I am so psyched to see this show I simply had to kick off the week by passing it along. Per Factory Fresh’s web site:
Quality of Life, a survey of urban landscape photography. The show examines marginalized, forgotten, and neglected spaces in the city, as well as the graffiti, garbage, decay and people found within these spaces.
Featured artists include Luna Park, Sam Horine, Street Stars and none other than Gothamist’s very own Jake Dobkin! Concurrent with this opening is Bushwick Yourself : a one woman show showcasing the collage skills of GaÃ«tane Michaux. Check it out!
*Graffiti cat’s worst enemy.
From Kent Street.
Photo Credit: Mister Heather
Filed under: Area 51
Many interesting things find their way to my inbox. Mostly spam and mail order brides wanting to make my acquaintance. As I slog through the valley of the shadow intellectual death (that is the Internet) I find the occasional oasis to succor my thirst for weird shit. The following are two such examples.
Check out this interesting specimen.
There was no “interesting specimen” to be found so I replied:
Hey! There appears to be something wrong with this attachment. Can you resend it? The suspense is killing me!
You know what they say about curiosity killing the cat? It doesn’t. Mere death is nothing compared to the night terrors the following image will give you. I speak from experience when I write this.
Good god man. Where the hell did this come from?
To wit Yo wrote:
Well… it came from someone’s anus. I found this waiting for me at the South Ferry St. Station…
Most of the submissions I receive are less horrific in nature (but equally amusing). Here’s a “choice specimen” which graced my inbox last night.
I am a huge HUGE fan of your blog, so imagine my delight when today I saw a peculiar sight which I thought might be of interest to you.Â My boyfriend & I had just landed at JFK from Austin, TX and were waiting for our luggage when we spotted something on the floor right by the carousel.Â At first we thought, is that strange phallic item a toothbrush holder?Â But as we looked closer we realized that it was definitely a purple vibrator. I can only speculate how it got there – but it’s pretty hilarious to imagine it slipping out of someone’s bag and them being too embarrassed to pick it up again. Poor vibrator.
FOR YOUR PERSONAL SAFETY KEEP CHILDRENS HANDS & FEET FROM THIS DILDONIC. THIS EQUIPMENT STARTS AND STOPS AUTOMATICALLY.
If someone (Sarah Plain?) lost what appears to be a six inch hot pink “personal massager” October 4, 2008 it can be found at the John F. Kennedy International Airport. Unless of course someone saw fit to:
- take it home or
- drop off this lost marital aid to my shelter for sick, unwanted and crippled dildonics.
Alas poor pocket rocket, I knew him well.
P.S.: Submissions are always welcome at New York Shitty via email at:
missheather (at) newyorkshitty (dot) com (please keep the files smallish— 150 DPI, 800 pixels at widest) or via the NYS photopool.
Tonight East Coast Aliens is hosting a very special “pick pick” night featuring one of my favorite actors: Paul Newman. Cat On A Hot Tin Roof or Cool Hand Luke. You choose the movie. Doors open at 8:30 p.m. and the film of choice starts at 9:00 p.m. Lest any of you are wondering how I am going to cast my vote, I’ll proffer a clue:
And lest I failed to communicate: this event is FREE. Gratis. No mulah whatsoever.
I suspect that’s the way Mr. Newman would want it. So he gets it. I like it just as much as you do.
Giraffe wearing socks = PRICELESS.
Williamsburg, Brooklyn, 11211.
Greenpoint, Brooklyn, 11222.
Photo Credits: Greenpoint van; mugsniffer.
Every Thursday it’s the same thing: dig through a pile of crap on the jewelry counter. Occasionally this entails finding a half-eaten hamburger or apple. Usually it involves digging through a pile of god only knows what to find only more crap. And porn. The pot of gold at the end of my proverbial rainbow this week was this.
The above item wasn’t laid out as nicely as depicted in the above photograph. It was all balled up. I picked it up, discerned what it was and quickly dropped it: a cock sock. I washed my hands, things got busy and I promptly forgot about it.
FRIDAY: I found my erstwhile sexual accessory in the dumpster. I protested and my buddy Frantz retrieved it for me. I had plans for this bad boy. BIG PLANS. The beauty of The Thing is its ugliness. Some call it ramshackle piles of junk, I prefer to call it opportunity.
Question: When is a filthy vase not a filthy vase?
Answer: When a cock sock has been attached to it. Then it becomes a cock sock holder.
Step Two: Accessories
Basic black is nice but accessories are really what pulls an ensemble together. Just ask the experts.
I call this one “I Dream of Jeannie”.
