Adult Entertainment

June 25, 2007 by
Filed under: Area 51, Greenpoint Magic 

Fuck the MTA

Last Saturday I attended the Mermaid Parade. My journey to Coney Island (via rapid transit) was as follows:

  1. I took the Smith and 9th-bound G to Bedford-Nostrand.
  2. Then I had to cross the platform and get on yet another Smith and 9th-bound G train.
  3. At Hoyt-Schermerhorn I tranferred to the Manhattan-bound A train.
  4. Took that one stop and finally got on board the Coney Island-bound F train.

It took me 1 1/2 hours to get to there. Ridiculous.

Yesterday I attended the Brooklyn Blogger Meet-up in Flatbush. This required:

  1. Taking the Smith and 9th Bound G to Bedford Nostrand. Again.
  2. Crossing the platform and get on yet another south-bound G train. Again.
  3. Going above ground at Fulton Street, walking to the Atlantic Terminal and hopping on the Q train.

This trek took me approximately one hour. If you do the math, I spent approximately five hours of my precious life on the subway this weekend. That’s almost as much time as I spent at the Mermaid Parade. At least I got my money’s worth, I suppose.

Fortunately the venue where yesterday’s meet-up was held, Vox Populi, provided me some inexpensive entertainment for the ride home. This coffeehouse happens to sell books and I scored a copy of “How to Make Love Like a Porn Star” for a paltry six bucks. I whiled away my journey home looking at boobies. BIG BOOBIES. I would occasionally point out a select set to my husband for his edification, much to the confusion of my fellow subway patrons. The time flew by!

Unlike many people, pornography doesn’t faze me. When I see a woman who is approximately my size sporting a pair of breasts that weigh ten pounds a pop, the only response elicited from my person is one of amusement. In fact, when I was an undergraduate (studying for my BFA in fine art) I did a series of hilariously wicked collages using images culled from the Cadillac of all big boob magazines: “Busty”. I am not too sure what criteria Mr. Flynt uses to determine who gets featured in this magazine, but I suspect having breasts approximately the same size as one’s head is one of them.

Anyhoo, one collage I created using Mr. Flynt’s magnum opus featured an image of “Pandora Peaks”. It was a real masteurpiece too. She was laid upon on her back, legs akimbo; her gargantuan breasts slung to her sides. Next, I located a picture of a taco which happened to conceal Ms. Peak’s naughty bits seamlessly. In fact, the copious amounts of shredded lettuce contained on this photograph foodstuff bore a striking resemblance to pubic hair. If one was to casually glance at this subtle addition he (or she) would not notice that anything was amiss. But if (or when) he or she did notice, the message I was trying to convey became quite clear: eat me.

I was so proud of this creation I placed it in a joint show I had at the University of North TEXAS Student Union Art Gallery. Heh. Despite being the least revealing image (of a nude woman) of the lot, it got pulled after about a week or so. Some do-gooder said it was pornographic. It just goes to show you that an image in and of itself has no meaning until the viewer imbues it with one. And when it comes to the minds of those who seek protect us from the evils of lascivious literature, well, they have the dirtiest fucking ones of all!

This brings me to today’s selection of Greenpoint crime blotter fun. It is a little piece (of ass) from the December 7, 1896 edition of the Brooklyn Daily Eagle entitled “Rosa Will Not Pose.” Enjoy!

ROSA WILL NOT POSE.

WANTS TO FORGET THAT SHE WAS A MODEL

Many Letters Asking Her to Go on the Stage— Her Father Says She Won’t Work.

The Lee Avenue police court was crowded this morning with police officials, lawyers and men about town, all of whom were present to get a glimpse of Rosa Blumfeld, the young woman who has gained considerable undesireable notoriety since she posed in “the altogether” in Kwiek and Schaffner’s studio at 39 Greenpoint Avenue. Kwiek and Schaffner were recently arrested at the instigation of Anthony Comstock. The case was tried in the Adams Street police court last Saturday and the testimony taken at that time has already been published in the Eagle. Justice Walsh has reserved his decision in the case.

Soon after artists Kwiek and Schaffner were arrested, Isaac Blumfeld of 13 Orient Avenue, Rosa’s father, went to the Lee Avenue police court and secured a warrant for his daughter’s arrest on a charge of disorderly conduct. Blumfeld alleged in his complaint that Rosa posed for pictures in the nude and that objectionable photographs were made of his daughter. Rosa when first arraigned in court pleaded not guilty and was paroled for trial.

This morning, when Justice Goetting called the case, Rosa stepped hurriedly up to the bar and stated that she was ready for trial.

“Your father tells me that you have not been a very good girl since you were first here,” said Justice Goetting. “What have you got to say to that?”

“I think he must be mistaken,” replied Miss Blumfeld.

“But he claims that you remain out late nights and that you won’t work,” continued the magistrate.

“Why, I don’t see how that can be,” said Rosa, “for I have only been out after 12 o’clock one night and that was when I went to the theater.”

“There is no reason why she should not work,” interrupted Mr. Blumfeld, who thus far had been an attentive listener.” At present she lives a life of luxury and ease. She remains in bed until nearly 9 o’clock in the morning. Then she has her coffee. After breakfast she reads until 12 o’clock and then dresses herself up and that is the last we see of her until late at night. I want her to work and at some respectable business.”

“I am willing to work,” concluded Miss Blumfeld, “but as yet I haven’t had an opportunity to do so. I had to go to court three times last week.”

Justice Goetting then adjourned the case for one week.

To a reporter Miss Blumfeld said that since the stories had appeared about her in the newspapers she had received letters from all over the country. “Some write that I ought to go on the stage,” she added, “while others are anxious to have me pose for them. One man offered me a place in a museum at a guaranteed salary. I have torn up all the letters as I want to forget the past. I am going to try and be good in the future. It is true that I posed once, but I will never do it again.”

I have tried to find out what became of Ms. Blumfeld, but to no avail. I imagine she was released to the custody of her father and went on to do “respectable work” such as being a laundress, maid, or some other back-breaking and poorly compensated job. Given the dearth of career opportunities presented to her, can you honestly blame Rosa for showing a little skin? Stories such as hers (and there are many of them, I assure you) make me thank the heavens each and every day I was born a hundred years later.

Miss Heather

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