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Culture on the Cheap
TONIGHT: The Bushwick Film Festival
Filed under: Queens
This evening the Bushwick Film Festival kicks off at Goodbye Blue Monday. For more details check out the Bushwick Film Festival’s web site.
Miss Heather
P.S.: Next month Sunnyside will be hosting its very own film festival: Sunnyside Shorts! Here are the deets as they have been relayed to me:
More than 15 filmmakers will have their work showcased at the Sunnyside Shorts Film Festival on Saturday, September 6, 2008 at 8:00 PM in the Sunnyside Gardens Park at 49th Street and 39th Avenue in Queens. Admission is free, but donations are gratefully accepted.
Featured films run from one minute to 15 minutes in length and include animation, documentary, and narration. All films abide by PG-rating guidelines. Filmmakers hail from all over the United States, as well as international locations. Samples of the festival’s annual youth workshop will also be shown.
Early arrivals will be treated to traditional Irish music by local musicians Donie Carroll, Dan Neely and members of The Washington Square Harp and Shamrock Orchestra beginning at 7:00 PM.
The Sunnyside Gardens Park is an outdoor venue. Limited seating is available; attendees are welcome to bring blankets, pillows, or low beach chairs. In the event of rain, the festival will be held at the Sunnyside Community Center, 41-31 39th Street between Queens Boulevard and 43rd Avenue.
A reception will be held by the festival’s sponsor, Mike Murphy, at his bar, Murphy’s Bar, at 49th Street and Skillman Avenue, one block north of the festival site. The reception will begin approximately 30 minutes after the festival ends.
Rooftop Films will be providing technical support.
For more information check out their web site.
My Trip Up Shit Creek: Part Deux
Filed under: Asshole, Dung of the Day, Greenpoint Magic, Long Island City, Other Shit, Queens, Williamsburg
I learned a funny thing yesterday. A “friend” will invite you on a boat ride of Newtown Creek. He will later even laud the photographs and the footage you shot. That is, until some person at Channel 13 (who hired said boat and seems to think all the intellectual/creative property gathered from it is his) raises a stink:
Hey Heather,
I’m glad you enjoyed the trip on Newtown Creek the other day. I’m not sure if we officially met but I know you talked to my associate Daniel. I’m writing because I was checking out your blog and I noticed you’d posted several videos of the trip. I don’t mean to be any sort of stickler but it makes me a little uncomfortable to have other people reporting on the same thing which I hired a boat to capture. I don’t have any problem with you posting photos or stories about the trip but the video just happens to be exactly why we were there and sort of crosses lines of exclusivity. So, let me profusely apologize for having to ask but I would really appreciate it if you would take the videos down.
So, my other question would be how you knew about the trip. I didn’t have any problem with people coming out with us as long as they were out of the way but no one told me we should be expecting guests so I don’t really know how that came about.
Anyway, sorry again. If you’d like to chat about it, feel free to give me a call or email back.
Thanks much,
-t
I’m not a chatty kind of gal. Just ask my parents. I rarely answer the phone, much less pick it up and call some condescending chap who wants to “chat” about why my seven minutes of film footage does not undermine his “vision”.
Dear old dad taught me a few things about anger management, albeit accidentally. One of them was I can channel anger in a constructive manner whose effect, in turn, is actually quite the opposite: destructive. Call what I am about to do passive/aggressive or one of life’s little ethical loopholes and/or gray areas. Call it whatever you want. Sure, I yanked the “video” showcasing said “exclusive material” —and I replaced it with another one. This. Now I am bringing back the original.
Pa Heather, this one goes out to you. You know better than anyone that no one can make me shut up.
Miss Heather
P.S.: I’m not taking this one down. If the peeps at Channel 13 have some special interest in publicly humiliating my husband (or training him to recycle correctly) I want a piece of the action. Simple as that.
