Greenpoint Photo du Jour: 130 Greenpoint Avenue

November 11, 2007 ·
Filed under: Area 51, Greenpoint Magic 

Greenpoint Avenue 11/10/07

Some of you might recognize the building in the background. Greenpoint’s first “hipster bar” Splendid, once inhabited this space. I celebrated a birthday there once. As was my habit at the time, I jammed the jukebox with Van Halen’s “Unchained”. Over and over. Strangely enough, the hipsters didn’t like it too much.

This, my, special occasion was capped by an exploding manhole. On Greenpoint Avenue, by virtue of Con Edison, not the ever glorious David Lee Roth.

One break, coming up!

Miss Heather

Passion Partiers Wanted in Greenpoint

November 11, 2007 ·
Filed under: Area 51, Greenpoint Magic 

I am not going to lie to you: during my 30-odd years of tip toeing along the primrose path of this mortal coil I have become prim. I have seen a lot of weird shit. Enough so to find what most people call “perverse” utterly devoid of interest. Unlike most of my fellow Greenpoint ‘nilla wifers, I seek boredom, not chocolate.

If there is one thing living (and working) in the Garden Spot will do to you, it is this: make you wish you didn’t know the sexual predilections of your neighbors. I learn about them regularly from my bedroom window. My husband often asks me why I am not that excited like “that woman”. I tell him because “that woman” isn’t married.

Bearing the previous in mind, you can imagine my utter revulsion upon finding the following at The Garden. I went to this local grocery store to buy lunch and nearly lost it before I even ate it. Greenpointus vomitus extremus retroactivus.

Passion Party

Maybe I am being old fashioned here, but whatever happened to going to ye olde sex shoppe to pump your junk?

Perhaps it is my post-feminism talking, but when I seek martial aides the sleazier the venue the better. The area around Penn Station has a number of establishments that cater to my effete brand of kink. Most have nudie booths and I like to hover around them to see who comes out. My husband finds this practice embarrassing. I, on the other hand, find it both educational and informative.

I want to see compellingly complex sexual gadgetry. The more Rube Goldberg-esque, the better. It’s sort of like putting together a puzzle or solving crosswordturd. I like challenging discoveries. I do not like discovering that one of my sexually-challenged neighbors craves a Roto-Cooter 2007 Deluxe in my living room. Over crab rangpoon.

Much like revenge, sex is a dish best served cold. Touchy-feely Fuckerware parties ruin it.

Free Bullet

Does this mean if the hostess of said party sells a 10 inch dong she gets 1 inch back in “product”? WOW. She’d have to make at least ten sales to get what I have been told is “average” by the menfolk hereabouts (visual evidence contradicts their assertions, but I chock that up to the metric system). And I thought doing straight commission as a real estate broker was rough. I hope the lube is on the house.

Then again, you know what they say: everyone has a bullet with his (or her name on it). Maybe I should host a party and get mine? Oh wait, I already have one.

Miss Heather

Greenpoint Photo du Jour

November 10, 2007 ·
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic 

The Astral 11/09/07

Astral Apartments, November 9, 2007, 7:00 p.m.

Miss Heather

Mr. Heather Gets His First Piece of Fan Mail!

November 10, 2007 ·
Filed under: Area 51 

New York Shitty reader Victoria writes:

…A belated Happy Anniversary to you and Mr. Heather. I’ll always appreciate how he gave Baby Wipes to me and all the other women when we exited the McCarren Park ladies room. That fella’s got real Boy Scout values!

Thank you Victoria. You might be interested to know that Mr. Heather was once a Boy scout. However, it should be noted I gave him orders to dispense said wipes (during a break at Forgotten-NY Tour 30) because my previous (and copious) research suggested said privy would be hygienically “inadequate”.

Then again, Mr. Heather received orders and actually bothered to follow them. This is a rarity, so perhaps he does deserve a moment of recognition?

There, he just had it.

