Greenpoint Recession Watch: Another One Bites The Dust?

July 3, 2009 ·
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic 


From Franklin Street.

Miss Heather

New York Shitty Day Starter: After The Storm

June 27, 2009 ·
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic 






From Greenpoint Avenue.

Miss Heather

News From The Greenpoint Grapevine

June 21, 2009 ·
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic 


Some of you might have noticed that the lot at the western terminus of Greenpoint Avenue (the designated site of WNYC Transmitter Park) has received a heaping helping of mulch. I was initially mystified but have since heard some neighborhood buzz that might shed some light on this recent turn of events: this space will be temporarily opened as a dog run.


Although I am pleased at the prospect that north Greenpoint’s mutts might finally— albeit temporarily— have a place to stretch their legs (and sniff each other’s butts) and I might have the opportunity to see the WNYC Transmitter building up close and personal (it’s a lovely Art Deco building) I must confess that I cannot stop asking myself:


Where’s my park?

Miss Heather

New York Shitty Day Ender: Some More People From My Neighborhood

June 11, 2009 ·
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic, Williamsburg 


Java Street


Greenpoint Avenue


Nassau Avenue


McCarren Park


Bedford Avenue


Jackson Street


Metropolitan Avenue

Miss Heather

New York Shitty Day Ender: People In My Neighborhood

June 4, 2009 ·
Filed under: Advanced Life Forms, Greenpoint Magic 


Today was a red letter day for yours truly here in the Garden Spot of the Universe. My morning kicked off on a less than auspicious note. After being awakened by Con-Ed tearing up the street in front of my apartment dazed, and more than a little confused, I mistook a bottle of depilatory for sunblock. Luckily I discovered my error quickly enough that I didn’t go blind or end up looking like this.

Nonetheless the utter stupidity of my mistake (and the din outside my living room window) put me in a very shitty mood. When queried by my buddy Larry da Junkman as to how I was doing— unlike many people who ask how you’re doing (in the expectation of the perfunctory “good”, “great” or “how are you”)— Larry actually cares. I told him the ugly truth:

I have been forced to listen to my street being jack hammered for six hours straight while waiting for Verizon to repair our Internet line. They never came. I am in a rotten mood and I’m going for walk.

That’s what I love about New York City; if you want to be left the hell alone you don’t seclude yourself in your home like Howard Hughes, you go out. Barring being run over by a car you can rest assured no one will trouble you with small talk or other time-consuming (and soul-sucking) banalities. Hell, even if you are run over by a car the odds are pretty people will probably leave you alone. For a city where privacy is pretty much a hit or miss affair New Yorker’s are very respectful of each others need to be alone with one’s own thoughts. But I digress.

Perhaps it was the brief glimpse of sunshine this afternoon or my choice of apparel: gray pants, gray thermal top and Mao hat— gray— but my quest for solitude did not happen. Quite to the contrary: a number of gentleman were quite eager to make my acquaintance. I suppose it just goes to show how misguided some women here are in regards to their personal appearance. When it comes to attracting the opposite sex in Greenpoint, chuck the glam and look like a very dour, pissed off one woman cultural revolution waiting to happen instead.

Then again my taste in men has always been a bit eccentric. Just ask my husband. On that note here are a couple of wonderful chaps I met while knocking around the Garden Spot of the Universe while trying to be alone.


Name: Joe
Location: Monitor Street

I’ve featured Joe on New York Shitty before. He’s a regular at McGolrick Park, playing Hank Williams and Johnny Cash songs for the enjoyment or apathy of fellow park goers. Today we met, talked country and western music and he played a few songs for me. Here are a couple selections. Enjoy!

Joe seemed to be surprised I knew who Hank Williams was. Once I told him I was born in Waco, Texas he seemed to understand. We discussed Hank Williams II and III. Joe saw the latter on North 6th Street once and came away nonplussed:

Hell, I sing Hank’s songs better than he did! You gotta put heart into them.

If you happen upon Joe at McGolrick Park ask him to play “Folsom Prison Blues”. It is totally worth the lengthy and very informative and enjoyable discussion you will have with him afterward. Joe has an encyclopedic (and thoroughly fascinating) grasp of music and life in general. What’s more, Joe is a sweetheart who happens to live on one of my favorite thoroughfares: McGuinness Boulevard.


Name: Eddie
Leonard Street just south of Greenpoint Avenue

You can imagine my shock and delight when I crossed paths with the man who gave D.I. Fulton an earful at last month’s 94th Precinct Community Council Meeting. Eddie was kicking back on Leonard Street enjoying a ciggie and a brewski with Coco (as in Coco Chanel— he was very adamant that her namesake be known) when he saw me taking a photograph of 157 Greenpoint Avenue* (which is pretty craptastic— and for rent!). He exclaimed:

Take a picture of my dog!

Not wishing to incur Eddie’s now legendary wrath I gladly obliged. What followed was a conversation in the purest academic sense of the word.

