What I did September 11, 2006

September 14, 2006 ·
Filed under: Area 51 

Most consider 9/11 a day of remembrance. Ceremonies are held where survivors give statements about how the events of that day irrevocably changed their lives and our current regime doles out their usual fear-mongering and panders their failing agenda. I for one had neither time for reflection nor outrage: I was busy collecting a delinquent payment due to my husband.

An advertising agency has repeatedly failed to pay my better (?) half for his consulting services. Five hundred dollars worth of consulting services rendered over two months ago, to be precise. I suspect these people have been acting in good faith; their incompetence was (is?) the root of the problem.

Last Friday I visited their office and personally picked up a new check. The prior two checks they have cut never found their way into our possession. This is probably due to the fact that this agency addressed these checks to my husband’s DBA and had them delivered via the United States Postal Service to our home. I do not know where these checks went and I do not care to know. What I do know is that my husband and I want our five hundred bucks.

The check I picked up last Friday also proved to be made out to my husband’s DBA, so we could not deposit it. My husband got really pissed, so I took charge. I sent an email to his contact stating when I was going to return for a new, properly-written check: September 11, 2006 at 11:00 a.m.

September 11, 2006
I woke up late and hurriedly put myself together. Most of my clothes were dirty, as was my hair, but I did not give a damn: $500 was at stake. I threw on the first clean tank top and skirt I could find, pulled my ratty hair into a ponytail and headed to Manhattan.

I arrived ten minutes early. This agency had just relocated to a new office, so everything was in disarray: lots of plastic sheeting, plaster and no Receptionist to meet or greet me. I waited and surveyed the cubicle farm around me.

Several years ago I worked in the Advertising Sales Department of a travel magazine, so I have some familiarity with the industry. This office struck me as being just like any other: an incubator (presided over by Baby Boomers) teaming with fresh-faced, edgy, 20-something college graduates awaiting transformation into the surly, burned-out assholes who staff the so-called ‘upper tier’ agencies I had the misfortune of interfacing with. Young and Rubicam immediately comes to mind, but I digress…

I waited for ten minutes before a high-status silverback female saw fit to ask my impeccably-wrecked 30-something person if I have been helped. I told her “no”, explained why I was at her place of business,and handed her the bad check. She ambled off to find someone to help me.

I waited.

And waited.

The cubicle monkeys took note of my blighted presence and whispered among themselves.

The silverback woman came back 10 minutes later and told me that the people I needed to speak with were not in the office, but they would be back soon. I asked if I could wait. Reluctantly, but politely, she said OK. I sat in a cubicle right by the front door (clad in this tank top) in plain view of anyone—staff and clients alike— who came and went. I made myself feel right at home.

For the next forty minutes I:

  • called friends
  • asked the employees around me where the kitchenette was so I could get a glass of water
  • asked around as to where the bathroom was “because I drunk a lot of coffee earlier this morning”
  • made a rather lengthy phone call to the Bureau of Fire Prevention about some construction work that was “blocking the only means of egress* from my neighbor’s apartment (other than the front door) in the event of a fire”

Long story made short: I got our money.

Miss Heather

*It has been my observation that civil servants really like it when you use the proper terminology. It makes their job easier.

Dung of the Day

September 13, 2006 ·
Filed under: Dog Shit, Dung of the Day 

I found this cutie pie in my inbox today.

September 13, 2006 Dung of the Day

“Fred Sanford” wrote:

I almost stepped on this upstanding turd this morning while in Canarsie, near the intersection of E. 103rd and Flatlands 6th Street. While initially (and understandably) glad that I’d avoided it, closer inspection revealed a particularly well-formed, gravity-defying specimen that I just knew I had to alert you to.

Thanks Fred!

Sincerely,

Aunt Esther

Miss Heather: 1, Landlord: 1

September 13, 2006 ·
Filed under: Area 51, Greenpoint Magic 

Fuck you up
I returned from running errands this morning to find a fire truck— an honest to god FIRE TRUCK gaggle of New York’s Bravest and handful of chromosomally-disadvantaged onlookers in front of the building next door.

When the Fire Marshal cometh, I guess he likes to make an entrance. If that was his intention, it worked. Ever since the Greenpoint Terminal Market caught on fire, the local yokels around here get very interested when a fire truck shows up on their block.

I have no idea what transpired, but the landlord next door has gone back to work completing his new ghetto-ass roof with two notable changes:

  1. The openings made around several of my windows and those of belonging to my neighbor have been enlarged.
  2. His DOB permit is in plain view.

I guess it is a “draw”. But there is one question I can’t get out of my mind: if this man had to file plans with the Department of Buildings in order to get permission to make these ‘renovations’, why weren’t the fire code violations (which would presumably be manifest in his ‘plan’) caught earlier?

