodies of them. Today when I entered the G I realized we are not only subsidizing all the stuff as outlined in that Medium.com polemic. We are also paying for a “public awareness” campaign that is quite frankly worthless. I had this realization when I eyed a young woman, earbuds in/iTuned out, occupying an adjacent seat with her handbag and using yet another seat as a personal ottoman/footrest.
Here’s the deal, folks: if the subway car is not crowded (and in this case it was not), I am not going to be an asshole about “bag-spreading” on seats. But the “shoes on seats” shit? No. Not just no, but HELL NO.
As if the last winter’s melange of accumulated snow/slush and the archaeological record of accumulated filth it created was not ample enough evidence of exactly what we tread upon every day while pounding the pavement, this should suffice. The subway is already a dirty enough place. Someone has a slice and/or a “cold” and swipes— such “exposure” is pretty much unavoidable. Or at least the “exposure” is understandable. There is no need to make matters worse by putting your feet on the seat.
To illustrate my point I bee-lined over to the “ottoman” in question. I did not verbally engage the person in question. I did not take a photo of her. What good would that do? Instead, I simply rolled out what I call “the butt of justice”. I made a slow motion of sitting down in said seat. Despite not acknowledging my presence in any way, shape or form, she did move them.* Does the story end here? No. It only gets better.
At the next stop (Nassau Avenue) a significantly larger number of people enter. My fellow subway patron saw fit to remove her bag so someone could sit. Good move. A couple of older (50-something and I presume Mexican American gentlemen) followed. One had a guitar, the other an accordion. They commenced to play this song:
I know “showtime” is also something the MTA is asking citizens from which to refrain. It too is ignored. Then again, I rather like mariachi music. I assessed the situation and came to the conclusion that if my fellow subway rider can see fit to occupy no less than three seats (spreading god only knows what on one of them) why shouldn’t these fellows be allowed to infringe upon “subway courtesy” as well? If we are going to establish rules/a code of conduct, it should be applicable to everyone— not just subway “entertainers”— and enforced.
Thus, I dug around my bag and found a dollar. I held it up high. What followed was precisely what I was hoping for; they came over and played music for my personal enjoyment. Much to my space pirate’s/germ spreader’s displeasure. It is pretty much impossible to “tune out” a fellow playing an accordion maybe one foot in front of you. If there is a lesson to be had here— and I suspect there are several:
“Courtesy” cuts both ways.
This was the best use of $3.75 I can recall in recent memory. Thank you, M.T.A.!
*Unlike the first fellow upon whom I tried this tactic. He actually had the temerity to complain I was sitting on his feet. I explained to him that if he did not want someone sitting on his feet, he should not place his feet on a seat. Once we got that whole “this was not an accident” presumption/assumption on his part cleared up— and that I was not going to move— he removed them.