Break on through to the other side!

I just saw this on Manhattan Avenue.

Words fail me. Thankfully the owner of this van has more than enough to say. Exactly what point he is trying to make, however, is anyone’s guess.

Miss Heather

Today’s bit ‘o’ Greenpoint Goodness…

In case you haven’t figured it out already, Monday is Greenpoint Crime Blotter Day here at New York Shitty. After learning about a hooligan on Green Street who has taken to throwing refuse at Magic Johnson’s trailer, I was reminded of a very special story from the August 16, 1897 edition of the New York Times. Not only does it feature trash throwing but it also includes attempted theft, extortion and a longhorn steer being fished out of Newton Creek. Right here in Greenpoint. Enjoy!

TEXANS ON THE RAMPAGE

THEY GIVE GREENPOINT A VAST DEAL OF EXCITEMENT

People in the progressive little suburb of Greenpoint were treated to the free view of a bull fight yesterday afternoon. The arena was Manhattan Avenue and the cross streets in the neighborhood of India Street. The matador of the occasion was a policeman. There were several long-horned wild-eyed Texas steers, but only two of them were game, and only one was killed.

Shortly after 1 o’clock, while a consignment of cattle were unloading at the North Ninth Street dock, seven of them wandered out upon the street and started a tour of sight-seeing. They reached Manhattan Avenue and met the small boy in large numbers. The small boy commenced by “shooing” them, and followed it up with throwing old shoes, tomato cans, stones, and other things that came handy. The steers became first frightened and then angry. Led by a big bay and dun, they rushed along Manhattan Avenue, scattering people right and left. While vehicles turned into the side streets. At Dupont Street the leader lowered his head and catching little Arthur Morgan on one of his long horns, tossed him high in the air. The boy fell on his head and was taken into a drug store unconscious and bleeding from a gash in his shoulder, which had been made by the sharp horns. He was afterwards sent to St. Catherine’s Hospital in serious condition.

While this animal was tossing the boy the rest went on, the lead being taken by another. The bay and dun steer followed to Franklin Street, down to which he turned to Greenpoint Avenue. There he made a lunge at Daniel Murphy, and caught him on the thumb with the point of his horn, tearing the thumb badly. Further on he charged a grocery store cart, upsetting it and throwing a boy out on the pavement. Then allowed himself to be guided into a vacant lot between two houses. At the back was a high fence.

The steer looked at the fence, then at the brick walls, and turned toward the street. Then he saw a mass of people behind ropes, which had been hastily stretched, and he stood still, shaking his head and stamping his feet, while his eyes blazed and the froth dripped from his handsome mouse-colored muzzle. He seemed at a loss what to do, but his hesitation did not last long. Policeman Hasselbrook crawled under the rope with a revolver, and advanced toward the animal. As he was about to pull the trigger the steer lowered his head and charged with a roar. The bullet hit the brute in the forehead, but did not check him. Hasselbrook has seen bullfights in Spain, and applying the knowledge gained there he leaped aside and pulled the trigger again. A bullet bored its was into the animal’s side just back of the shoulder. It did not stop the steer, however, and he tore through the rope and the crowd and dashed on up to India and Franklin Streets. There he suddenly paused, staggered, and fell to the pavement with a roar. Hasselbrook had followed, and borrowing a big knife from a butcher cut the animal’s throat. The bullet had pierced his heart.

In the meantime the other animals had kept on along Manhattan Avenue for some blocks, and then they all scattered down the cross streets except the leader. The latter continued on his way to Hunter’s Point Bridge. The draw was open, but gathering himself, he made mighty spring. He came down in the water 30 feet away. Some men in boats lassoed and took him ashore at Pottery Beach, where he was held last night for salvage… the others were captured without doing any damage, and one was out in the marsh last night. The capturers of the animals demanded $5 apiece for their trouble from the man who claimed to own them. This was William Meyers of 208 Ten Eyck Street, who said he had bought them, and was driving them to a slaughter house on Johnson Avenue. He said the dead steer did not belong to him. It is believed that Meyers is not the real owner of the animals.

Yee-HAW!

Miss Heather

P.S.: Speaking of hooliganism, I want to give a shout-out to Gothamist for this. Bravo!

Oh. My. God.

Ever had a revelation about yourself that was so profound you spent the next five or ten minutes muttering to yourself “What the fuck just happened!?!” Well, I had one such moment yesterday in (where else?) Greenpoint.

After walking to the very end of Java street to take some photographs, I headed back towards West Street. When I reached this intersection a couple of particularly nasty Polish bums had parked their (even nastier) bums on an adjacent stoop. They were conversing. When I walked by the tone of their speech changed.

Suspecting that they were hurling Polish epithets at me, I tried to ignore them. Until one of them said:

She doesn’t speak Polish, she is an American.

I stopped dead in my tracks, turned around and shot them the finger. What is particularly remarkable about this otherwise banal-seeming event, you ask?

1. These men were not speaking English.
2. I understood what they were saying.
   

Who knew Miss Heather could mowimy her some po Polsku (on top of being quite proficient in the international language of “Fuck You”)? I sure as hell didn’t. Until now.

God help me.

Miss Heather

Mother’s Day, Greenpoint Style

I saw this last night in front of the Mexican grocery store on Manhattan Avenue.

Miss Heather

Just like a good neighbor…

I found this sign posted next to the construction permits (and a DOB summons for inspection!) at 110 Green Street this evening. What else can I say? (Other than this is fucking hilarious!)

Keep smiling!

Miss Heather

Save Beepy!

I was absolutely ecstatic this morning when we had a brief, but substantial, downpour. Not only had the humidity become downright stifling, but rainy days also give me a reprieve from the dreaded pile driver. This is the first morning in at least 3 days I have gone without this jarring and very unwanted wake-up call.

Nonetheless, there is still some ambient noise for me to savor whilest I write this tome.

Eight full days and one rain storm later the smoke detector (who I have taken to calling “Beepy”) continues to make its plea for a new battery. I realize what I am about to write may sound ridiculous, but I’m gonna write it anyway; I feel sorry for it. Clearly this appliance has been sorely neglected by its owner. These living conditions are downright inhumane. Even for a machine. I think I will call 311 and report the person(s) responsible.

Or more likely, I will adopt* this little fella instead. Not only will I provide a caring, nurturing home for Beepy, but his services are in great demand here at Chateau de Ghetto. The public areas of my apartment building have not so much as single smoke detector —despite citations issued by of the Department of Buildings making light of this deficit.

Miss Heather

*Steal