Furman Island Isn’t What It Used To Be
One thing a lot of people do not seem to know is Newtown Creek once had a number of islands. What you are seeing in the above photograph is the vestige of one of them: Furman Island. It is now a part of Queens, but if one looks through the online archives of the Brooklyn Daily Eagle (as I have) one will quickly discern it was a vibrant part of this largely industrial (and very aromatic) waterway.
Did you know that Furman Island even helped to prevent a malaria outbreak?!? I didn’t until I read an article from the August 2, 1894 edition of the Brooklyn Daily Eagle entitled Calls It Cologne Gulch: Vivid Portrayal Of The Evils Along Newtown Creek. In this piece an intrepid reporter from none other than Harper’s Weekly goes to Newtown Creek to get the scoop on the poop from a local. Here is an excerpt:
Those of you who have the time really should read this lengthy (4000+ words) article in its entirety. My favorite part is about the “egg factory”. What was the egg factory, you ask? Click here and read for yourself! Be advised you may not want to do so over lunch…
More Fun With Long Island City
My modest proposal for a little pubic public art in McCarren Park has proven to be surprisingly popular. I don’t know why. I suppose people are into that sort of thing. More importantly I enjoyed doing it— so I have decided to do a series of public art project proposals for New York Shitty. Today’s target: Long Island City.
This is the Pepsi Cola sign which graces Long Island City’s waterfront. It has been moved because it was interfering with development. More accurately, it blocked the “view” the pampered peeps who are buying into the Long Island City lifestyle so desperately desire. Good for them.
This is Gantry Park. Note the lack of people. Sort of strange for an unseasonably cool Sunday afternoon in August. Maybe piers, plant life and Pepsi signs do not appeal to the Long Island City demographic? What will it take to entice Long Island Cityslickers to enjoy the waterfront parks my neighborhood so sorely lacks? I know: ART! But from whom?
Paul McCarthy! Who else?!?
What’s more my proposal* has an additional benefit: it gives Manhattan an eyeful as well!
Miss Heather
*This is parody. If you live in Long Island City and are angered by the thought of an inflatable sow blocking your view of Manhattan, think about this: at least you get to look at her face.
Fresh Direct Is Keeping Cool, How About You?
I have a confession to make: I’m a bit grumpy today. Those of you who have sent me emails and have not gotten a reply, it’s nothing personal. I am simply not in the mood to talk to anyone.
The reasons I am cantankerous are triple fold:
- Despite my hyper-vigilant slathering of 35 SPF sunblock, I missed a spot yesterday and got burned. It’s a small area mind you, but it is located in an irritating as hell location: the back of my neck.
- I cleaned out the refrigerator today. Disgusting as usual.
- I beheld the following in the bathroom while executing point #2.
The Mister and I have gotten into some interesting arguments discussions about his habit of throwing plastic bottles into the bathroom trash can. Here’s an excerpt from one such dialog from last weekend.
Miss Heather: Man, do not throw the (excised)ing plastic bottles away in the bathroom garbage can!
Mr. Heather: I didn’t throw them away.
Miss Heather: ?
Mr. Heather: I placed them there until we bag the recycling.
There are a couple faults with the logic Mr. Heather chose to employ, but I will leave the more apparent one for you to mull over. Rather, I would like to deconstruct the following sentence to illustrate the other:
I put them there until we YOU bag up the recycling.
I will readily admit I am not the most tidy person in the world— but I am not the filthiest either. For this reason I do not like picking through a basket teeming with dirty Q-tips and the usual niceties to be found IN A BATHROOM GARBAGE CAN to place plastic bottles in the recycling bag. A bag, I will remind you, that is only LOCATED FOUR FEET AWAY.
Such a task adds fuel to my ire. Especially when bending over makes the top I am wearing rub against my sunburn, creating a sensation not unlike someone using 24 grit sandpaper on my person. Very unpleasant indeed!
The way I see it I can either deprogram my husband of this habit, wear a Hazmat suit every time I go outdoors or wage war against global warming. The first is futile and the second is impractical so I will direct my attention to the latter most.
