Saturday Night: New York Shitty Style

I imagine quite a few of you are eagerly watching the clock and busy making plans to celebrate the day of St. Patrick. I considered going out to celebrate this great holiday myself (after all one of the core requirements of living in Greenpoint and liking it is having a fondness for drunken hooliganism) but have since thought the better of it. This is not due to lack of interest or love for the Irish (and the many contributions they have made to this city). Rather, Mr. Heather has seen fit to do the celebrating for me.

Last week the Mister had to work second shift at his job. While not happy about this arrangement he understood it was necessary given his line of work (I.T.) and towed the company line. This workload rotation also entailed he report to work the following Saturday. And work he did: until 7:00 p.m. Upon packing everything up Mr. Heather called me on my cell: he is going to go out to dinner and “blow off some steam”.

It was about 1:30 in the morning when he arrived home. Not only was he in a rather festive mood, but he also bore a present for yours truly: six loaves of bread.

Mr. Heather: I am a good husband, see I brought you some bread. (giggling)
Miss Heather: Why do you have six loaves of bread?
Mr. Heather: Because I am a good husband. You always complain that I never help with the grocery shopping. Well here you go. I got you some bread. (more giggling)
Miss Heather: It is 1:30 Sunday morning. Are you trying to be Jesus Christ or something? If so shouldn’t you have brought home some fish too?

Mr. Heather thought this was hilarious. In fact, he found a great number things quite funny. Like Eliot Spitzer’s latest fall from grace, for example.

Mr. Heather: How much for a blow job?
Miss Heather: What?
Mr. Heather: How much for a blow job?
Miss Heather: Fuck off.
Mr. Heather: I want to know how much a blow job costs.
Miss Heather: I dunno, why don’t you ask our former governor?

It was at this moment I realized what it must have been like to entertain client #9. Save of course the person making the solicitation was not the Governor of New York, there was no way in hell I was going to net $3,000 from this “transaction” and these “negotiations” were coming to pass in a living room in Greenpoint, Brooklyn. No four star hotels in D.C. or airline tickets for me. Women of my station get courted with six loaves of bread.

Come to think of it, I think Mr. Heather (as merry with drink as he was) might have been onto something: had Mr. Spitzer paid his own wife for sexual favors he wouldn’t have found himself in such a pickle. This having been said, I was tiring of the Mister’s shenanigans and after some none-too-subtle encouragement on my part he finally realized that what he really needed was sleep. To this end I assisted him on his journey to the boudoir (which was sort of like a toothpick propping up an elephant). I am pleased to report nothing whatsoever was broken. Except some bread.

The next day I recalled a story I had read recently from the September 19, 1902 edition of the Brooklyn Daily Eagle. While not a St. Patricks story per se, it does involve Greenpoint, drunken chicanery and five foot five inch tall police officer taking a seven foot tall 300 pound reveler to the drunk tank. Enjoy!

Not surprisingly, Mr. Heather sported the “honest blood of shame” when he finally arose Sunday afternoon.

Miss Heather

Happy St. Paddy’s Day From Greenpoint!

This impish (and downright Orwellian) little leprechaun can be found on Franklin Street.

On Guernsey Street even man’s best friend has gotten into the St. Paddy’s Day spirit!

But the mother of all St. Patrick’s decor can be found on Hausman Street just north of Meeker Avenue.

As you can see, this home owner has spared no expense.

What’s more, he (or more likely, she) may very well be in possession of the world’s only St. Paddy’s Day tree. I wonder what he (and by “he” I mean St. Patrick himself— or better yet— Sinn Fein Santa) leaves in your stocking if you’ve been naughty?

Or protestant?

Miss Heather

Greenpoint Photo du Jour: Howie’s Ashtray

From Norman Avenue.

Miss Heather

Greenpoint Photo du Jour: Bridal Suite

As some of you are aware I was recently in a show curated by the proprietress of Found In Brooklyn at Freddy’s Backroom. A number of people (who did not attend the opening) have inquired as to what I submitted. I will finally endeavor to answer that question today.

After racking my brain the entire month of December and much of January I finally had my long-awaited eureka moment. When Mr. Heather arrived home from work on that most auspicious evening, I told him the good news: I know what I am going to do. And of course with the good news came the bad: we need to go to Calyer Street STAT— and to be sure to put on some clothing you don’t mind getting filthy. Surprisingly enough, he did not ask a single question and complied with my wishes.

Once we had completed this mission successfully it was time for stage 2:

1. Locating a Siamese hydrant located a short distance from the ground.
2. Acquiring a matching pair of thong underwear and pasties.

It took a while and I encountered many a setback, but in the end it all came together.

Have you ever carried a 40 pound tree stump down McGuinness Boulevard? If you are wondering what it is like ask my husband.

Miss Heather