Brevity —and Barbarians— are the soul of wit.

August 2, 2006 by
Filed under: Area 51, Greenpoint Magic 

Apres moi, le deluge

In less than two weeks I will be a guest author on Only the Blog Knows Brooklyn. This is a very exciting development, as I will be able to send some very special Greenpoint love Park Slope’s direction via the power of the Internet. It’s not like I can do so personally nowadays, with the heat and the ebb and flow of G train service.

Do I plan to use this opportunity to lambaste Park Slopers, you ask?

No, I don’t. If anything, I’ll probably end up ripping on everyone, myself included. Who knows. As Professor Ping said in the movie Barbarella, “genius is mysterious”.

That said, I want to relay something that is probably a literary first. My cover letter (regarding being a guest blogger on OTBKB) was as follows:


I came across your solicitation for a guest blogger(s) via I do not live in Park Slope; the disruption of G train service of late (and my lack of personal upkeep/finances/self-esteem) prohibit me from going there. Nothing personal.

That said, I do live in Brooklyn: Greenpoint, 11222 to be precise. Your blog purports to serve “Park Slope, New York, and Beyond”. Surely my Charles Bukowski-esque musings fit will within your criteria: most likely under “New York and Beyond”. Greenpoint is a very strange place indeed— and that’s why I love it. I’ve lived here for six years; have a rent-stabilized apartment (near the waterfront) and will only vacate the aforementioned apartment when I am carried out (or get a fat pay-off) — if you know what I mean.

I have neither children (they give me the creeps, carry germs and shit their pants— though strangely, I have a husband and 5 cats who do all the previous, and more— go figure) nor do I have anyone remotely “famous” in or around my ‘hood (alive, anyway). I am, nonetheless, civically-minded. Check out my blog:

Thank you for your time and consideration.


Miss Heather

This has got to be the first and only time I know of that anyone (much less a WOMAN) who openly purported an affection for a literary kinship to Charles Bukowski and actually landed a(n unpaid) writing gig. Then again, admiration for Mr. Bukowski is a pre-requisite for successful living in Greenpoint: he is to Greenpoint what peanut butter is to jelly: indispensible.


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