Great Moments in Aluminum Siding, Volume XII

February 5, 2008 ·
Filed under: Vinyl Siding 

Mr. Heather having a digital camera has proven to be a double-edged sword for me. Going to back to his old love, photography, has made Mr. H very happy. Unfortunately it also entails that I have an extra set of eyes, mouth —and most importantly stomach— when I go out to take photographs.

As you can probably imagine this can be a source of conflict on occasion. Fortunately the Mister (occasionally) makes up for it by finding some hitherto select gem that even impresses my own admittedly jaded eye.

Case in point: 167 Wyckoff Avenue.

167 Wyckoff Avenue

I have not seen such exquisite use of aluminum siding in a very, very long time. You can always leave it to our friends down in Bushwick to be on the cutting edge of aluminum siding usage. Where are the windows, you ask? Pah— those are for gentrifiers and dilettantes! 167 Wyckoff Avenue doesn’t need no stinking windows.

167 Wyckoff Avenue Side

Well, okay maybe two.

Miss Heather

Bed-Stuy Photo du Jour: Super Tuesday Style

February 5, 2008 ·
Filed under: Bed-Stuy 

What will change in Bed Stuy?

From a mailbox on Willoughby Avenue.

Miss Heather

Greenpoint Photo du Jour: Manhattan Avenue

February 5, 2008 ·
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic 

The Clowns Will Eat Me

I found this flier on the pay phone in front of Divine Follie last Thursday. When I walked by again today it was gone. Maybe the clowns finally caught up with him? After all, it’s kind of foolish to leave tabs with your phone number on them. That only makes it easier for them to contact you.

jon voight vs the clown man

Then again Jon Voight’s thought processes have never made sense to me. Or much of anyone else for that matter.

Miss Heather

Backhoe For Sale

February 5, 2008 ·
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic 

You know, there have been a number of occasions I have found myself musing “You know, I could really use a backhoe— and not just any backhoe either: it must have an extendable dipper.” So you can imagine my delight when I walked by Nina’s Pizzeria on Meeker Avenue today and found this.

For Sale

Wow. $19,000 is such a small price to pay for a 580K case backhoe! I wonder what these purported “other options” are? Perhaps the seat is made is covered in genuine Corinthian leather? Methinks I will have to give this guy a ring and take this bad boy out for a test drive.

Miss Heather

Ego and Hubris on Ebay

February 4, 2008 ·
Filed under: Crazy People 

If anyone out there wants the cast worn by editor of The Brooklyn Paper after he broke his ankle (ouch!) last month, today’s your lucky day. What’s more, it is signed by none other than Brooklyn’s very own Marty Markowitz! What a deal! Those of you wishing to place bids for this “piece of journalistic, medical and political history” better hurry: this auction ends February 9, 2008 at 9:37 P.S.T.

Of ego and hubris part 1

The accompanying copy is as follows:

Get the actual cast worn by legendary Brooklyn journalist Gersh Kuntzman after he broke his ankle in January! Not only is the cast signed by Borough President Marty Markowitz, but all money raised in the sale (copy editing mine— Miss H) will go towards Markowitz’s Camp Brooklyn Charity. This is a once-in-a-lifetime (hyphen abuse— Miss H) opportunity to own a piece of journalistic, medical and political history— the very cast worn by an award-winning journalist, signed by a future mayor of New York City, and written about in countless Kuntzman columns (ambiguous— Miss H)! This cast’s authenticity is guaranteed and the winning bidder will also receive a high-resolution photo of Markowitz signing the historic cast. A priceless collectible.

Wow, that’s really egotistical! Could you stick your head a little further up Marty’s ass? When you do could you tell me what he had for lunch yesterday? Just curious. I was very grateful when Mr. Markowitz pressured the Department of Buildings to inspect my apartment building after having neither heat nor hot water for six days . I even gave him a shout-out on New York Shitty to show my gratitude. But “future Mayor of New York City”? Seriously Gersh, that is a bit much.

In any case, as of 1:34 a.m. February 5th, 2008 your “priceless collectible” is worth $61.00 (plus shipping and handling). Maybe I should start shilling my dirty gently used panties and maxi pads on Ebay for charity? Not only would they fetch more money (I have a cute butt), but I suspect I’d walk away from the experience with a shred of dignity.

Miss Heather

P.S.: This is post 1000 on New York Shitty. Hooray!

When Bad Things Happen To Good Buildings: Greene Avenue

February 4, 2008 ·
Filed under: Articles of Fedderization, Bed-Stuy 

As I mentioned in this post, the Mr. and I checked out Bed-Stuy yesterday. Cameras in hand we documented the best and worst this underrated neighborhood has to offer. I will leave it to your god-given intelligence, dear readers, as to which of the two above categories the following belongs.

