Greenpoint
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Culture on the Cheap
Dog Doo Sign Du Jour: Failure To Communicate
There is simply too much goodness going on here to go into in a mere blog post. This having been said I honestly don’t know which I like better: the carefully balanced box of beer bottles…
the total ineffectiveness of this missive or the fact the author of this missive appears to have no problem with having large quantities of beer bottles inhabiting the sidewalk. Then again I suppose this is Greenpoint: we are well known for our affinity for intoxicating substances.
Miss Heather
Divine Dog Shit Intervention: Bushwick Style
Filed under: Brooklyn, Bum Shit, Bushwick, Dog Shit, Dog Shit Signage, Dung of the Day, Other Shit
Churches give me the creeps. The tradition in many faiths is religion runs along matriarchal lines. My father is an avowed atheist, my mother was raised Methodist. My grandmother (my mother’s mother) tried to inculcate the Calvinist vision into my person.
It failed miserably. Probably because I do want to slave for a salvation I will probably not achieve. If god has already elected his own why should I bother? Besides, the Sunday School classes were downright stupid.*
In the spirit of good faith (and acknowledging the arguments set forth on both sides)— I reached a moral compromise: agnostic. But when I witnessed what I saw on George Street yesterday it made my agnosticism shudder with self-loathing Calvinistic doubt.
This is the Cathedral of Joy. It may not look very joyous but it is indeed a church and its mission is to save souls…
and fight dog shit.
This is a church. Have some respect for the house of the Lord. Please (unintelligible) or curb your dog. Thank you.
I found two turds and a pair of pink panties in front of this establishment. Across the street was another matter.
Thirteen turds. One for each apostle plus one. A veritable Last Supper of dog shit (Judas Iscariot included)!
My conclusion: the fear of/hand of god is motivating dog owners to take their shit elsewhere. Unfortunately in this case it is across the street.
But it is a start!
Perhaps the City of New York will take heed of this novel tactic?
Miss Heather
*Although it could arguably be good job training for corporate shills: rote memorization and repetition. Methodism makes for good stenographers. Regurgitating what has been said accurately without the onus of knowing what it means. No disrepect to stenographers. You work harder than Methodists do.
East Williamsburg Photos Du Jour: Meet The Graham Avenue Meat
Filed under: Area 51, Bum Shit, Bushwick, Dog Shit, Dung of the Day, Other Shit, Vomit, Williamsburg
Meat on the inside…
and WTF on the out.
When Mr. Heather got home from work I asked him what he thought the above-depicted thing was. He said (in his unprofessional opinion) it was vomit from a dog who had eaten sausage with a lot of red dye in it (because he has seen this happen before). All I know is whoever (or WHATEVER) discharged this (one of the most revolting things I have ever seen in New York City— and this is really saying something) should probably visit a doctor…
or an exorcist.
Miss Heather
P.S.: I puked a little inside while writing this post.
Dog Doo Sign Du Jour: Gratitude
This public service announcement has been brought to you courtesy of 150 West Street.
Miss Heather
Dung Of The Day: Glass Half Full Edition
After learning about the latest incarnation of this sign last week I simply had to see it for myself. What’s more I wanted to gauge its effectiveness. I have some good news and some bad news to relay:
1. While on the one hand it would appear the local citizenry are obeying the letter of the sign,
2. on the other they do not seem to be grasping its spirit.
Glass half empty or glass half full? I’ll let you make the call.
While I’m on the subject of dog shit and day-glo paint, I was recently forwarded a most amusing item from my friend over at And I am Not Lying. Here’s a teaser to pique your interest:
There were two good things about my apartment in Virginia:
The rent was only $175 a month, and Brad the landlord never came over. Ever. Or so we thought. This seemed ideal at the time, as I was using the living room as a painting space in addition to training live chickens to play keyboards in the living room. The less company, the better.
But like so much else in the world, the good and bad parts of that situation were horribly entangled.
We’d moved into the place in a hurry in the dead of an unusually cold winter – which served to keep the smell down..
Yup, and it only gets better.