You do not argue with the Plato of Greenpoint. You sit down, shut the fuck up and listen. And today at 6:00 p.m. I was his eager pupil— or captive— take your pick. I was his Aristotle albeit without a bottle. Not that I needed one: Eddie had a 24 ounce can of Budweiser which he had been clearly nursing for some time.

Jesus, the King of Kings, can shill wine as much as he wants. This is Greenpoint and the King of Beers is the power behind many a discourse here. My tutorial with Eddie was no exception. He said (while pointing at his chest):

I like the New York Rangers. They suck.

Who can argue with that?

Miss Heather

Post Script: Lest any of you are wondering about the photograph gracing the beginning of this post it hails from the comatose Pencil Factory Condos. The chap in said photograph, a teacher, decided to start getting in shape for the summer by doing a few chin-ups on their sidewalk shed. He opined:

People pay $70.00 month for a gym and never go.

I replied:

The world is your gym. Be it spelled G-Y-M or G-E-M. It’s yours. I like that. What’s more, I for one am glad to see you’re putting this sidewalk shed to good use. It’s not like they’re using it or anything.

*The headquarters for Women For Yassky run by one Susan Anderson of Anderson Capital Management. If this name sounds familiar, fellow Greenpointers, it is because this woman heads the org “Town Square” and surreptitiously let Exxon Mobil participate in and fund Earth Day celebrations at McCarren Park in 2008. She really got her panties in a wad when the (inevitable) protests came to pass.

Crosstown Local Photos Du Jour: Size Matters

June 3, 2009 ·
Filed under: Crosstown Local, Greenpoint Magic 

A friend of mine recently made the brilliant observation that Twitter is the “bathroom room wall” of the Internet. Not only do I think this is true, but I would like to take his logic one step further: the Greenpoint Avenue stop of the G train is the Twitter of the New York City subway system. Follows is how I came to this conclusion.

The demographic of both Twitter and the Crosstown Local is more or less the same: people wishing they were somewhere else, e.g.; in the case of Twitter somewhere other than work and in the case of the Crosstown Local riding the G train. Eventually this ennui degenerates into anger and the exchanges start to get heated. This is when it starts to get interesting. Take this exchange I found on the Queens bound platform recently, for example.


As you can see rather lively dialogue is taking place on this poster for Royal Pains. Let’s go in for a closer look!



I guess size really does matter after all. Or does it?


To paraphrase Mark Twain:

It’s not the size of the sharpie in the fight, it’s the size of the fight in the sharpie .

Miss Heather

From The New York Shitty Inbox: Two Weekends

June 1, 2009 ·
Filed under: Crosstown Local, Greenpoint Magic 


This missive comes courtesy of the Mister via an email entitled “Good Morning”. Clearly for some G train patron brandishing a felt tip pen it was anything but.

Miss Heather

From The New York Shitty Inbox: Much Ado About Manholes!

May 26, 2009 ·
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic 

Tony writes at 5:39 p.m.:

an apparent blown manhole cover in front of chopin chemists on manhattan ave. ten min. ago i heards a boom and the lights dimmed and flickered. it appears that no one was hurt.

To wit I replied:

I tell you when the CHUDs finally decide to come above ground here is where they’re going to do it. What’s more, no one will notice!

Another reader named David noticed today’s excitement. What’s more he took photographs. He writes at 6:13 p.m.:

maybe 20 mins ago or so.  from my vantage point it seems a manhole explosion.  police/fire response was quick, under 5 min.





Miss Heather

From The New York Shitty Photo Pool: Shallot Kingdom

May 25, 2009 ·
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic 



These stunning photographs by Mugsniffer are not only lovely in their own right, but they are also proof I am not the only person who has noticed Greenpoint’s recent shallot invasion!

Miss Heather

New York Shitty Day Starter: Street Shallots

May 22, 2009 ·
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic 

Yesterday as I was walking down the valley of the shadow of Greenpoint’s death (West Street between Calyer Street and Greenpoint Avenue) I smelled shallots. Being a lover of tasty smelly things I followed my nose. This is what I found.


Shallots on the sidewalk.


Lots of ’em.


And shallots on the street. In 85 degree weather.

New York Shitty analysis:

  1. Those of you who are more observant might notice this rich harvest of halitosis-inducing foodstuffs is laid out rather liberally in front of what will (or at least is promised to be) WNYC Transmitter Park.
  2. I have no idea what the “produce handling” regulations are in our fair city. But I suspect leaving members of the onion family on the street— a street, I will add— where derelicts and ne’er do wells tend to congregate; shoot up and pee is hygienically questionable. And then of course you have the issue of “run off”, e.g., street sludge, oil, anti-freeze, etc.
  3. See: Upton Sinclair’s The Jungle.

Pick your produce wisely. 2009 is the new 1906!

Miss Heather

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