Need a mattress? COME TO GREENPOINT!

July 8, 2007 ·
Filed under: Crazy People, Dog Shit, Dung of the Day, Greenpoint Magic 

Whenever I start running low on new subject matter to expound upon I go for a walk. I have spent much of the last two days pounding the Greenpoint pavement. And, as always, I did not come home disappointed. Perplexed or downright disturbed? Yes. But disappointed? Not in the least.

This is why I live in Greenpoint. It has long been my understanding that, as a lowly renter* with low class, the “A-list” Brooklyn neighborhoods are well beyond my reach. As I told my buddy Larry yesterday (after dealing with the “Pornophile”, AGAIN):

Not all of us have the stuff to land a porn queen, some of us have to settle for the fluffer.

“The Garden Spot of the Universe” always puts out. They can keep can keep their Park “Angelina Jolie” Slopes and Boerum “Lindsay Lohan” Hills. I like my neighborhoods like my women: delectably wrecked and HARD. Greenpoint is the Amy Winehouse of Brooklyn ‘nabes. This is why I love her so.

July 7, 2007

I was walking along Greenpoint Avenue when I happened upon one of the many languishing development sites my recently designated chic neighborhood has to offer: 189 Greenpoint Avenue.

189 Greenpoint Avenue

I go in for a closer look.

189 Greenpoint Avenue Detail

“Wow, that’s kind of gross.” I thought to myself. “I wonder if Jessica Simpson’s marital bed looked like this?” After chuckling at my own sordid imaginings I took the above photograph. Not thinking any more about it, I went home.

Today: July 8, 2007

As I am walking down Green Street I find another abandoned mattress.

141 Green Street Mattress

After taking a few photographs of the above mattress, box spring and shopping cart still life, a gentleman sunbathing next door (whilst reading a book entitled Great Artists) commented:

You’re the sixth person to photograph that mattress.

I told this chap he can expect one of those photographs to find its way onto the hallowed walls of MOMA or the Whitney and proceeded down the street where…

108 Green Street Mattress

I found this despoiled mattress just as a man was about to load it into his minivan. I asked him if I could photograph it before he took it. Not only did he oblige, but he propped it up for me so as to get a better angle.

On the one hand, I find this gentleman’s eagerness to take a not-so-gently used mattress home somewhat disturbing. On the other, it was uplifting to see Serta Sleeper Samsara in action.

If Instant Karma doesn’t get him, the bedbugs most certainly will.

Miss Heather

*I agree with a number of points Mr. Oder makes in this post. The New York Times article he critiques is bad. I’m not saying this because I am sore that I wasn’t mentioned in it either; when I read something as hagiographic and insipid as this turd is it makes me thank the heavens above my name is in no way attached to it.

The Brooklyn ‘blogosphere’, just like real life, has A-listers and fluffers. I know which one I am. Before I end this post (because my hand is tired and I need a glass of water— I wonder if that is how Gregory Beyer felt after writing Cracker Barrel Vial 2.0?) I will leave you with today’s Dung of the Day, which I like to call Greenpoint Casserole: Miss Heather Style.

Recipe

Take one dead bird and one large pile of dog shit. Let them roast in the hot July sun until they smell like refried death. Garnish with a cigarette butt and it’s ready to eat.

Greenpoint Casserole

If this succulent dish makes you hungry, grab your knife and fork, run down to 1043 Manhattan Avenue and get your some!

Bon Apetit!

Pulaski Poo

July 7, 2007 ·
Filed under: Bum Shit, Dog Shit, Dung of the Day 

Yesterday evening my husband and I went to the Creek and Cave for dinner. After we reached the Queens side of the Pulaski Bridge, we happened upon a token of someone’s (or something’s) gastronomic distress.

Uh-oh

Why did the Greenpointer cross the bridge?

Pulaski Poo

To take a bigass dump on the other side.

Miss Heather

Great Moments in Greenpoint Siding, Volume VIII

July 5, 2007 ·
Filed under: Vinyl Siding 

Recently my buddy over at Word Books was in distress. She was perplexed by a rather snarky and peculiar quip Daily Intelligencer made about the sign she made advertising an “Adults Only” Harry Potter release party. She even asked me if I was responsible for this. I told her no. This is the truth.

