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Culture on the Cheap
A Very Special Greenpoint Moment
Ever had one of those moments when you see something and think to yourself:
Gee, I bet there is an interesting story behind this.
Only to realize that in order to achieve true understanding would probably entail taking large quantities of psychotropic drugs? I had one of those moments this afternoon on Monitor Street.
Well, what do we have here?
But of course— It’s the Anti Imbedded Mossad Partymobile! Silly me.
Looks like the rear suspension could use a little work.
REJECTING THE SOLDIER’S RIGHT TO BE CLONED IS TREASON.
Shine on you crazy diamond, you! SHINE. ON.
Miss Heather
(Speechless)
Ever had one of those moments when you see something and all you can do is stand there staring at it like a slack-jawed idiot? I had one such moment today on Meserole Avenue.
I know the city is trying to cut costs and everything, but wouldn’t simply painting the curb yellow have been a quicker (and less hideous) option? In all seriousness. I wonder which costs more: the $115.00 ticket for parking in this space or the ticket for admonishing someone (via the use of spray paint) of the $115.00 fine for parking in this space? Don’t everyone speak up at once.
Miss Heather
Boobification Photo du Jour: Sugar Tits
One thing I have observed thus far in my boobification project is when people (especially men) see me walking purposely down the street with a pair rubber tits they leave you alone. Sure they will watch me attach these appendages to one piece of public property or another and take a photograph of it. But nary soul has bothered to ask me what I am doing. Or why. Until yesterday on Kent Avenue, that is.
20-Something Man With Camera:
Why are you molesting that hydrant?
Miss Heather: I’m a pervert. I can’t help myself. I’m taking the girls to East Williamsburg next.
He thought this was incredibly funny. I suppose it is— but the way I see it there are two kinds of people in this world:
- The ones who ask why you are molesting a fire hydrant.
- The ones who ask why you aren’t molesting a fire hydrant.
Given all the shit I have seen in New York Shitty I suspect the latter group is much larger than many of you think!
Miss Heather
P.S.: You can see more Brooklyn boobification pix by clicking here!
This Just In!
Ben writes:
Woke up to the sounds of sirens this morning. Went down and the Rat King’s new residence was smoking. I got there right as the smoke was really kicking up and the firemen were pouring in. The ‘King’ himself was yelling at the firemen. They were trying to get him out of the way “Buddy, Get the Fuck Back!” That’s him there in the blue shirt.
WOW. This makes two houses gone is an many months. Anyone care to guess where the Rat King (or as some of you prefer: the Pigeon King) will hang his hat next?
Miss Heather
Once Again, This Is Why I Left Texas.
Pa Heather writes:
OK Brooklyn, Top This One
DALLAS — A robber rolled into a Dallas convenience store came armed with a bat and a knife. He left with a lot of condoms and an energy drink.
Note the robber “rolled” in. Yes, said perp’s getaway vehicle was a wheelchair. Trust me, it only gets better.
Miss Heather
Thanks But No Thanks. Really. I Mean it.
Mr. Heather pulled a graveyard shift and then some working from home yesterday. As a result I did not have computer access until 8:00 p.m. When I finally got around to checking my email I found a real gem. It was entitled “domain for sale?” Uncle Paulie* writes:
Hi Miss Heather,
I stumbled across your site and was interested in seeing if you would sell the domain name newyorkshitty.com. If so, please let me know. I am willing to pay $1,000.
I wasn’t interested so I didn’t reply. Nonetheless I received this (unsolicited) update at midnight:
Hi Miss Heather, please disregard my email, I ended up buying a different domain name. Have a good day.
What did Paulie expect me to do? Trip over my keyboard, flail my arms and scream OH, OH, OH! Horshack style in the hopes of accepting his generous offer? I don’t think so.
The thought I might have some attachment to this url clearly never crossed this chap’s mind. Such is the joy that is capitalism; it affords no value to “art” or personal enjoyment— unless greenbacks are involved. New York Shitty is my brain child; it is the place I share what I love (and hate) about living in New York City. For wont of a better way of putting it: newyorkshitty.com is a part of my life. It is a diary of my mental diarrhea.
For better or worse New York Shitty will persist. And for the record, it has been much better than worse. I have met some WONDERFUL (and powerful) north Brooklyn lasses (like this, this, this and this) as a result.
One grand doesn’t even begin to cover the joy operating this blog (since April 2006) gives me. Good luck with your new url schmuck. Had you added few zeros to this figure and I might— MIGHT —have considered your offer.
$1,000.
Really?
Miss “Easy But Not Cheap” Heather
*This is not his real name.
