From The New York Shitty Inbox

February 9, 2009 by
Filed under: Area 51, Greenpoint Magic 

monologuemachineAs some of you can probably imagine I, the proprietress of New York Shitty, get some pretty interesting emails on occasion. Some would say this is due to the “Law of Attraction”. I disagree: the Internet in and of itself is a haven for cranks of all stripes. Thankfully the following missive (which I received Saturday night) is not of the cranky variety; it is a business proposition and a damned compelling one at that. Lee writes (in an email entitled Monologue Machines and Shitfone):

I love your photos and writing. I have this software project I’m working on

It was inspired by your photos, one of which I would like to be the background for the application’s user interface. Would you be down with that? I promise it’ll do your work justice.

After some consideration (and consultation with the Mister) I acquiesced:

Dear Mr. or Ms. (excised):

Before I get to down to business I have to say this is one of the oddest emails I have received to date (and believe you me, I have gotten some real DOOZIES). This is not to suggest I am off-put by your request. I am not. I am strangely touched by it— if for no other reason than to know someone else out there enjoys the manifold ways people in this fine city see fit to desecrate public pay phones.

The previous having been said I am tentatively amenable to you using my image(s). I say “tentative” because here’s what I suggest to/ask of you in return:

1. If you need higher resolution images (which I suspect you might) let me know so I can hunt them down and forward them to you.
2. The Greenpoint monologue machine: if my memory serves me correctly it has accumulated even more detritus (beer bottles, cigarette packs, etc.). I can send you a newer image if you wish.
3. I am given credit for my images.
4. (most importantly) If you make a shit load of money off this software I want stock. This Greenpoint gal is always looking for a golden parachute. Taking photographs of fucked up pay phones— while enjoyable— doesn’t pay for shit. Perhaps some day I can cash ’em out and buy one of those fancy condos they’re building on McGuinness Boulevard.

Let me know— and thanks for your inquiry! It made my day.

Inspired by the prospect of becoming software mogul (and having a rooftop terrace overlooking our very own Shit Tits) I paid the Monologue Machine a visit yesterday. Not only is the owner of the bodega (where this item is located) a big fan of this retro-fitted anti-communication device, but he told me a great many people have stopped by and taken pictures of it. Who knew? Maybe the time for Shitfone has, indeed, come?

Miss Heather


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