I’ll be honest; I find the fascination some adults (especially middle-aged adults) have for Ms. Rowling’s body of work a little creepy. Not unlike Star Trek groupies who elect to exchange their wedding vows in Klingon. Both of the previous types of people are beyond my comprehension.

That said, I know damn well that I am in no position whatsoever to judge people for what they read because my reading habits are pretty fucking peculiar in their own right. Sex workers and sideshow freaks are of particular interest to yours truly. Regarding the latter, I recently finished a book entitled “The Lives and Loves of Daisy and Violet Hilton.” I purchased this book from (where else?) Word Books.

Who are the Hiltons, you ask? First off, they are in no way related to THOSE Hiltons. In fact, their actual surname is not Hilton at all. Those of you who have seen Tod Browning’s Freaks have seen them; they were the Siamese twins.

This weekend, as I was giving Mikeypod a grand tour of Greenpoint, I showed him our very own Siamese house.

Siamese House

You can find this freak of architectural nature on Norman Avenue. The best I can reckon is someone took the house on the right (which faces Jewel Street) and grafted its hindquarters to the house on the left. It also appears that they added a little eagle’s nest to the top (for what purpose, I do not know— maybe this is its head?). The solitary Fedders box on the western section of the first floor is a nice touch. It sort of looks like a wart.

The siding salesman probably retired on the profits he made sheathing and Fedderizing this fucker. And that folks is why this frankenhouse merits recognition as a great moment in Greenpoint siding!

Miss Heather

High Life in Greenpoint

July 2, 2007 ·
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic 

I am plowing through my new(ish) Jenna Jameson book, How to Make Love like a Porn Star. It’s a really fun read; once I pick it up an hour or two will pass before I can muster enough self-control to put it down. Although I am certain the fact that I am raging pervert has something to do with my rapt fascination with this book, I have to concede that Ms. Jameson’s story is an interesting one and she tells it well. I like this woman— there, I said it.

In keeping with the spirit of fallen women, I have pulled a particularly choice offering from the Brooklyn Daily Eagle archives this week. It is entitled “High Life in Greenpoint” and dates from from July 11, 1871.

HIGH LIFE IN GREENPOINT

Two Shop Girls Horsewhipped by a Rich Man’s Son.

ONE OF THE FEMALES A FORMER VICTIM TO HIS WHILES.

While the fact is well known that Greenpoint is one of the most dormant localities, as regards the gathering of general news items, it is also conceded that for scandal and gossip of the baser sort, there is not other single ward in the city to compare with it, the authority for which assertion is not based wholly upon brief articles which have appeared in weekly publication, an owner of which is a resident of the Seventeenth Ward, and is therefore assumed to be a competent judge.

At 5 o’clock on Saturday afternoon, a genuine sensation transpired within a short distance of the Tenth street ferry slip, which was no less than the inhuman application of a lash whip, commonly used on road wagons by Pierre Smith, the scion of a wealthy family whose father Mr. Thomas C. Smith is a proprietor of the Porcelain works in Eckford Street. The particulars of the unmanly act as related by witnesses, and one of the victims, exhibit a cowardly spirit on the part of young Smith, stamping him as void of the first principles of genuine manhood, and for that reason unworthy the respect of his fellows.

THE FEMALES ASSAILED

were Miss Rachel Kenny, of No. Washington Street (now West Street), and Alice Mooney, a resident of No. 136 Franklin Street, Greenpoint, both of whom earn a livelihood by their industry, at a shop in New York. The one last named, who is a handsome brunette and an intelligent young woman, was some four years since employed at the establishment of the Senior Mr. Smith, and became intimate with the young man to whose persuasion she yielded, under his solemn promise of marriage. She found out in time that in trusting young Smith, she was leaning as it were on a broken reed, as he failed and utterly refused to be bound by his word of honor, compelling her to appeal to the Courts for the support of their child. This course of proceeding, instead of mollifying Mr. Smith, enraged him only the more, but up to the time of the last affair of the horsewhipping, he had managed to control his temper whenever chance threw them together. At the time of their coming face to face on Saturday, the two girls were on their way home from work, and in passing along the sidewalk, beside which Smith, in company with two fashionable female acquaintances, was seated in an open wagon, they directed an unflinching gaze upon the occupants of the buggy, especially at the young man.