883A Greene Avenue

I don’t have the benefit of knowing what this house looked like in its former incarnation, but I suspect its unfortunate neighbor is a pretty good indication. 883A Greene Avenue once had all the charming details this building sports. And the operative word in the previous sentence is had: someone has since seen fit to convert it into the masterpiece of cheap (and not so) chic I now present to you.

The awning looks like something that should be gracing the front of a pizzeria, not a 19th century brownstone. But of course this is simply my opinion. Clearly the person who had the finances and wherewithal to “refurbish” and “flip” this building believes otherwise. It just goes to show money and taste do not necessarily go hand and hand. Just look at Donald Trump.

Miss Heather

Crosstown Local Cavalade Volume IV: Safety Tips

February 4, 2008 ·
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic 

Subway safety posters are both a source of amusement and ire to yours truly. On the one hand I find their practice of explaining what should be self-evident to anyone with a shred of self-preservation and intelligence darkly amusing. On the other, I think posters advising sick people to refrain from riding the subway is a ludicrous waste of our tax dollars. Maybe the peeps at the MTA could provide a “call in sick service” on our behalf as well?

Dear Sir or Madam:

(Insert name here) will not be in today, (insert date). He/she (circle one) is too ill to ride the subway. Please note this in your payroll records and dock his/her pay accordingly. We thank you in advance for your understanding and thanks for riding the MTA!

The fact of the matter is some people do not have the option of calling in sick. What’s more, we have the right to ride the subway regardless of the state of health we find ourselves in on any given day. If I want to guzzle Orange Juliuses, hop on the train, get motion sickness and spew copious amounts of neon orange goo at my fellow passengers* during rush hour that’s my god given right. This is America goddammit and if projectile vomiting is how I see fit to exact my $2.00 worth of fare that’s my prerogative. And none of their fucking business.

My proposal to the MTA is as follows: why not outsource the copy writing of your public service posters to the ridership of the G train? Not only do we have the time to spare, but we also have a number of interesting ideas.

Think outside the boxcar

These range from the motivational and uplifting at Nassau Avenue…

Wrong!

to slightly nihilistic…

Walk on the third rail

and illucid at Greenpoint Avenue.

Granted, the advice we dispense might be questionable in nature, but it is a lot more attention grabbing. How’s about it, Metropolitan Transit Authority? Will you let us help you to help us become more savvy subway patrons and better citizens?

Miss Heather

*I saw this once while riding the N train during rush hour. It was a sight I’ll never forget.

White Birds Can’t Jump

February 4, 2008 ·
Filed under: 11222, Greenpoint, Greenpoint Brooklyn, Greenpoint Magic 

On Saturday, February 2, 2008 I wrote:

I suspect it is safe to speculate that a number of the people reading this post are busy getting ready for this weekend’s Superbowl festivities. While I think it is pretty neat that New York made it this year, I am not big on sports and will probably find some other way to amuse myself.

Well, as luck would have it, I didn’t have to try very hard to find a way to pass my time. Yesterday, while most people were tapping kegs, rolling out the crudites, ripping open bags of potato chips and prepping French onion dip, I was standing watch over a chicken.

Yes, you read me correctly: a chicken.

Larry Bird on Milton Street

This chicken — who somehow found her (?) way onto Milton Street.

As with most days when I get hit with a mindfuck a minute, it all started innocently enough: with an argument with Mr. Heather. At noon I arose to find him on the computer, as is his usual habit. I notice a take-out container on the coffee table. I open it: inside is one cubic inch of red velvet cake. Recognizing this confection as being the one we purchased at Kombit the evening before, I asked:

How was the cake?

Mr. Heather: It was terrible. Way too dry.

When I encounter a culinary item I find distasteful I rarely endeavor to eat all but one bite. If I do not like something I will cease eating it. Mr. Heather— for reasons known only to him— is not so easily deterred. I did not ask him why he left only one minuscule chunk of cake, that would have invited a lengthy explanation which I, having just awakened, was probably not prepared for. I go to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee instead.

Thereafter I proceeded to the bedroom to change clothes. Mr. Heather was busy preparing a load of laundry. Under the impression we were going for a walk (this was agreed upon the night before) I ask him what he is doing. He replies:

I am going to do a load of laundry.

Me: I thought we were going for a walk.
Mr. Heather: I thought you could help me do some laundry first.
Me: Um, no.
Mr. Heather: Well, can’t you wait?
Me: No.

I will spare you the gory details of what followed. Suffice it to say it involved a lot of passive-aggressive manipulation on the Mister’s part. Disgusted, I offered a compromise:

Fine, I will go to Williamsburg and cash out a gift certificate. You can meet me there later. I don’t want you going with me anyway. I am not in the mood to hear you curse about hipsters every fucking five feet.

And lo, a deal was made! I put on my coat and headed to Willy B on foot. When I reached Milton Street, this is what I found:

Tweeners and the chicken

A pack of tweeners and a woman looking at a chicken.