Hmm…

Miss Heather

Hot in the Ass

September 10, 2006 ·
Filed under: (s)Hit Parade, Area 51, Greenpoint Magic 

Last Sunday evening my husband and I took the L train home after knocking around the West Village. Upon entering the car, I noticed that there were a few seats left that no one had not seen fit to take: they chose to stand instead. Shortly after I sat down and the train continued its trek to Canarsie, I found out why.

I plopped my ass down next to an older black gentleman. He was a tad scruffy, but clean and kempt. He was definitely not homeless, just a tad odd. He was rocking some strange mojo and the monologue he gave for the edification of his fellow MTA patrons—from 6th Avenue to Lorimer St. (where we got off)— pretty much proved my intuition to be on the mark. I have yet to decide whether or not this man was insane. I am tilting towards “not” only because he was (a hair’s breadth) too lucid.

I can’t recall everything he rambled about (there was simply too much), but I suspect I speak for most of my fellow L train riders that night when I say we found him quite entertaining. His repartee was a vulgar, rapier-sharp brand of wit seldom found anymore, save unless if one went the local library and leafed through anything written by Rabelais. My favorite part of this man’s diatribe(s) was what I call the “hot in the ass” musings. In a nutshell, he asserted that each and every person riding in our car (and in New York City in general) was “hot in the ass”. He even challenged to us to argue the contrary:

I dare any one of you in this car to raise your hand and say you’re not hot in the ass.

No one did. Point made.

For the last week I have been wondering exactly what it is that makes people feel compelled to ramble endlessly in public spaces (e.g., the rapid transit system). Does New York City simply attract the kind of people who engage in this practice or does New York City drive people to it? I am veering towards the latter because the last few days here at Chateau de Ghetto have been pure, unadulterated HELL.

Not only do the events that follow result in some poor 311 operator getting his ear chewed off, but spending $2.00 to ride the subway and scream at total strangers is starting to look damned appealing to me. When everything comes to pass, it would probably be more effective anyway. I am just a silly idealistic pissant who follows the rules and expects others (landlords) to do the same.

It all started with last Thursday, September 7.

My Thursday morning started at 7:30 a.m. This is when the contractors hired by the MTA to tear up the street in front of our apartment (ostensibly to do something with the G train) fired up the heavy machinery. At 9:30 a.m. I hear yelling. I peer outside to see some goon in an expensive suit getting in the face of one of the contractors because he cannot park his Mercedes-Benz SUV in front of his building. Lovely. I go back to working on the computer.

10:00 a.m.: I hear a very loud sound. Come to think of it, I didn’t just hear a sound: I felt it. “What in god’s name is going on?!?” I asked myself. I wandered to the back of the apartment (from which this din seemed to be originating) to see what’s up. The kitchen floor was vibrating as was damned near everything else that wasn’t nailed down. Not cool. Whilest taking a sip of my coffee, I looked out the window and saw this:

Sledgehammer

I was aware that the landlord next door was doing renovations to the salon he owns/operates, but never in my wildest dreams nightmares would I have thought it would come to this. When you live in a building with an incompetent, intransigent, and LAZY Super (hence why I call him the “Stupor”), it simply does not cross your mind that other landlords do work on their buildings. Much less that they would do such work voluntarily. The landlord next door is destroying my “Backdoor Crapstavaganza” and as the day wore on, it only got worse…

roof

and worse.

Illegal Construction

The noise was bad. The smell of the roofing materials being removed was worse; it filled our apartment with black dust and a sulphurous odor. But his raising the roof and using shitty construction methods really did it.

Yesterday, September 9, 2006 (SATURDAY from 9:30 a.m. to 6:00 p.m.) I watched, listened and SMELLED this man’s dubious plan unfold. And when the ramifications of this man’s tomfoolery became all too clear, I got (*ahem*) hot in the ass.

My bedroom window

This is my bedroom window. It is one of three windows in our apartment that face this man’s questionable ‘renovation’. Three windows that will be partially ‘blocked’ by his new roof. Well not exactly “blocked”; he has been thoughtful enough to cut niches around them. Niches which will probably pool with rainwater that will LEAK INTO MY APARTMENT.

Here is my one of my neighbor’s windows:

Neighbor's window

I am no expert, but I suspect the FDNY would not like this. The roof is going to obstruct the three windows she has facing this space as well. Three windows which provide the only means of egress from her apartment in the event of a fire other than her front door.