THE WHIP DRAWN

Without a word being uttered by either party, Smith, as alleged, drew the whip and with an effort lashed it across the shoulders and hand of Miss Mooney, at the same time, as he claims, unintentionally striking her companion on the left cheek, cutting into the flesh, from which the blood flowed profusely. Smith at once drove on board the ferryboat, taking passage to New York, and thence to Central Park, among the beauties of which he soon doubtless entirely forgot the two poor girls whom he had so recently maltreated. At all events this seems probably, as when conversed with upon the act he coolly dismissed the matter with the remark that the women were bad characters, who made a practice of insulting him whenever they met, and that having the whip handy, in the moment of excitement he had lost his temper and struck regardless of consequences. Considering the obloquy heaped upon her, Miss Mooney, strange to relate, still seems to be

INFATUATED WITH SMITH

regardless of the great injury and slight upon her by him and his family, by whom the girl is apparently held in utter contempt as a prospective relative. After the encounter and departure of the buggy containing Smith and his two friends, the young women went to the Seventh Precinct Station, where a complaint was lodged against their assailant, whose arrest was not effected until this morning.

THE HEROIC SMITH,

accompanied by his parents, both eminently respectable, and greatly grieved at the predicament their son was placed in, as also by his counsel ex-Justice Chauncey Perry, appeared before Justice Voorhies today to answer to charges of assault and battery with a whip preferred respectively by Miss Kenny and Miss Mooney, who were represented by Mr. H. B. Davis. In pleading to the complaints a distinction was made on the ground that the assault was a single act and for that reason one complaint should be entertained. Smith plead guilty to striking Miss Kenny and upon the decision of the Justice to entertain the complaint of Miss Mooney, the accused determined to contest the action of the examination of which was adjourned until Thursday next, when judgment will be rendered on the plea to the charge of Miss Kenny. To this course Mr. Davis made strenuous objection, as also to the reception of a bail bond for the appearance of young Smith on that day from the father, both of which were overruled, and the prisoner let go on the qualification of Mr. J. C. Smith in the sum of $200. Mr. Davis was proceeding to denounce to be the influence of

MR. SMITH’S MONEY BAGS.

when he was summarily cut off by the Justice and requested to take his seat. With an apology to the Court for the utterance, which Mr. Davis said he did not intend should apply to the magistrate, the irate counselor took his seat, and in a few moments the score of interested Greenpointers left the courtroom in a body commenting upon the different phases of this latest scandal in their midst.

Whoever thinks the good old days were any kinder or gentler than today clearly didn’t live in 19th century Greenpoint as woman. Yikes.

Miss Heather

Bushwick Bung du Jour

June 30, 2007 ·
Filed under: Bum Shit, Dung of the Day 

As many of you are aware, I (and a fair number of other Greenpointers) have been without a telephone and Internet access since Tuesday. Initially Verizon said everything would be back up on June 28th. On June 28th, the date was pushed back to June 30th or July 1st. Now July 2nd is the supposed date for my restoration of access to the outside world. I’ll believe it when I see it.

Let’s just say I’m seriously considering taking Semaphore lessons.

But Miss Heather is not one to whine about such trivial matters. I have gone ten days without electricity. I’m still standing (albeit stinkier) after an entire week without hot water. I have shimmied through my own bathroom window— using the fire escape on the fourth floor as a fulcrum— after having my locks filled with glue by a former Superintendent’s wife.

I have learned to be resourceful. Mostly at using other people’s resources. I have spent the last five days drifting around the north Brooklyn landscape looking for one thing: Internet access. FREE Internet access. FREE AND PRIVATE Internet access.

Perhaps I have become a diva? If I am, I am a low-budget one. Any place where I have to wear a bra and intuit enough social pressure to refrain from scratching myself (and/or cleaning my ears with a Q-Tip) is simply not conducive to fomenting my creative juices. The Dog Shit Queen of Greenpoint has needs— and one of them is having non-itchy ears.

Thankfully a good friend of mine down in Bushwick lent me a hand (and her apartment keys) to this end. The last time I trudged down there I found something that made riding the (ever tardy) B43 bus and enduring the numerous shouts of “Hey mami, I love you” totally worth it.

I found this gargantuan pile of feces on Montrose Avenue just east of Humboldt.

Detail

Here is a photo that will give you some idea as to how large this revolting refuse is. It’s big.

Montrose east of Humboldt Shit

Really fuggin’ big.