Having never seen a chicken before (save perhaps on their dinner plate) the children took great delight in chasing her. She was not as enthusiastic and elected to hide behind a dumpster.

Larry Bird behind the dumpster

When one of these gutter snipes shouted “Let’s put it on a raft and dump it in the East River!” I decided it was time for action: I called 311. Before I continue I’d like to say a few things about 311. Having the pleasure of living in Greenpoint, which can best be described as being in a state of (an over) development free for all, I have called them on numerous occasions. The operators, always courteous, vary wildly in regards to their ability to direct me to the proper agency. This time proved to be no exception.

Call #1

Me: Yes, I’d like to report that there is a chicken wandering around on Milton Street between Franklin and West.
Operator: What?
Me: There is a chicken loose on Milton Street in Greenpoint, Brooklyn. A number of young boys are tormenting it. Can you get someone down here to pick it up?
Operator: Is the chicken injured?
Me: I don’t know. It’s walking around but isn’t very happy.

After being put on hold with the Center for Animal Care and Control for over five minutes I got frustrated and hung up.

Call #2

Me: I know this is going to sound really strange, but there is a chicken at large on Milton Street between Franklin and West. A number of preteen boys are chasing it, can the C.A.C.C. please come by and retrieve it?
Operator: Is the chicken injured?
Me: Beats me, I don’t know anything about chickens.
Operator: I am going to forward your request to the local precinct and they’ll follow it up.

As I got off the phone I noticed the woman with me was engaged in a shouting match with the “parent” who was charged with “supervising” these pack of prepubescent p(h)ucks. Larry, in the meantime, had seen fit to enter the basketball court. Knowing that we had him cornered, the woman and I stood watch over him.

Five minutes go by. My fellow Samaritan calls the 94th Precinct directly* and reports Larry Bird. The operator assures her a police car is on the way.

Waiting for the police

We watch the chicken.

Fifteen minutes come to pass, she calls the 94th Precinct again. After informing the operator that she has been waiting fifteen minutes for the police to show up, she was told she has only been waiting for five minutes.

Larry Bird on the court

We (continue to) watch the chicken. Larry Bird— cornered, confused and cute— tries to keep warm.

Twenty minutes later the police arrived and with them came the crowning coup de grace: they were the same officers who detained me last December for taking photographs of Christmas Decorations. I had told the woman standing guard with me about this incident (people tend to engage in discussions when guarding a chicken, it makes the time go by faster when waiting for the 94th to arrive) and of all things, she happened to be a photographer.

Me: Aw shit.
Woman: What?
Me: Those are the cops who detained me. If you don’t mind, I’m getting out of here. I do not want to talk to these people. You can handle it, right?
Woman: Sure, go.

And go I did. FAST.

Wherever you are little Larry Bird, I hope you are safe and sound. Perhaps you’ll find your way to a nice animal sanctuary upstate where you can shoot hoops in peace.

Miss Heather

*Because I know the phone number for the 94th Precinct by rote memorization and gave it to her. Long story.

Bushwick Photo du Jour: Bleecker Street

February 4, 2008 ·
Filed under: Bed-Stuy 

If “Big Man Doug” of Bleecker is reading this, the word on the street is it’s time for you to practice a little more personal hygiene.

Big Man Doug

Or would that be any personal hygiene at all? One month is a very long time, Doug.

Don’t be stingy with the soap.

Miss Heather

Bed-Stuy Construction Site du Jour: 325 Kosciusko Street

February 3, 2008 ·
Filed under: Asshole, Bed-Stuy 

Since it was a beautiful and unseasonably warm day today the Mister and I decided to take a walk. While knocking around Bedford-Stuyvesant we happened upon 325 Kosciusko Street.

325 Kosciusko Street

Being the connoisseur of “luxury accommodations” I am, I simply had to take a closer look.

Dogs at 325 Kosciusko Street

That’s when I learned the canines “guarding” said premises were living in anything but luxe conditions. Both of the above dogs were tethered to the front of the building and allowed (maybe) ten feet slack, enabling them to do little more than stand up or sleep. Although my husband said he saw a water dish, nary a scrap of food was to be found.

I suspect I speak for a number of the people reading this when I say that subjecting animals (be they guard dogs or otherwise) to living conditions such as these is unacceptable. It also begs the follwing question: If this is how the owner of this property (“325-331 Kosciuszko LLC“) sees fit to treat man’s best friend, how— dare I ask— do they treat the workers under their employ? Or tenants?

Think about it.

Miss Heather

P.S.: Be sure to check out the Department of Building’s Building Information System as well. It is quite illuminating. Among other things you’ll learn the architect responsible for these “1-2 family” dwellings (I shit you not, that’s what it says) is also responsible for this turd in Greenpoint.

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