Before calling 311, I had the presence of mind to pull up the Department of Buildings web site and review what (if any) permits this man had open. He has one which allows him to do “Interior Alterations and Plumbing as per PLANS. NO WORK ON FL. 2 TO 4”. I strongly suspect what this man is doing is decidely not what the DOB had in mind when they issued him this permit. A permit, I would like to add, that was issued after the DOB received a complaint that he was operating without a permit. That complaint was dismissed, but that’s okay because now they have a new one: mine.

I was about as nice I could be to the 311 operator (he was very understanding and helpful), given the circumstances. These circumstances included having to shout over all the noise the very people I was trying to report were making. Mind you, I made this call from the other end of our apartment. This did not go unnoticed by the city employee I spoke with.

311 Man (hearing noise): Are they working right now?
Me: Yes, they are. They have been working since 9:30 this morning.
311 Man: Do they have a variance to do work weekends?
Me: Not that I know of.

And then I cited the open DOB permit verbatim all the way down to the permit number. I have also reported this to the Stupor of our building (as I suspected our landlord may find these developments disconcerting). The Stupe didn’t care; this guy is his buddy. Tomorrow I will report this to the Fire Department and anyone else I can think of until I come across someone who does care. This is not a mere matter of inconvenience, it is one of safety. My safety and that of my neighbors are more valuable than the dubious eight feet this man is adding to his roof.

Miss Heather

Kibbles and Shits

September 8, 2006 ·
Filed under: Dog Shit, Dung of the Day 

Today I got my very first reader submission and it is a nice one. “Ash” wrote:

I found this little gem of a composition on Jewel Street, just off of Nassau. The address was probably like 47 or 49 or something around there. I liked the wet cat food nearby… gives it that special something, no?

The date was September 6th. My dog showed no interest, but she rarely shows interest in shit. Which I guess is a blessing.

Kibbles and Shits

Yes indeedy.

Miss Heather

September 5, 2006 Dung of the Day

September 5, 2006 ·
Filed under: (s)Hit Parade, Bum Shit, Dung of the Day 

I found this gargantuan pile (?) of shit at 222 Franklin St. Even I would not go near this one (as Dirty Harry would say “a good woman always knows her limitations”), but to give you a sense of scale, most of it is piled atop a 2″ x 6″.

It’s a big one alright— and by far the most repulsive specimen I have found to date. Given that I have spent over five months tracking dog shit*, that is saying something.

September 5, 2006 Dung of the Day

Miss Heather

*and coming across the occasional human bowel movement, like this one.

Dung of the Day: 124 Green St.

September 2, 2006 ·
Filed under: Dog Shit, Dung of the Day 

Dog #1 (to Dog #2): You got your chocolate in my peanut butter!

Dog #2 (to Dog #1): No, you got your peanut butter in my chocolate!

Dog #1 and #2 (after sniffing each other’s butts, in unison): mmmmmm, DELICIOUS!

Reese's Peanut Butter Shit

Miss Heather

August 31, 2006 Dung of the Day

September 1, 2006 ·
Filed under: Dog Shit, Dung of the Day 

Here it is.

Sleeping Shit

Before some of you (and you know who you are) get your ethnically sensitive panties in a wad, I’d like to point out:

  1. I am only making light of this turd’s resemblance to a piece of statuary which represents a stereotypical sleeping Mexican.
  2. This is a lawn ornament which some (still) see fit to put in their front yards. Even in New England.
  3. So who is the bigger bigot, me or the people who actually sell/buy this shit? Why not throw in a few ‘coolies’, watermelon-eating ‘pickanninies’ or artificially thin, fake titted/fake blond broads for good measure? It’s all the same to me: degradation, exploitation and stereotypes.

Miss Heather

August 30, 2006 Crap Map

August 31, 2006 ·
Filed under: Crap Map, Dog Shit 

As promised, here is the Crap Map for August 30, 2006.

Here is a map which highlights my primary area of interest…

August 30, 2006 Route

…and here is a pie chart that gives a general run-down of where I found dog shit.

August 3, 2006 Crap Stats

Although I did not conduct my fact-finding mission at the time my tipster recommended (9:30 p.m.), it was still a pretty substantial haul in terms of both quantity and sheer mass. I will definitely keep my eye on this area from now on!

Miss Heather

August 30, 2006 Dung of the Day

August 30, 2006 ·
Filed under: Dog Shit, Dung of the Day 

I recently got a tip to check out Norman Avenue between Guernsey Street and Banker Street. Today I did just that and I did not leave disappointed. They must have dogs the size of Oldsmobiles down there because I beheld some of biggest piles of dog shit I have encountered to date!

August 30, 2006 Dung of the Day

Unbe-fucking-lieveable. Naturally, a Crap Map will be forthcoming…

Miss Heather

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