Those of you wanting a more masculine look might like this one. I call it “Davy Cockett”. I wonder if Sarah Palin has one of these bad boys on her mantle? I can only hope so!
While I am on the subject of my favorite person (one who makes Dan Quayle look William F. Buckley by comparison) I call this one “Abstinence”. This somehow left me feeling unsatisfied so (like Levi Johnston) I dug around some more. At last I had my “eureka” moment.
I call this arrangement “Moneyshot”. On a scale of 1 to 10 I’d give it a “9”. Being the perfectionist I am I decided to kick it up a notch by leaving it next to Larry da’ Junkman’s lunch.
Real mavericks do not call themselves “Pitbulls with lipstick”. This rhetoric is that of “talkers” not doers. Not only do I “do” but I did.
Leave a cock sock assemblage.
Next to my (male) boss’s lunch.
For the fuck of it.
After rattling off this post in a pique of self-righteous (and very tired but nonetheless justified) rage I was pleasantly surprised by the attention it received. Not only did the fine folks at Curbed, Daily Intel and The New York Observer* link to this tome, but I got something even better: people asking me via comments and email what they can do to help the Greenpoint Reformed Church and its Soup Kitchen. My answer is twofold:
1. Organize a letter campaign/petition drive
2. Donate and volunteer.
The previous point will take some time to organize and implement. The latter can be done as easily as this (per the church’s newsletter):
Our church’s efforts to combat hunger in Greenpoint over the last eleven months have been a great success, but they have also shed light upon the tremendous need here in our community. Beginning this next Monday, October 6th we will be distributing sandwich bags to hungry Greenpointers on Manhattan Avenue between Greenpoint Avenue and McCarren Park.Â This is a joint venture with the two Lutheran churches in Greenpoint, St. John’s and Messiah.
Our church will prepare the sandwich bags at 12:30 p.m. on Sunday afternoons on the 3rd and 4th Sundays of the month and distribute the bags each Monday between 1 p.m. and 2 p.m.Â If you are interested in helping please speak with Amil Gehrke or Pastor Jen or just show up on Sundays or Mondays.
We are also in need of additional help with the second shift at the soup kitchen.Â If you are able to help with clean up on Wednesdays from 6:00 p.m. to 7:30 or 8pm, please stop by.
Greenpoint Reformed Church
136 Milton Street
Brooklyn, New York 11222
Phone: (718) 383-5941
Email: pastor (at) greenpointchurch (dot) org
*I will give you guys (and gals) a good-natured thump on the nose, tho: one crazy neighbor does not “public rancor” against a soup kitchen make. Milton Street has no bigger a public urination problem than anywhere else in Greenpoint (or New York City, for that matter)— not that I suppose that’s really saying anything.
Who says mom’s trip to the beauty parlor can’t be fun? This young gentleman (who I have dubbed “Roller Finger”) has the right attitude!
P.S.: Years ago I made the mistake of having my best friend from high school be my college roommate. Before our friendship went to hell in a hand basket (as a consequence) we’d do things together. Lighting “jumping jacks”, tossing them in the toilet and photographing the results was my favorite avocation; shopping at Victoria’s Secret was hers. “Mickey” took her femininity very seriously. I seriously couldn’t give a shit. Hellraising is much more fun. But I digress.
One day I found myself at a Victoria’s Secret store in some nameless, faceless mall in north Texas.
ASIDE: I find Frederick’s of Hollywood charming in a kitschy kind of way. At least they acknowledge the life blood of their business: sex. Victoria’s Secret by comparison is, well, VICTORIAN. Patrolled by Frau Bluckeresque saleswomen who’d probably beat you with a ruler if given half the chance.
But back to my story.
Nary a pasty, flavored lube or a pair of men’s “novelty underwear” (usually involving elephants or giraffes) was to be found that day. I had to find another avenue for entertainment. Interesting things happen when I get bored. In this case I decided to find the biggest bra they had in stock. Hilarity ensued.
Saleswoman: Excuse me, can I help you?
Miss Heather: No, I’m alright.
Salewoman: The bras “in your size” are over there (pointing to the “pirate’s delight”* section).
Miss Heather: I know. I just want to see the biggest boulder holder you have in stock.
She left me alone after that. I later told “Mickey” what I did. She didn’t think it was very funny.
Filed under: Williamsburg
SEE WALL ST.
Sarah Palin may not care too much for the east coast but someone on the east coast cares for her (business, anyway): The Edge.
Not only can Sarah watch Wall Street from her new swanktastic apartment, but she’ll be able to watch Poland. Greenpoint: AKA, “Little Poland”, that is. Maybe we could exchange recipe tips and stuff. That’d be nice.