Mr. Heather has a number of talents. Information technology is one of them. Handing out baby wipes is another. Making our living room smell like ass while making our bedroom smell like dirty feet* is his current avocation.

He is a true Renaissance man.

Miss Heather

*I know it’s him. I never emit foul odors. My farts smell like angel’s breath.

G Train Glory, Miss Heather Style

November 9, 2007 ·
Filed under: Crazy People, Greenpoint Magic 

There’s a new kid on my block (literally). The blog in question is Err(or)Ink and follows is an excerpt from one of her posts:

The “Save the G” coalition wrote, “The number of riders per year at G-only stations has increased from 8.6 million in 1995 to 12.6 million in 2006, according to the Metropolitan Transportation Authority” on their blog.

I watched one of those 12.6 million riders cut each and every one of his toenails while waiting for the train to leave Court Square on a weeknight evening.

I walked down the first flight of steps on the Queens bound entrance to the Greenpoint Avenue stop on the G train to notice some person had defecated on the landing between the other flight of stairs.

Those are two of my most memorable G train moments. What are some of yours?

I considered posting a comment to the above post but soon realized it would be a novella. So here it is. My favorite G train moments, in ascending order of importance (to yours truly). As Britney Spears once said:

People can take everything away from you
But they can never take away your truth
But the question is…
Can you handle mine?

Here it is. My Greenpoint truth.

1. Two out of three subway masturbators I have encountered (to date, hope springs eternal!) selected the Crosstown Local as their venue for “flogging the bishop”. For the sake of brevity I will limit my discourse to my first flogger, as he holds a special place in my heart.

After visiting some friends on Green Street, I hopped onto the G in hopes of hitting the L and playing in the meatpacking district. I was dressed to kill. Apparently, one of my subway patrons agreed: as I was putting on lipstick I noticed he was making repetitive jerking motions. Thinking he was simply scratching his balls (because that’s what men do) I glanced his direction. Nope. He was massaging his kielbasa.

I looked around me. There were no women whatsoever, only 12 men. Twelve very angry men, as I soon learned. I stood up and announced to my fellow G train patrons “Hey everybody, this guy is jerking off!” Shortly thereafter, one 50-something African-American dude laughed his ass off and yelled:

Dude, you’re sick! Hey, check this shit out!

Over and over. Soon his fellow XY chromos chimed in: public humiliation is an equal opportunity destroyer. That humble subway car became a monkey house. MY monkey house. And Mister Weiner Schnitzel tucked his angry little kielbasa back into his pants and bolted at the next subway stop: Nassau Avenue.

It’s the small victories that make life worth living— and trust me— this dude’s schnitzel was something to sniff at. 12 out of 12 male subway riders told me so.

2. I went to a good friend’s wedding last summer. I presume him to be a friend because I attended his wedding and he has seen fit to still speak to me. Dry weddings are unheard of in my philosophy. Ask my husband.

Taking mass transit home from Corona, Queens was an education. Thankfully the feeling was mutual: my fellow travelers had not seen a blue haired woman before and I got a crash course in biblical discourse.

When you’re tired and deprived of spirits nothing lifts one’s spirits like listening to a dude telling his homies that he’d a slit “a homo’s” throat while holding a copy of the King James Bible. On the G train at Court Square, no less.

Mike: Yo, check out that dude with the Mohawk. He’s fucking HARDCORE, nigga!

Traveling Companion:
Heh, heh.

Mike: You don’t see dudes like that anymore. Look at these other people, they’re all faggots!

T.C.: Yeah, they’re taking over.

Mike: They can do what they want, but if one of them touches me in the shower I’ll slit his fucking throat.

The wedding vows my husband and I attended earlier this evening had a quote from Corinthians in it. That’s what the minister said, anyway. I wouldn’t know. Being an atheist, my husband has a pretty good command of the Bible so I turned to him and asked:

Is that from Leviticus?