This is Long Island City. Note the numerous condominiums and the fleet of Fresh Direct trucks which (undoubtedly) service their culinary needs. I made a rather interesting discovery yesterday during my trip up shit creek. One which I would like to share with you here.
I have never patronized Fresh Direct nor do I ever intend to. After learning about their labor practices last year there is no way in hell I am giving this business any of my hard-earned money. What is wrong with simply buying groceries from a grocery store or a produce stand like a normal person? It’s probably better for the environment.
Miss Heather
My Trip Up Shit Creek
I was invited at the last minute to tag along on a boat trip along Greenpoint’s very own Riviera: none other than Newtown Creek! Channel 13 needed to shoot some footage of it yesterday for some online project/pilot they are working on. I was advised to keep quiet —and for the most part I did —except when my enthusiasm got the better of me. As you will see in this little film/slide show I made for your entertainment. Enjoy!
Between the Mister and I we took approximately 500 photographs. You can look forward to seeing highlights of our stygian journey up shit creek on Flickr** in a day or two. Now if you don’t mind, I have a mild sunburn to salve. Ouch!
Miss Hater Heather***
*August 19, 2008: I have been asked by the “friend” who invited me on this boat ride and some imperial wizard from Channel 13 (online) to remove my video from You Tube. The latter writes:
…it makes me a little uncomfortable to have other people reporting on the same thing which I hired a boat to capture. I don’t have any problem with you posting photos or stories about the trip but the video just happens to be exactly why we were there and sort of crosses lines of exclusivity.
I never knew Newtown Creek was so exclusive. I just thought it stank like hell. And got a lot of publicity of late because Senator Clinton jumped on the Superfund bandwagon. But what would I know? I’ve only lived here for eight years and get giddy when I see used condoms floating on Greenpoint’s Gold Coast!
Here’s a revised version of my movie:
**You can see photographs from my trip by clicking here.
***It would appear that I have made a friend (or two) in Jackson Heights. For the record, I really liked this neighborhood and plan to go back there more often. I happen to be a BIG fan of Mohammed Rafi and Bollywood music in general; I cannot wait to haunt their music shops! Sure “Jack Heights” doesn’t have Coney Island White Fish, but I am willing to overlook that. I see plenty of those here at home. 😉
My Trip To Jackson Heights
As I mentioned in this post, yesterday I accompanied some visiting friends of mine on a day trip Jackson Heights, Queens. Nary a hipster was to be found when I got off the train at 82nd Street. Rather, I was greeted by this anthropomorphic garbage can and a chap standing directly across from it. He promptly made a rumble in his throat and proceeded to hock up a loogie. “This is going to be interesting” I thought to myself. It was.
My guests are quite the bargain hunters. To this end we perused a number of shops for deals and steals. I found this store on 82nd incredibly amusing. When I hear the phrase “Live it… in leather!” the movie Top Gun does not come to mind. Although the “Iceman” did strike me as possibly having those kind of inclinations.
I’d pay good money to see Val Kilmer in this get up (located just across the street).
Back in graduate school I had to take a course on Constructivist art and architecture in Latin America. Rest assured this class was as boring— probably more so— than it sounds. Looking at architecture reminiscent of that hideous parking lot gracing Queens Plaza is no way to go through life. A classmate of mine agreed, so we’d bring in copies of the Village Voice and HX and review the personal ads. We were always fascinated by the sheer quantity of kinky adverts hailing from Queens. Ten years later on Roosevelt Avenue it all began to make sense.
Hell, even the culinary fare had a certain smuttiness to it.
I don’t think this requires any comment.
But as I stated earlier the purpose of our mission was to shop. And shop we did. This 99 Cent store (America’s 99 Cent Store) at the corner of 78 Street had some of the most interesting wares I have ever seen.
True to its name, patriotism was present.
What’s more American than dogs playing poker? Don’t everyone speak up at once.
And while you’re there, why not pick up a Chador Barbie backpack (or two) for the young ‘uns?
This brings a whole new meaning to the term “sniff test”. 
All in all, I had a terrific time in Jackson Heights.
