My new template is up and working, hooray! Now I have to sort through my backlog of drafts, edit and post them. In the meantime, I have made some additions here and have uploaded some photos to my Shop Cats page.
Stay tuned, as I have a very special interactive feature in the works about the objects my neighbor’s hyperactive children see fit to throw out the kitchen window. SPOILER/TEASER ALERT— the three essential “P’s” will be showcased therein: pennies, prophylactics and porn.
In the meantime, I leave you with today’s “Dung of the Day” from Franklin Street. I am usually a “size queen” when it comes to
dog shit anything, but I find this turd noteworthy due to its uncanny resemblance to the paintbrush tool in PhotoShop. Enjoy!
If this inferno-esque weather is good for anything, it is this: I can toss up some new stuff on my blog that is long, long, overdue. No blog about dog shit is complete without voicing a few thoughts about Mr. Krupnik.
Like most people, I harbor mixed feelings about him. On one hand, I found his Christmas display hilarious. I also like his ‘stand-up’ attitude about people who do not pick up after their dogs. His assessment of why people choose not to pick up their dog shit is dead on: entitlement. I would also be a liar if I did not mention that he was a major influence regarding my decision to blog about the dog shit problem in Greenpoint— and the city at large.
On the other hand, I do not approve of his methodology, e.g., rubbing dog poo on the owner’s back. If I were in his shoes, I’d probably would have done one of the following:
- Bag it, shout at the girl (“You forgot something!”) and hand the bag of doo to her.
- Blog it.
One of the (many) things I love about living in New York City— especially Brooklyn— is its citizens’ willingness to call other people on their
bull dog shit. If you cannot or will not police your actions, someone else will do it for you. Quickly, concisely and with a piquant type of wit I have not beheld anywhere else.
If I cared to overcome my aversion to crossing the East River, and Mr. Krupnik found my eccentricities tolerable, I bet we’d make good neighbors. I find him a lot more palatable in comparison to some of the folk* in my building, but I am not willing to subject my person to his (potential) wrath. I can easily see my predilection for using power tools (while cranking Britney or Joan Jett** to cover up the noise) as a provocation— and I care not to venture as to where he would shove my cds or tools in/on my body in retaliation. Scary indeed.
Otherwise, I have a number of irons in the fire. As you may have noticed already, I have set up a number of new pages that are bereft of content. Among them are the following:
- Shitty Confidential: I created this to house all things that do not pertain to dog shit proper.
- Shop Cats: this will be a photoblog featuring (duh) shop cats— and yes, shop dogs— if/when I find them. My reason(s) for creating such a page are as follows:
- There has been a spate of animal cruelty here in Greenpoint. Specifically, someone has made it a practice to shoot cats— with a gun— of recent. My well-intentioned, but probably misguided, motivation underlying the creation a page of featuring shop cats is to illustrate that every pet has a name and someone who loves him/her.
- They’re cute. (Yeah, I’m soft that way.)
*Like the woman in Apt. #6. She’s a total shitbag and I should know: the way our buzzers are rigged, every sack of pus who comes here (seeking Girl 6’s company/services) hits our buzzer. At all hours. Just in case you are wondering, I have labelled our buzzer— and these folk cannot or will not READ IT. They tap it like the well-trained lab rats (seeking a pellet) that they are.
**If you live in Brooklyn and have not experienced the glory that is Ms. Jett’s song Coney Island Whitefish, spend the 99 cents on i-tunes and get it. I can’t believe my mother let me play this shit on her car’s tape player when she drove me to elementary school.
I apologize for the lack of posts lately, but be assured that I have been very busy consolidating and planning the expansion of my “shit empire”.
In the (hopefully) near future you can expect:
1. The birth of the “crap map”. I have been busy collecting pix and data, the only thing holding me back now is technology (or my lack of mastery thereof). Ideally, this map will be not unlike Gawker’s “Gawker Stalker” map. We’ll see.
2. Expansion of subject matter: the last few weeks working on this blog has made me realize that there are so many topics which, hitherto until now, remain sorely unexplored. The creation of a “Chicken Bone Gallery” is one such example of how I am going to address this problem. Anyone who has lived in New York City, much less Greenpoint, long enough knows that discarded fried chicken bones are a pervasive, gross and for dog owners, DANGEROUS, phenomena.
3. Expansion of territory: although this is contingent on getting the “crap map” launched, I am eyeing expansion into Williamsburg and Bushwick. Naturally, I will be heavily reliant upon contributions from you, the public, to make this happen.
4. Amusing anecdotes from myself and others, such as a story about a guy my friend and I call “Scoop Dogg”. This dude is more than a little dogmatic (bad pun, but I had to make it) about how one scoops the poop.
More to follow soon…
Miss Heather (Your Shit Master)
Filed under: Mission Statement
As you can probably deduce from the title of this blog, I live in
Green Brownpoint, Brooklyn. About a week ago, on my one block walk to the Franklin Corner Store to get a sandwich, I was astonished at the sheer quantity of dog shit I encountered. Green Street is not the easiest sidewalk to negotiate: the sidewalks are uneven and pock-marked with holes. Dodging piles of dog shit every five feet does not make this task any easier.
It was during this adventure through Poopland that I had the following epiphany:
1. This is ridiculous.
2. I wonder if the people who see fit to use my block as an open sewer would like it if I took a shit in the middle of their living room? Probably not.
3. This is like walking through a fucking mine field.
4. If Queen Noor (and Lady Diana before her) can be advocates against the use of land mines, perhaps I can raise awareness about the plague of unattended dog shit in my neighborhood? Call me the Dog Shit Queen of Greenpoint. I’ve been called worse.
What you can expect this blog to feature:
1. Dog shit. When I see dog shit, I am taking a picture of it, and will document the date and the location.
2. A “Crap Map”. This map will be the result of data I compile (as outlined in #1) and (hopefully) will provide an easy reference for anyone who wants to know where worst (s)hit areas are— and perhaps even where the worst offenders live. It is prudent to assume that if these dog owners are too lazy to clean up their own dog shit, they probably do not take much time walking their dogs in the first place.
3. If and/or when I find a particularly choice specimen (READ: a particularly LARGE, sculptural or just plain repulsive bowel movement), it will be showcased as “The Dung of the Day”. I am accepting submissions for this prestigious title.
As Flava Flav would say, “Lets get this party started right”.
I found the following turdage 4/17/06 on Green St. between Manhattan Ave. and Franklin St.