Thank You Sarah Palin: Shitty Family Values
Ever had something you just couldn’t stop picking at? I distinctly remember elementary school classmates who attentively picked at each and every scab gracing their arms and legs. Beneath them (in the class caste system) were the nose pickers; while a source of curiosity (and amusement) to many, their compulsive digging did little to enhance their social status in the smash jaw world that was (and probably still is) the third grade. A distinct subset of the previous were the booger eaters. They were beyond the pale. The next (and only) stop in the preteen city of Dis were the kids who compulsively gave themselves “Indian burns” with chalk board erasers or sucked their thumbs.
I mention this because Sarah Palin and her fascinating (and rapidly procreating) family have become my scab. Inasmuch as I tell myself that I should just leave it alone the truth is I can’t. Not unlike Angel the girl who sucked her thumb until the 6th grade; I cannot avert my eyes from the Palin clan. They are too magnificently abject. I must savor every sordid detail.
I’m not the only one, either. I get anywhere from 6-8 emails a day from Pa Heather outlining their latest misdeeds. With color commentary. And given his propensity for writing (Pa Heather did, after all, once send President Jimmy Carter a four page typewritten letter politely telling him everything he was doing wrong), the commentary has been copious.
FAMILY BONDING
The last time Pa Heather and I talked “politics” (and had a true father/daughter moment for that matter) was after Nixon’s funeral in 1994). The source of our amusement was Spiro “if you’ve seen one city slum you’ve seen them all” Agnew.*
Miss Heather: I didn’t know he was alive.
Pa Heather: I didn’t know he was out of prison.
(dark laughter)
Pa Heather has distinct (if antiquated) ideas of how women should deport themselves. He’s pro-choice, but finds women drinking beer (especially from the bottle) distasteful. Having a daughter who can match his command of profanity (and taste for beer) presents certain issues to Pa Heather. We’re not estranged; we simply do not talk that much.
That is, until Sarah Palin came along!
Depending on one’s viewpoint Pa Heather getting a new computer and high speed Internet access can be a gift or a curse. Since I am not on the receiving end of what he rants about— and he rails aplenty (did I mention Pa Heather is retired?)— I don’t really mind. In fact I find it amusing and occasionally join in.
CASE IN POINT #1: email entitled “Wonderful” dated September 2, 2008
Pa Heather:
Carville: City hall of town where Palin was mayor looks like a southern Louisiana bait shop.
My reply:
Now, now. Not everyone can have a city hall as splendid as ours. Toss in a portable television, mini fridge and a porch swing for courtin’ and this baby will be PHAT!
As a matter of fact Wasilla’s City Hall might have a distinct advantage over ours: it appears to be equipped with a drive-thru window. We city slickers (and community organizers) need to quit examining our over-educated navels and recognize progress. After you pay off your parking tickets I bet the City of Wasilla throws in a free growler of beer or a round (or two) of ammunition.
CASE IN POINT #2: an email entitled “From (name excised)” dated September 3, 2008
In case you are hungry for more about SP, here it is.8 More Shocking Revelations About Sarah Palin
By Isaac Fitzgerald and Tana Ganeva, AlterNet
Posted on September 3, 2008, Printed on September 3, 2008
http://www.alternet.org/story/97350/
To wit I replied:
It’s so touching to see such “family values” at work.
This time I hit “reply all” and copied all my father’s friends. The more the merrier, thought. It was. I got a reply from one of them:
I am shocked, shocked that such things have occurred during this fine, upstanding citizen’s watch!
Feeling loquacious, I kept the ball rolling:
I know, I am as disgusted as you are: Captain Morgan?!? Surely Bristol could have secured better hooch. You know, with her mother being Gov and all.
Of course, you know what the Captain’s slogan is:
“Got a little Captain in You?”
She does!
These people make it too easy. Seriously. I almost feel bad about picking on Bristol Cream or whatever her name is.
Almost.
CASE IN POINT #3: Yesterday’s choice morsel entitled “2 months to go”:
Todd Palin’s former business partner files an emergency motion to have his divorce papers sealed. Oh God. The Enquirer was right…she f***** his business partner..Or at least that’s what i’m going to hope and pray for. Self righteous, NEOCON, holier than thou, airhead..
I have yet to reply to this one— but I will. I will undoubtedly write something to the effect that the Palin women seem to be good at fucking (given their propensity for pro-creating— YOUNG). I suppose I should expect as much from people hailing from a state where (under the right circumstances) a 13 year old can be considered of age to consent.
But this post isn’t about Palin-bashing (as fun and easy as it is). Rather it is a testament to family values and togetherness.