Miss Heather
South 4th Street Gets Bombed… Again!
It has been a while since I have checked out South 4th Street: home of what is arguably the slickest and most visually explicit anti-dog shit signage to be found in our fair city. Wishing to see how these admonishments were faring I swung by South 4th Street to see how things were shaking. I will start with the good news —I’m grading on a bell curve here— because (let’s face facts) this location isn’t going pass as dead ringer for Brooklyn Heights anytime soon: the block looked relatively clean.
And now for the bad news…
It would appear the sign itself has been bombed. I don’t know about you but what I find fascinating is the time and effort this person took to smear dog (?) feces on this missive. It would have easily have taken half the time simply to toss it in a plastic bag. Damn.
Miss Heather
The Sights & Sounds Of Atlantic Antic
I am spending this lovely (if a bit brisk) Monday afternoon recovering from my jaunt to Atlantic Antic yesterday. My feet may be killing me today but it was totally worth it: not only did I have a lot of fun but I also bumped into Norman Oder of Atlantic Yards Report! Anyhoo, here’s a short film highlighting some of my favorite (and in one case, LEAST FAVORITE) experiences at this year’s Antic. Enjoy!
Be sure to check out my photo set on Flickr for more highlights from this year’s event!
(Yet) more to come!
Miss Heather
Enough With The Anal Glands Already!
I have been rather grumpy of late. This is due in large part to a seemingly never-ending series of pet-related maladies. First it was an abscessed anal gland. In treating that the veterinarian noticed the front of our cat wasn’t looking so good: this entailed having three teeth pulled. An appointment was made. Next it was two (other) cats getting ringworm. We are treating this with some level of success on our own.
After getting a deep cleaning of my own teeth (which entailed being given Novocaine) I hurried home (and in so doing got spritzed with cement) took a bath and ventured back out to retrieve our cat Artemis from having his teeth extracted. I was not in a good mood. So I arrive at the vet. As is usually the case I had to wait a good 20 minutes.
Then it was my turn. I am told the surgery went well and then the vet said:
That anal gland is healing nicely. Have you looked at it?
I took a deep breath and replied:
You are the second such person to ask me this question this week. The fact of the matter is I have looked at that cat’s asshole more in the last two weeks than I ever cared to. For a lifetime. If you and my husband say it is healing well I’ll take your word for it.
Believe it or not I think the vet understood. He thought it was funny in any case. He’s paid (handsomely, I will add) to look at this shit anyway. I am not. I seemingly cannot avoid this subject matter. It is follows me where ever I go. Those of you who are old enough might remember the old Tootsie Roll commercial: their cheerful protagonist saw Tootsie Rolls everywhere he (or she— cannot remember which) went. I see anal glands where ever I go— or are forced to talk about them. This is no way to go through life.
CASES IN POINT:
I have been wanting to get back to doing collages. I am not only good at creating them and I also enjoy the process. It relaxes me. To this end I needed material so I picked up this book at the junk shop. I get home and crack it open. Here is what I saw.
A few days later I went to dinner with a friend. She asked me how Artie’s anal glands were doing. I said “just fine”. Then she regaled with a tale about the time her old dog’s anal gland got backed up and the vet had to “drain it”. It seems like everyone has their own anal gland story and now I have mine. Lucky me.
This week I went out with a friend for a walk. As we were walking down North 12th Street I spied this.
Me: Hey look, another tree twat.
Friend: Tree twat?
Me: Someone has been going around Greenpoint and Williamsburg painting knot-holes pink, which lends them a certain “sexual” feel. I call them tree twats, although this one looks more like an anal gland.
Friend: It does?
Me: Yup, only less disgusting.
It was at this point I realized I had a problem. I needed to quit anal glands and move on. I needed closure (in more ways than one). So I decided to try a little art therapy on India Street.
Every dog has a pair of anal glands located on the sides of and just below the opening of the anus. These small glands secrete a lubricant which helps the dog move his bowels easily. Sometimes these anal glands become clogged and accumulate a putrid mass in side. When this happens, the dog becomes listless, his eyes appear dull, and he often tries to lick the anus or pull himself across the floor on his haunches for relief.
