Filed under: Williamsburg
From Marcy Avenue.
Filed under: Bed-Stuy
From Pulaski Street.
Filed under: Area 51
You know the economy has truly gone to hell in a hand basket when God gets an eviction notice.
(Or how to go totally fucking insane in twelve easy steps)
Today’s offerings will be excruciating lite because:
- I have been housebound for three days and as a consequence I am low on material.
- Last night I went absolutely bat shit.
It takes a lot to rattle me. Life in New York Shitty has a way of knocking those sharp edges of intolerance clean off a person. But for those of you out there who wish to drive Miss Heather abso-FUCKING-lutely nuts (and you know who you are), here’s how to do it.
- Give Miss Heather a task, in this case waiting for a Fed Ex package to be delivered.
- Get a one yard container and place it under Miss Heather’s living room window.
- Starting at 9:00 a.m. sharp start flinging metal pipes into said dumpster.
- Be sure to make a sport of it. Slamdunks are not only encouraged, but they are mandatory.
- Accompany your manly acts of garbage disposal with color commentary such as “I’m the man!” and “$2,000?!? I can get a fucking whore for that kind of money!” If “Kristen” is reading this come on down to Greenpoint. I found you a client!
- Repeat items #4 and #5 until 5:30 p.m.
- Debt collection agencies: give me a ring. Often. Be sure to ask for “Julie Garcia” despite my repeated assertions that she doesn’t live here.
- Fed Ex: be sure to postpone your delivery until the next day. Do not inform me of this. We both know my only purpose in life is to wait for you to show up. It’s not like I have anything better to do anyway.
- Scrap metal collectors: once the sun begins to set it is your turn to shine! Please proceed to the dumpster (as mentioned in point #2) and fling its contents onto the sidewalk in the loudest manner possible.
- Mister Heather: fire up a documentary about East German Olympic athletes being used as guinea pigs for anabolic steroids. The mere sound of metal crashing onto the ground is not enough to render my efforts at writing futile. It must be accompanied with images of women who look like Dick Butkus.
- Dispatcher at 94th Precinct: When someone (in this case, Mr. Heather who fears I am about to go “Prisoner of Second Avenue” on someone’s ass) calls your direct number to complain about noise/suspicious activity, order him/her to call 911. You, being expected actually field a phone call by a lowly tax payer? The sheer fucking nerve.
- Make sure the mayhem (from pipes being thrown asunder, television, etc.) lasts for twelve straight hours, giving Miss Heather a headache that won’t quit.
Yup. If you want to get on my nerves this handy outline shows you how! Not only has it been proven effective in clinical studies but it also comes with a 100% money back guarantee. Which given I have provided this information totally free of charge— well, you know.
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
Crosstown Local, Fulton Street
Crosstown Local, Greenpoint
Filed under: Area 51
It’s refreshing to see that this poster for SNY continues to provide excellent fodder for my fellow subway patrons.
Since I was so lax about remembering Mother’s Day this year I have been extra vigilant about Father’s Day. The way I figure, having roughly one month at my disposal will give me time to make note, forget about it and remember with enough time left over to actually purchase a present in time. And when the latter most moment comes to pass I will head straight to Just For Fun without delay.
I noticed last weekend that they re-tooled their window display to showcase some gift-giving suggestions for dear old dad. I for one am drawn to this objet de arte. You see, Pa Heather recently decided to join the 21st century and get high speed Internet. As a result he has been tearing up the keyboard— much to my overloaded inbox’s chagrin. The way I see it, nothing says “cyber geek” (or “ask me about my castration anxiety”) like a disembodied fist donning a dagger and digital wrist watch. Such is the stuff sci-fi conventions are made of.
Of course I could always opt for the more pedestrian (and practical) pair of edible underwear. These come in creme de menthe flavor. Not only are they a tasty apertif but they leave the consumer with nice minty fresh breath to boot!
Filed under: Williamsburg
In more ways than one, Ms. Sevigny, in more ways than one…
For all of its faults, one thing can be said about the park gracing the premises of our local waste treatment plant: it has a great view. This weekend I learned from a tipster that it received some new scenery, albeit of a less savory nature:
There’s a sunken barge across from the water steps of the Nature Walk. The barge was there for a while with wires and stuff on it. There’s also a string of barges further up. We contacted the Coast Guard and have to call back on Monday. It seems like someone’s using the Creek to store vessels that are being rehabbed. Or worse, dumped. I attached photos, but they don’t do the scene justice.
Who wouldn’t want to have a picnic while gazing upon three rusted out old barges?
It would appear that automobiles are not the only thing finding their way into the depths of Newtown Creek nowadays. Anyone care to guess who the commander of this U-boat is?
I am always amused by the items I find affixed to fences. Last weekend I found these toys awaiting new owners in Park Slope. Very cute, if you ask me. Which brings me to what I found affixed to a fence here in Greenpoint this morning.
My morning routine is as follows: get up, grab a cup of coffee, wander into the living room and stare out the window. This has been my “routine” for years— and although luxury condoville has pretty much obscured any semblance of a “view” my apartment once had— I continue to do it. Perhaps this is an act of masochism on my part, who knows?
In any case, my morning cup of joe was accompanied by a particularly festive vista today.
Looks like 143 Huron and 110 Green Street will sport scenic views of more than just Manhattan. I have no idea what this thing is. All I know is it appears to be some form of mammal and it hasn’t moved for the last hour. (Is it a dead gopher perhaps?)