Need a mattress? COME TO GREENPOINT!
Whenever I start running low on new subject matter to expound upon I go for a walk. I have spent much of the last two days pounding the Greenpoint pavement. And, as always, I did not come home disappointed. Perplexed or downright disturbed? Yes. But disappointed? Not in the least.
This is why I live in Greenpoint. It has long been my understanding that, as a lowly renter* with low class, the “A-list” Brooklyn neighborhoods are well beyond my reach. As I told my buddy Larry yesterday (after dealing with the “Pornophile”, AGAIN):
Not all of us have the stuff to land a porn queen, some of us have to settle for the fluffer.
“The Garden Spot of the Universe” always puts out. They can keep can keep their Park “Angelina Jolie” Slopes and Boerum “Lindsay Lohan” Hills. I like my neighborhoods like my women: delectably wrecked and HARD. Greenpoint is the Amy Winehouse of Brooklyn ‘nabes. This is why I love her so.
July 7, 2007
I was walking along Greenpoint Avenue when I happened upon one of the many languishing development sites my recently designated chic neighborhood has to offer: 189 Greenpoint Avenue.
I go in for a closer look.
“Wow, that’s kind of gross.” I thought to myself. “I wonder if Jessica Simpson’s marital bed looked like this?” After chuckling at my own sordid imaginings I took the above photograph. Not thinking any more about it, I went home.
Today: July 8, 2007
As I am walking down Green Street I find another abandoned mattress.
After taking a few photographs of the above mattress, box spring and shopping cart still life, a gentleman sunbathing next door (whilst reading a book entitled Great Artists) commented:
You’re the sixth person to photograph that mattress.
I told this chap he can expect one of those photographs to find its way onto the hallowed walls of MOMA or the Whitney and proceeded down the street where…
I found this despoiled mattress just as a man was about to load it into his minivan. I asked him if I could photograph it before he took it. Not only did he oblige, but he propped it up for me so as to get a better angle.
On the one hand, I find this gentleman’s eagerness to take a not-so-gently used mattress home somewhat disturbing. On the other, it was uplifting to see Serta Sleeper Samsara in action.
If Instant Karma doesn’t get him, the bedbugs most certainly will.
*I agree with a number of points Mr. Oder makes in this post. The New York Times article he critiques is bad. I’m not saying this because I am sore that I wasn’t mentioned in it either; when I read something as hagiographic and insipid as this turd is it makes me thank the heavens above my name is in no way attached to it.
The Brooklyn ‘blogosphere’, just like real life, has A-listers and fluffers. I know which one I am. Before I end this post (because my hand is tired and I need a glass of water— I wonder if that is how Gregory Beyer felt after writing Crack
er Barrel Vial 2.0?) I will leave you with today’s Dung of the Day, which I like to call Greenpoint Casserole: Miss Heather Style.
Take one dead bird and one large pile of dog shit. Let them roast in the hot July sun until they smell like refried death. Garnish with a cigarette butt and it’s ready to eat.
If this succulent dish makes you hungry, grab your knife and fork, run down to 1043 Manhattan Avenue and get your some!