He answered to the affirmative. Such is our life— fuck love, respect, commitment and all that slop. Our relationship is a low rent (but high wit) remake of Topper.

3. Before moving to Greenpoint I lived in Kensington. In order to secure my apartment in Greenpoint I had to deliver several cashier’s checks to a real estate office which happened to be located off the G. My journey back to my soon-to-be former home entailed taking making the G(auntlet) to the F. And in so doing, I learned a valuable lesson:

  1. If a subway car has one person in it, it is for a very good reason.
  2. Human beings are very cruel creatures, as am I.

I was one of two dozen people who filtered into this curiously vacant subway car. And once the G started ambulating to south Brooklyn the reason became apparent: this car smelled. BAD.

How one homeless person can make a space unfit for human transportation amazes me to this day. Everyone, myself included, bolted to the front seeking egress to the next car: the door wouldn’t open. What’s more, the residents in said car, our ticket out of shitville, were laughing their asses off.

At Broadway, we bolted into the next car. And a new batch of neophytes bolted into ours.

As the mighty G headed towards Flushing Avenue we laughed as these people clawed at the door. The panicked expressions. The desperation. The smell. The hilarity.

This cycle repeated itself all the way to Smith and 9th. And as I took this, my last trip, on the F train I realized something: I found my home.

Greenpoint.

Miss Heather

Behold, The Other Face of Pistilli Realty!

November 8, 2007 ·
Filed under: Area 51, Dung of the Day, Other Shit 

Craigslist

Having learned from my good buddy over at Greenpointers that some mischievous scamp has seen fit to post an ad on Craigslist admonishing people against moving into the Astral, I thought it might be interesting to share a few photos I took of Pistilli’s Co-op Crapfest in Astoria yesterday. Here they are.

Co-op Crap 2

It’s big.

Co-op Crap 3

Really, really big. Per Wired New York’s forum, this turd has 188 units.

Pistilli Riverview

And if the above fanfare is any indication, they are almost ready for occupancy!

Wouldn’t it be interesting if some “shame on you” type news show asked the shills Pistilli hired to sell this crap if it will have bedbugs and scantily clad ‘models’ like his other property? A property, I will add, which is a registered historic landmark that (per ACRIS) appears to have been mortgaged repeatedly so as to finance the above masterpiece.

Just a thought.

It’s tough being a developer. So the next time any of you Astral tenants whine about mold or bedbugs, be advised that it costs a lot of money to make something look this cheap. Shit, the money Pistilli outlaid on stucco alone is probably equal to the gross domestic product of a developing country.

Or two.

Miss Heather

P.S.: The address for the above development can found by clicking here lest anyone reading this is curious.

P.S. #2: I’d also like to give a big New York Shitty shout-out to my buddies at Bedbuggers for calling Greenpoint “the good-blog capital of Brooklyn”. Thanks!

P.S.#3: I forgot to post this photo of the ass(ier) end of Pistilli Riverview East. Here it is.

Ass

Conan the Astorian

November 8, 2007 ·
Filed under: Area 51 

As I indicated in this post, I was very disappointed with the fecal offerings to be found during my latest trip to Astoria. Yesterday I decided to make a return visit and not come home until I found the perfect pile of poop for my latest project. After schlepping for over two hours my shit quest came to an end at the intersection of 30th Drive and 12 Street.

Help Keep New York Clean

Realizing time was of the essence, I quickly went to work.

Conan the Astorian

All in all, I was pleased with my creation.

Conan the Astorian

Very, very pleased.

Miss Heather

#5 of the Greenpoint 10 is…

November 8, 2007 ·
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic 

A man who needs little in the way of introduction. Damned near everyone in Greenpoint knows who he is— and besides, no one seems to know his name anyway. He is simply that shirtless guy who lives on Franklin Street —or “Blow Torch Harry” as one New York Shitty commenter likes to call him:

When he lived on Milton he was renovating his bathroom. We could see him from our window. He would be blow torching naked in his apartment. It was classic.

