Out of state, Out of mind

Unlike my buddy Bob, I actually enjoy reading the comments posted on Curbed. This is probably because I make it a point to troll the depths of human stupidity, arrogance and avarice whenever the time affords itself. By far my favorite type of comment to be found there is of the (ubiquitous) “if you don’t like it, go back to hell where you came from” variety.

There is something grimly ironic about living in the city of immigrants and being told if you are not from Brooklyn you are not entitled to any say regarding events happening there. It makes me wish I could teleport these assholes to 1855 when ONE THIRD of the ENTIRE FUCKING BOROUGH was Irish born. I’d love to see how one of my Celtic homeboys would respond to such a crass and nativist statement, although two words do immediately come to mind: WHOOP ASS (or BEAT DOWN— take your pick).

My usual response to being told to go home is this: I AM HOME. Greenpoint is my home. Has been for some time. Although inconceivable to many, I cannot honestly imagine living anywhere else. I love it here and am genuinely worried about the events that are (sadly) reshaping this ‘hood for generations to come. Being awakened every morning by a pile driver doesn’t help much either.

That said, I was recently in the position of considering what it would be like to live somewhere else. This is because some real estate snake oil salesman (please excuse the previous redundancy) SOMEHOW got my husband’s contact information and had the temerity to mail us an offer (he thought) we couldn’t refuse…

Dear Friend,

Ocala’s unique environment is one of the major reasons why people come here to visit, and then live. According to Ocala tourism officials, those of us who live in Ocala have a number of special benefits. All the things that make our wonderful state so attractive to millions of visitors from all over the world are right here in our own backyard.

That statement is no more true about Ocala/Marion county than almost any other place in the state. Our own backyard includes Silver Springs-Nature’s Theme Park. The Ocala National Forest, the rolling green fields of horse farms, historic districts and city streets canopied by 100 year old trees, outstanding golf courses, friendly communities, crystal clear rivers and fresh water springs. Also, the sub-tropical climate makes Marion County a vacation land year round. Little wonder that residents spend as much times as possible outdoors.

Much of the region’s natural beauty remains unspoiled, and the residents enjoy a quality of life that has little equal. Here the pace of life is moderated by the tranquility of the setting. With nearly perfect weather year-round, the outdoors offers an endless panorama of natural beauty, historic landmarks, and both natural and man-made recreational activities.

The Ocala/Marion County area won national distinction when Ocala was named an “All American City” by the National Civic League, and the area was named fifth most desirable place to live by Money Magazine. Ocala offers virtually every shopping convenience with major malls and national known stores and restaurants. Yet the city is comfortable sized and easy to get around in, having maintained much of its historic charm.

In conclusion, in Ocala/Marion County there is no state taxes. This is where you can get affordable housing starting at $138,500 with little or no money out of your pocket if you qualify. Whether you are interested making Ocala/Marion County your home or a place to invest, please do not hesitate to call me now. Cell: 555-1212 or call (name excised), (name excised) or (name excised) @ 555-1313.

Please share this information-Its a great place for business.

Respectfully,

(name excised)

The first thought that crossed my mind upon reading the above ‘teaser’ was “Where the hell is Ocala, Florida?” After a little ‘Googling’, the second one was “Why the hell would I want to move there?!?” I am guessing the logic here (if there us any) is that if my husband and I pay so much money in rent to live in nasty old Greenpoint, we would be absolutely delighted to have very our own piece of the American (D)ream in Florida.

If this was the assumption, it was a faulty one; I hate Florida. The reasons are WAY too numerous to go into on this post, but the 2004 2000 Presidential Election is one of them. What’s more, I FUCKING DESPISE tract homes. The same goes for shoddy grammar. But let’s get back to my new dream home…

There’s something mildly disquieting about naming a line of tract homes after a water filtration system. Perhaps they seek to preserve my precious bodily fluids (so they can extract them later in lieu of a ginormous balloon payment)? Then again, maybe I am being too harsh? So let’s learn a little bit more about the paradise that is Ocala, Florida.

Per this site Ocala sports:

• …tornado activity is slightly above Florida state average. It is 60% greater than the overall U.S. average. (No wonder they have so many ‘outdoor activities’ down there. —Ed. Note.)
• 297 registered sex offenders (against an overall population of ~46,000). That’s kind of scary, but don’t worry…
• when my turn comes I can take solace in the fact that my attacker will probably be a married white male:
  • 69% of the population is white
  • 48% of the population is married
• Whew! I feel A LOT better— how about you? It gives me peace of mind to know that my odds are 1:167 for bumping into a registered sex offender when I go to the Super Walmart to buy my Ho-Hos, Pall Malls and econo-packs of YooHoo. As long as I don’t have expose my lily white soul to ‘dem godless homos (which constitute a whopping .5% of the population), I’m satisfied. (And I’m certain the only reason these sodomites are left is because they GOD ran out of kindling.)
• My career prospects (as a female) include:
  • Preschool, kindergarten, elementary and middle school teachers (6%)
  • Secretaries and administrative assistants (6%)
  • Other office and administrative support workers including supervisors (5%)
  • Registered nurses (4%)
  • Cashiers (4%)
  • Other sales and related workers including supervisors (4%)

Wow, this is an awful lot of of material for my wee widdle (underpaid wiper of other peoples’ bottoms) brain to process! Maybe a checklist would help…

…and Greenpoint wins by a NOSE!