The Complete Poodle Clipping & Grooming Book by Shirlee Kalstone.
If you’re wondering if rabbits have anal glands: they do. Someone has even written a dissertation about them.
Miss Heather
Art Therapy Part II: Welcome To Booblyn
The powers that be provided me a pair of “AA” mammary attachments. I have never had a problem with them. They don’t interfere with my use of power tools and I can wear tube tops and go bra-less with total abandon.
As long as the elastic is tight, the kids are alright!
I always said. Until the boobadiers got to me. “Bigger is better” they said. They were right.
I felt inadequate until I was provided a pair of DD cups. My life has become much more enjoyable upon acquiring my new rack. No back pain, special bras or silicone: just pure Greenpoint girlie joy. What’s more, when I am done with my mamazons I can throw them into my backpack and move on.
I mention this because my first installment of Brooklyn Boobification garnered some curious praise:
Bitchcakes writes:
That was great, Miss Heather! What a great use of plastic boobies! I only hope there will be more adventures for this rubbery pair.
SuzyO writes:
holy hannah, heather, this takes the cake… you consistently amuse and inform, but this is mad genius. i especially love the starboobs … it is just so pink vanity table, you know?
Bodmin raves:
In the thirteen years I lived in Greenpoint I will confess that I sometimes felt the neighbourhood had more than its share of boobs. You have just proven that it could be improved by the addition of lots more – at least in the right places. Brilliant!
And lastly…
Rowan writes:
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! i choked on my coffee looking at these. hopefully it will become a series. Can you try to pose these somewhere with the Shit Tits in the background?
(the only thing funnier would have been if there were such a thing as fake heinies. Greenpoint would become Moonpoint.)
They have fake heinies for sale (at “Just For Fun” I think) but I have yet to invest in one. I bought one too many rubber dicks and fake tits on margin. Hopefully the Feds will bail me out. In the meantime this paltry offering will have to do.
I call this composition Ten Tits At Sunset: Eight Blue, Two Pink. It was pretty brisk last night on the Pulaski Bridge so my gals (all four of them*) were pretty perky.
Miss Heather
*The same logic goes with buying my url: $1,000 (or $500 a boob) doesn’t cut it. So don’t expect to see “Mary Kate & Ashley” (as I like to call them) anytime soon.
P.S.: Look very carefully at the image gracing the beginning of this post. Better yet, click here and see a larger image. You might find it amusing.
P.S. #2: In the wee hours of the morning (2:57 a.m.) I received the following email regarding this post. FranklinSt134 writes:
Hi, I don’t wish to spoil your fun, but I think Booblyn is a insult to Breast Cancer patients, survivors, and families who have lost loved ones to Breast Cancer. I hope you never experience Breast Cancer or lose a loved one from it. Maybe a donation to Susan G. Komen for the Cure would be in order.
Your wish is to spoil my fun. That said, perhaps I should do a photo series using said boobs, sell prints and give the proceeds towards to said foundation? Why not raise awareness of sexism, street harassment and breast cancer in one clean sweep? Does this sound like a good idea to you “FranklinSt134”?
Summer Doldrums
Today I have made two efforts to get out of the house and take a walk. Both times I found myself hauling my ass back home in the rain. I guess it is just not in the cards for me to go out today.
To alleviate my boredom I have tried— really tried— to spend my time productively. Over the last hour IÂ have fired up the dishwasher, bagged recyclables and even made preparations to vacuum the floor. The bugger is being productive is dull as dishwater. What’s more, I had a creative itch to scratch. Not wanting to bother cleaning this up so I would have a work surface, I decided to venture around the block. It didn’t take long for me to find inspiration.
This piece is entitled “Orphans”.
When I got done I noticed I had an extra leg, so I said “What the hell?”. Waste not, want not.
Surprisingly enough, it didn’t take much time for my petit opus to garner attention. This man not only stopped and looked at it, but he also took several photographs of it with his cell phone.
Back to bagging up trash.
Miss Heather
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