Every dark cloud has a shitty lining. And when you’re a Dog Shit Queen, that isn’t necessarily such a bad thing. This Greenpoint “Mami” loves her some Bushwick bum poo!

Miss Heather

Great Moments in Greenpoint Siding, Volume VII

June 28, 2007 ·
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic, Vinyl Siding 

Today’s architectortural masterpiece hails from Kent Street just west of McGuinness Boulevard.

Kent Street Country Bunker

As you can tell from the above photo, it sports some seriously retro asphalt siding like its predecessor. What you cannot see, however, is what makes this seemingly unremarkable two story house worthy of distinction.

Chicken Wire

Please give a hearty round of applause to The Kent Street Country Bunker!

Miss Heather

The Ring

June 26, 2007 ·
Filed under: Bum Shit, Dung of the Day 

The Ring

I found the above scheiss oddity yesterday behind the Key Food on McGuinness Boulevard. Many of you non-Greenpointers may not know it, but this area (Newel Street between Greenpoint Avenue and Calyer) is a hotbed of bumshit activity.

That’s probably why this building decided to take a dump; it got shit/pissed/vomited on one too many times and decided to retaliate. Or there is a bum living in Greenpoint who can blow shit rings out of his ass. If it’s the latter, I would humbly suggest that someone locate this man and give him his own cable television show.

Miss Heather

P.S.: Be sure to check out today’s New York Daily News. I’m quoted in it!

Horseshit

June 24, 2007 ·
Filed under: Dung of the Day, Other Shit 

Stillwell and Surf Shit

This pile of equine effluvia hails from the intersection of Stillwell and Surf Avenue at good ol’ Coney Island. I happened across it yesterday morning after spending an hour prancing along the boardwalk and being photographed by the New York Daily News. I attracted a throng of curious onlookers. I suspect what I was wearing had something to do with this.

Let them eat shitt

SEX-I-FUL!

On a whim, I decided to grace the parade with my fineass fecal female person. Being #268, I ended up waiting quite awhile before my number was called. I whiled away the time by sitting in the shade; wearing a dress covered with ~10 pounds of CRAP and two cups of sticky caramel topping can make a girl hot.

And “HOT” I was. I know this because a fellow parade-goer took great pains to tell me so.

Male Suitor: You may be covered in shit, but you are beautiful. You look like Cinderella.
Me: Uh, thanks.

After the previous exchange of pleasantries this man (who was clearly enjoying a variety of mind-altering substances) proceeded to go into an illucid five minute monologue about my many charms.

It has been a long time since I have had a man try to pick me up. This is something that simply does not happen. I strongly suspect that my “mojo” has something to do with it. Or maybe it is the way I dress? Who knows. Now (that I am married) I have learned the cardinal rule of attracting menfolk: look like SHIT.

Miss Heather

Great Moments in Greenpoint Vinyl Siding, Volume VI

June 21, 2007 ·
Filed under: Vinyl Siding 

After last week’s selection I have been hard-pressed to find an exceptional example of siding to showcase this week. Until yesterday, that is. Before vinyl and aluminum siding became the benchmark in Greenpoint there was asphalt siding. There is still plenty of it to be found too.

Fred T. Sanford

The above Fred T. Sanford-esque “wall” alone employs at least five types of vintage siding for your viewing pleasure. If you think the sight of this is ugly (and I for one don’t), wait until you see what has gone up across the street.

Eagle Street Fug

I am going to go out on a limb here and make a prediction: fugtastic and cheap-looking Neoclassical condos are going to be the “vinyl siding” of the future.

Miss Heather

McShit

June 20, 2007 ·
Filed under: Bum Shit, Dog Shit, Dung of the Day 

Before attending yesterday afternoon’s Q & A session at the Newton Creek Waste Water Treatment Plant I walked along Greenpoint Avenue. This picture-taking trek ended up lasting two hours.

As I approached 329 Greenpoint Avenue I was very hungry and needed to go to the bathroom in the worst imaginable way. Apparently someone at the intersection of North Henry Street recently had a similar problem. And having that indomitable Greenpoint “can do” attitude, he (or she) elected to do a little multi-tasking.

McRib

Shit-battered ribs: it’s what’s for dinner!

On Greenpoint Avenue (across the street from the Newton Creek Waste Water Treatment Plant) it is, anyway.

ShitRibs Rule!

Miss Heather

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