Miss Heather

Brooklyn Blogfest

I came across the above item yesterday via The Gowanus Lounge. My curiosity aroused, I read more about this event on their web site and, after some careful consideration, decided to check this thing out. “Miss Heather… going to Park Slope?!?“, you exclaim? Well, the following dialogue between my husband and I should lend a little insight as to what the deciding factor was for this momentous decision.

Me: Dude, the sponsor of this event is a tequila maker. They’re serving margaritas at this shindig.
Husband: So when is it?
Me: I don’t know. I just RSVP-ed for it.

So there have you. Miss Heather may dislike the ‘Slope, but I also believe Greenpoint needs to represent. And being the fine-ass Dog Shit Queen I am, it is my responsibility to do the representing the best way I know how by:

1. swilling free booze and
2. acting like a drunken asshole the entire ride home (on the G train) afterwards.

Miss Heather

Crotchling Caper: Take Back the Night

Or (to be semantically correct): mothers who bear fruit from being fucked.

My husband and I found this delightfully misanthropic bit ‘o’ vandalism Saturday night on the Brooklyn bound platform of the G at Metropolitan Avenue. After working overtime two days in a row I was beyond being tired; I was fucking exhausted. But mere fatigue was not about to keep me from attending my (insanely talented and very sweet) buddy Mark’s opening at Gitana Rosa this particular evening and having dinner with a(nother) friend afterward. Unfortunately my dining experience was blighted by:

1. my husband throwing a tantrum because his cocktail was not up to his satisfaction and (ironically enough)…
2. my having the misfortune of sitting next to a(nother) screaming baby.

To the parents’ credit, they did take the child outside to quiet him (in hindsight, perhaps I should have done the same thing with mine?). But I cannot help wondering why a baby should be at Black Betty at 8:30-9:30 ON A SATURDAY NIGHT in the first place. Seriously.

Unlike most people I actually enjoy my job. A lot. But it can be a very physically and mentally demanding one on occasion. This was the case yesterday and I did not appreciate spending my (long anticipated and much needed) ‘down time’ listening to some crotchling scream like banshee. I shit you not, at one point that little bastard’s bellowing made my ears ring.

Bearing the previous in mind, I would like to propose a revised “Take Back the Night” campaign. One whose purpose is not to deter sexual offenders (though this is very laudable and necessary thing), but rather, to retake the evening on behalf of the big kids, e.g.; you must be this tall to ride this ride, snot-monger! And if all you ‘hip’ parents out there don’t like it, too fucking bad! You should have thought about that before you decided to unleash your little busted rubbers on the rest of us (who would just as well not have them).

The way I see it, being a disruptive noisy fuck on a Saturday night is the one (and perhaps only) solace we adults have. This is not just our prerogative, it is OUR RIGHT— and I am not about to let some simpering little shit partake of it prematurely. Little Cooper or Kaitlin will have to wait until they are 21— and their (grand)parents buy them their own goddamn condos— before their entitled caterwauls can/will reach my (hopefully deaf) ears. If I’m not deaf by then I’ll just drink myself into a stupor so as to render the sob stories about some McCarren Park Princess’s mommy forcing her to buy a new couch (to match her one million dollar condo) incomprehensible.

In the meantime I have made it a point to channel my assholic behavior at venues that encourage (or don’t discourage) the presence of screaming little houseapes. This isn’t a threat; it’s a promise. After carefully cultivating 30-odd years of bottled-up rage, I have near endless supply of sordid grist for my mill. Just ask one of my fellow diners at Cafe Mexicano II about the time I feigned crying and wailed:

I lost my virginity to this song!

…when the management (unwisely) chose to play “Rosanna” by Toto one Friday night*. You could hear a pin drop after I dropped that turd— but what really creeped them out was my husband laughing his ass off immediately afterwards. Go figure.

Miss Heather

*This is not true, by the way. Although my personal life is my own business, I will point out that if this had happened I would have been in elementary school at the time— and that kind of shit doesn’t fly where I grew up: Texas. We always left that kind of sick shit to our neighbors to the east (READ: the ‘deep south’).

110 Green Street Litigation Update

Per Larry Schwab, the court hearing mentioned in this post has been postponed to May 18th.

This doesn’t mean, however, that those of us who are (already) sick of this project can’t make our discontentment known in the meantime. As it happens, Magic Johnson will be speaking at Medgar Evans College tonight. The invite reads:

Join me in Brooklyn, together we can make a difference.

Certainly I am not the only person who finds the above statement darkly amusing (and very tempting). I think someone should go down there and give him a big ol’ Greenpoint welcome! And why not stay for the free food and drinks afterwards? Freeloading (and shit throwing) is our god-given way of life, after all.

Miss Heather