It is my understanding that my buddy over at 11222 is going to give us the 411 on this chap and I do not want to step on her toes. However, I too have a “Blow Torch Harry” story I would like to share. Here it is.

One very brisk February morning I decided to burn a little time before a hair appointment by taking a walk. Curious to see what my favorite Greenpoint celebrity was up to, I swung by Franklin Street to find out. He was busy tending his lot.

Clad only in a pair of tighty whities.

I do not recall what the temperature was that particular day, but it had to have been around freezing. Watching this man conduct his business in his BVDs was painful to watch, and yet too fascinating to avert my gaze away. I was mesmerized and from that moment forward became a “Blow Torch Harry” believer.

You gotta respect a a guy for walking around in sub-freezing weather in his underoos. He looked shrinkage in the eye and didn’t flinch. The fact he also sees fit to weld au naturel on occasion is pure gravy, which brings me to this week’s motivational poster.

BALLS

The Park Slope Civic Council can distribute free umbrellas (lest the local populace melt with the first trace of autumn rain). We Greenpointers don’t need no stinking umbrellas. Hell, we’ve dispensed with clothing altogether! What’s a little rain water compared to the thrill of going commando with a blow torch?

Wimps.

“Blow Torch Harry”, it is people like you who make Greenpoint, well, Greenpoint. On behalf of all the fellow Greenpointers you have managed to amaze and inspire, I salute you.

I look forward to seeing a lot more of you this upcoming February.

Miss Heather

Miss Heather’s Condominium Select-O-Matic

November 8, 2007 ·
Filed under: Long Island City 

Pulaski Bridge with Condo

Whenever I feel my neighborhood is going to over-development hell in a hand basket, I make a trek across the Pulaski Bridge to Long Island City. I invariably come back to the Garden Spot feeling much, much better. With one notable (and nagging exception): I cannot stop worrying about how John and Jane Q. Consumer will be able to select the perfect condominium to suit their new Long Island City lifestyle. There are simply too many of them to choose from!!!

As the proprietress of New York Shitty, I aspire to inform as well as entertain. Therefore, I have created Miss Heather’s Condominium Select-O-Matic to help these needy people make the right decision. Don’t know which Long Island City domicile is right for you? Complete the following questionnaire and find out!

#1: I am hard of hearing.

A. The above statement describes me.
B. The above statement does not describe me.
C. I cannot read the above statement.

#2: Does the following disturb you?

Stop Son of Sam

A. No.
B. Yes.
C. I am the author of the above missive.

#3: My idea of pleasing scenery is…

A. Queensboro Plaza.
B. A nice pair of breasts.
C. The Queens Midtown Tunnel.

#4: When I go to a gentlemen’s club I prefer:

A. a little Dim sum with my poontang.
B. to wear an artfully placed donut on my member.
C. Titty bars are for jerks. I want HOOKERS!

#5: Showerheads are not just for getting clean.

A. I disagree with this statement.
B. I agree with this statement.
C. I do not understand this statement.

#6: What do you think of the following?

Live Like A Star!

A. This is the stupidest thing I have ever seen.
B. I do not understand it.
C. Cool!

Quiz time is over folks! Time to tabulate those scores and find your new dream home!

I have mostly A’s.
I have mostly B’s.
I have mostly C’s.

Good luck at your new digs, aspiring condo dwellers. To those of you who scored mostly A’s: I’ll be sure to carry a can of mace and box of A-200 Pyrinate with me when I drop off your housewarming casserole.

Toodles!

Miss Heather

Public Service Announcement

November 7, 2007 ·
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic 

Whoever stole that kid’s tent on Kent Street between Franklin and Manhattan Avenue last weekend…

Tent Taker

the parts and instructions are ready for you to pick up.

Miss Heather

P.S.: Thanks for forwarding this to me Nate!

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