Adult Entertainment

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

Love Letter

Shove this pencil up your self-involved hipster ass.

The above phrase is emblazoned on (what else?) pencils for sale at the Front Room Gallery. While a little mean-spirited for my taste, I outlaid $10.00 and bought me one because it brought back memories. Or at least one helluva memory, anyway.

Although I have always had the presence of mind not to shove a pencil (eraser OR business-end first) up my ass, I once knew someone who did. Involuntarily being made privy to the aberrant sexual practices of others is one of the manifold reasons I am the Dog Shit Queen of Greenpoint and you aren’t. It’s no picnic, I assure you.

Just over twelve years ago I worked as a helper for a gentleman who had cerebral palsy— we’ll call him “Juan”. He was a fellow college student whose motor skills were impaired to such a degree that he required help with even the most basic tasks. I would do his laundry, run errands for him, feed him, etc. Over the course of the summer I got to know him fairly well; not only did he have a mind that was sharp as a tack, but it was also a pretty damned dirty one at that. I returned his porno rentals back to the local video store on a number of occasions.

I was not the only “attendant” Juan had; there were three. We each had our respective days. Mine were Saturday and Sunday. Late one Sunday morning I got a phone call from one of Juan’s friends, “Mike”. “You need to come over immediately, Juan is in the hospital.” I hurried over immediately, met Mike, collected a number of Juan’s other friends and we drove to the hospital. En route, I learned what happened.

“Juan got a pencil stuck up his butt and then took a lot of laxatives thinking it would push it out,” said Mike. “HOW THE FUCK DID HE MANAGE TO DO THAT?” I thought to myself. I bet he made one hell of a mess. At the hospital I had the pleasure of being present when the E.R. doctor (who treated Juan) asked him the very same question. Juan replied:

I fell on it.

Uh-HUH.

Before any of you dear readers go off on me for being mean because I am picking on someone who is “handicapped”, let me tell you something. It would have taken a LOT of concerted effort for Juan to “fall” on a pencil in such a manner that it would find itself lodged in his “nether eye”. In a strange way this (very misguided) act was a testament to how tenacious he was: despite a very substantial challenge he doggedly persevered in every aspect of his life. The previous having been said, no matter how “abled ” a person is, he (or she) shouldn’t stick a pencil up his (or anyone else’s) ass. Much less lie to an ER surgeon about how it got there.

This brings me to the photo featured at the beginning of this post. It is a gift I received recently from my buddy Rachael. She found it on Nassau Avenue near the Evergreen Funeral Home. Let’s go in for a closer look!

Hmm… looks sort of like Paris Hilton. Like the body glitter.

Tortilla the cat likes Miss Heather’s new Greenpoint Barbie.

Um, that’s sort of disturbing. Then again, as long as the person who made this sticks to the attempted pencil penetration of inanimate objects, we’re probably safe.

Miss Heather

Sunnyside vs. The Garden Spot

I found the above sign yesterday on Greenpoint Avenue in Sunnyside, Queens. Whoever made this clearly lavished a lot of attention upon the illustration at the top right-hand corner. The raffish little rabbit peeking out from behind the tree is a nice touch. If this sign is any indication, Sunnyside lives up to its name.

Now, for the sake of comparison let’s look at a sign I found right here in “The Garden Spot” the day before.

To: Whoever uprooted all our chillie pepper plants + picked all of our basil leaves

PLEASE DON’T

Its so frustrating to grow something & then have it destroyed.

thanks!

It would appear that someone on Green Street has a taste for basil.

Miss Heather