I wish I knew about this before I eloped. It sounds intriguing.
But would I pack up and move to Jackson Heights? Probably not. It takes more than fruity underwear, leather men and the Kinng (as cool as he is) to make me feel at home. Some things money can’t buy. For those, I can always trust the G train to deliver.
When I arrived at Court Square the mighty Crosstown Local was waiting to whisk me back to the enchanted village of Greenpoint. Everything seemed normal. Until the train started moving, that is. As if someone had flicked a switch, the rather portly gentlemen across from me started talking. Thinking his conversation was directed to yours truly, I did my best to ignore him. It quickly become apparent I was not the object of his attention after he started rifling through the Chinese laundry bag to his left. (NOTE: if you see someone with a Chinese laundry bag on the subway and said bag does not contain laundry, WATCH OUT).
He pulled out a fifth of Alexi vodka, turned to the right and offered a toot to his “friend”. This would seem unremarkable except no one was sitting next to him. After his imaginary friend declined (I guess he— or she— knows when to say when) he polished off the bottle, put it back and chugged down a bottle of mango juice. DIY screwdrivers. On the G train. At 2:30 in the afternoon.
A Polish woman next to me shot a knowing look my direction. I returned the favor. I speak no Polish whatsoever —and in all probability she speaks little English— but we understood each other:
Welcome to Greenpoint.
I was home.
Miss Heather
Sunnyside Photo du Jour: Christmas Too?
Filed under: Queens
From 45th Street.
Miss Heather
Jackson Heights Photos du Jour: The Kinng
Filed under: Queens
Four words: This. Dude. Kicks. ASS.
Miss Heather
Peace, Love, Understanding And All That Slop
In case the tone of my humble soap box hasn’t made it clear: I hate hippies. As a teenager the whole idea of “peace”, “love” and “understanding” made sense. Then I came of age and entered the workforce; many of my supervisors were former hippies. Baby Boomers.
I suffered a Communication Breakdown. First it was the way I wrote the number eight. I did not write the number eight like an infinity symbol. Rather, I scribed VIII by making two discrete circles atop each other. “Cindy” said it looked too much like the number 3. I was written up. I didn’t smile and say “Hi” every morning when “Cindy” came into the office. This too was noted by Human Resources and I was taken to task. As was the (second) time I brewed coffee (given to me by “Cindy” for Secretary’s Administrative Professional’s Day), noting that I would like the office vultures to leave me a cup. Then I was admonished for not fostering a “sense of community”. So much for shiny happy people holding hands.
The age old hippie argument seems to be if people can/will communicate with each other better everything will be hunky dory. I disagree. I am a firm believer in smiles and nod school of diplomacy. When someone screams at you in a foreign tongue (and you’re not standing in front of a moving bus) put on a grin, shake your head and look like you understand. Or feel really bad. Guilt becomes Americans.
Simply put, if everyone— everywhere— was better able to communicate with each other we’d be in a helluva lot more trouble than we’re already in. The U.N. would be a diverse chorus of “fuck yous” in every language imaginable with stenographers running for cover.
What is my reasoning for the previous, you ask? Very simple: 1105 Manhattan Avenue.
El Encanto Mexicano.
More specifically, what graced its front door. In Greenpoint this is tantamount to wearing your aunt Tillie’s 300 thread count white sheets at the Million Man March: highly inadvisable.
Amusingly enough, another missive was scrawled in front of Papasito’s.
Mexico Sucks!!
Papasito’s fare is very tasty, but I would not call it Mexican. When I want Oh my god where have you been all my life south of the border vittles I go to…
But did I choose to take up the matter of why Poland sucked, Mexico sucked, or Papasito’s being Cal Mex (as opposed to being more traditional) fare? No I didn’t; I simply smiled and nodded.
Miss Heather
*Very honorable mention: Taco Bite, right here in north Brooklyn. Not only do they serve up “Jamaica” (sweetened hibiscus tea) but they are the damned nice to boot. Check them out!
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