Ms. Sarah Palin has not only moved my father, an AVOWED ATHIEST, to type the word “god” with a capital “G” but she has moved him to “hope” and “pray”. Pa Heather is not only an atheist. He also happens to be an avowed social conservative who voted for Barry Goldwater in 1964 and will probably vote for Obama in 2008. Do I find this shocking? Yes. But you know what they say:
God works in mysterious ways.
Most importantly dear old dad and I have exchanged more emails in three days than we usually do in three months since this dipstick with lipstick came onto the scene. Sometimes even Ma Heather joins in the fun!
Thank you Sarah, Todd, Track, Bristol, Willow, Piper, Trig (O’nometry)** and lest I forget Levi Johnston*** for bringing my wayward family back together!
Miss Heather
Photo Credits: Just Jared and CNN
*Along with this sensitive sentiment:
Three things have been difficult to tame: the oceans, fools and women. We may soon be able to tame the oceans; fools and women will take a little longer.
Guess what Spiro? They (being the Republican Party) DID IT. How else can you explain why Palin is on the Vice Presidential ticket and this?
**Sarah Palin confessed to smoking pot in college but said she didn’t like it. Her children’s names beg to differ. What will Bristol name her child? I’d like to propose Boolean Algebra Johnston— BooJay for short.
***The HOT future felon/Billy Carter that you are! If/when I become President I’ll make you my intern. 😉
I Can’t Help It: Sarah Palin Is The New Crack!
Welcome to the New Whirled Odor!
This old coot cracks me up.
I left Texas in 1996. I moved to New York City in search of a better life (and a MFA). I got both: albeit in installments. I have lived in the Bronx, Queens and Brooklyn. My life was rough at times but I never, EVER wanted to go back to this.
Can you blame me?
Miss Heather
Great Moments In Real Estate Advertising: BEAT Schermerhorn
You know times are tough when a development in downtown Brooklyn sees fit to (illegally?) advertise on a construction fence on McGuinness Boulevard. Repeatedly.
I prefer not to “be”; I am.”be@shermerhorn” appeals to shit talkers; I talk shit. Literally. Nonetheless I know a crap hole neighborhood when I see one and Schermerhorn REEKS! Corcoran should retool their marketing strategy accordingly:
- Be ready for jury duty. (DESPITE A FUCKING BLIZZARD LAST YEAR I WAS EXPECTED TO SHOW. AND DID.)
- Be ready to visit your friends in jail and bail them out!
- Be ready to go to jail. Let Schermerhorn be your “home away from home”. We’ll leave the light on for you!
Be At Schermerhorn!
I think I’ll stay in Greenpoint, thank you very much. I mean, how can a gal resist a balcony with a view like this!
I have always loved the smell of gasoline and automotive exhaust!
Looking at an Exxon Station day after day makes me feel, well, DIRTY…
in a uniquely Greenpoint kind of way. Screw you Schermerhorn! I’m staying in Stinkpoint!
Miss Heather
Am I A Real Greenpointer Now?
(Or, it’s a full moon in Greenpoint)
The one subject I am rapidly tiring of is the issue of what makes a “real” citizen of (insert neighborhood here). Some were born in New York Shitty, and yes, some have even died here! It’s what’s in between that seems to be the pickle. At what point has one lived in a given neighborhood (in this case, Greenpoint) long enough to earn “street cred” from the self-appointed guardians of citizenship? I neither know the answer of this question nor do I care to learn it. To fixate upon the past is to ignore the present and abrogate one’s responsibility to shape the future. Which brings me to a Greenpoint incident of note from yesterday, July 18.
When I arrived at the junk shop I noticed something balled-up in a plastic bag. It was a wig. I pulled it out and looked at it.
Me (to a co-worker): This looks pretty ratty. Methinks I am going to throw it in the dumpster. That way we’ll see some crazy person wearing it in the neighborhood tomorrow.
ASIDE: Before I continue I would like to clarify something. The dumpster at the junk shop is arguably as popular as the store itself. Not only do people see fit to use it as a trash repository (such as the psychic next door* who once saw fit to dump her barbecue grill, replete with smoldering briquettes in it July 4th), but it is rifled through on a nightly basis by people who either do not know what has been placed in there (trust me, some of it was rather gross) or do not care.
Now jump forward to last night. It is 8:45 p.m. and I am headed down Manhattan Avenue to meet some friends for dinner. True to form, dumpster diving was well underway…
and the dude doing the diving was wearing said wig.
Is it just me or does this man bear an uncanny resemblance to Ron Jeremy?
Close but no cigar: my prognostication was off by approximately three hours. I may very well be on my way to becoming a real Greenpointer, but clearly I still have a ways to go.
Miss Heather
*Who has a habit of buying large quantities of lotto tickets. If this woman was truly psychic why hasn’t she won by now?
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