Greenpoint
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Culture on the Cheap
A Couple Upcoming Events and a Kitten Who Needs a Home
This is Fleur. She was found in the Brooklyn Botanic Garden with her brothers, Albert and Bourgeon. Bourgeon died and Albert has since moved on to his new home. Now she is all alone. Those of you who are interested in giving a home to one of the cutest kittens I have ever seen can contact Lisa of BARC via Flickr mail. Or perhaps you will have the chance to meet Miss Fleur in person at…
Speaking of animal lovers, tomorrow Little Cakes Gallery will be kicking off its fall season with Super Heroes Return by Mumbreeze. Per their press release:
Super Heroes Return mixes high and low tech mediums along with childhood influences from both the United States and Japan to create a whimsical full spectrum installation to carry you away to Mumbreeze’s Pop Neverland.
A large staircase stacked with papier-mâché dolls is their version of “Ohinasamaâ€, a Japanese family tradition to celebrate the holiday Girls’ Day. Instead of fancy porcelain figurines representing the Emperor and Empress’s court, they’ve replaced them with multi colored abstract figures that remind one of super heroes such as Ultraman, the bad guy monsters in Godzilla movies, and more recent anime robots like Evangelion. Their slightly awkward, stiff stance and blank facial expressions take their influence from older icons like that of the Haniwa clay figures buried in funeral mounds in ancient Japan…
For more information, click on the above image and you will be directed to Little Cakes’ web site.
Little Cakes Gallery
625 East 6th Street #1B
New York, NY 10009
646-342-1056
Hours: Friday through Sunday, 1:00 p.m. to 6:00 p.m. and by appointment
Lastly (and a somewhat related note), I’d like to give a shout-out to Matthew Nistor. Not only is this chap a reader of New York Shitty, but (more importantly) he is also a very talented photographer. Check out his web site and see for yourself.
Miss Heather
Miss Heather Goes To Park Slope
Occasionally I get an idea so crass and stupid it must be followed through. This, my latest one, came to me yesterday afternoon as I was loading my purse with provisions for my trek to Park Slope. Giggling inanely to myself, I let my buddy Icky over in Windsor Terrace in on my plan. Here is his reply:
I’m hoping you got that thing on the lectern just before the reading. Let me know how it was and if there were any homicides.
There were no homicides, but I did:
- get the hairy eyeball from a number of people
- spy a drunk guy waiting at a bus stop on Seventh Avenue
This dude could barely sit up straight. He made me feel right at home. Note the poster hawking Jackson Heights to Park Slopers to the left. I wonder how “Jack Heights” would feel about having this guy as his neighbor? - listen to a crazy lady screaming about homosexuals in front of the Barnes & Noble. “Imagine your mother having sex with a demon!” was by far my favorite observation of hers. I had honestly never imagined this. Thank you!
Upon entering Barnes & Noble I quickly put my plan into action: I went to the bathroom. I chuckled to myself when I noticed a sign next to men’s room touting a “baby changing station”. But back to business— that being patronizing the women’s room and leaving my calling card.
I call this piece “Oyster on the Half Shell”. Though amusing, it lacked the element of surprise I desired. After wrangling with this contraption for a couple of minutes, I managed to fold the station with my little gift laying in wait inside. When the door is opened “Chopper” will slide out and say “Hi”.
Raccoons aren’t the only creatures in Brooklyn who have a nasty set of teeth.
Miss Heather
The Poop Report: Putting The “Anus” Back In Gowanus
Filed under: Area 51
Just a quick reminder that tonight is Dave Praeger’s book signing at the recently desecrated Barnes & Noble in Park Slope. Per his email:
I’ll be discussing three things: my book, the sanitary infrastructure in south Brooklyn, and the most terrifying threat humanity has ever faced. Forget Al Qaeda, forget the Nazis — I alone know the force that may cause Western Civilization to crumble.
Would that be Park Slope stroller moms? This would be the obvious answer. To me, anyway. Regardless, I am definitely interested in finding out! Be there or be square.
Time: 7:30 p.m.
Location: Barnes & Noble
267 7th Avenue at 6th Street
Cost: Free
Miss Heather
Greenpoint Style. F*ck Tim’s Rules
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
Sometimes I just know when a particular subway poster is going to get jacked-up. Call it my Greenpoint sixth sense, if you will. Well it took awhile, but it finally happened. Twice.
This is from the Greenpoint Avenue Station.
Its companion (above) can be found at the Metropolitan Avenue stop of the Smith – 9th bound G train. It would appear that someone likes him some shemales. The fried chicken is a nice touch.
Miss Heather
The Man, The Legend, “The McGuinness”
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
I have spent the last week looking for an image of Greenpoint’s very own Pete McGuinness. My reasons for doing so cannot be disclosed at this time; let’s just say it is for an art project. Though not usable for my purpose, I did find a picture of him in the New York Times online archives. He was rather substantially-built dude.
Many of you will recognize the man in the center of this photo: it is Fiorello LaGuardia. He and “The Fighting Alderman of Greenpoint” were buddies. This is certainly clear in the story this image accompanies from the July 13, 1934 edition of the New York Times. It is also very evident that Pete couldn’t pitch a baseball for shit. Enjoy!
Poor Pete didn’t even win the Fat Man’s Race. Then again, carrying what appears to be a flask in one’s right pocket (or is he just happy to see me?*) can be an impediment.
Miss Heather
*On a related note, I discovered a most amazing novelty item at Babeland yesterday. I can put to such a tool to good use. After packing that seven inches of heat (anything less would be a waste of my time) into a pair of stretch pants I will endeavor to ride the subway. I’ll be sure to spread my legs as wide as possible so as to air out my newly-acquired manhood alongside all the other He-Men.
The elderly, pregnant and infirm be damned! If they want a seat they should buy their own nut sack. I may not have been born into a life of masculine privilege, but that’s okay. At $22.00 (plus shipping and handling) it’s pretty affordable nowadays. To bastardize Barbizon Modeling School’s slogan:
Be an asshole… or just look like one!
Maybe I’ll even whip it out and take a whiz by the Park Slope Barnes & Noble like this guy.
FREE MASSAGE!
Before we got married, my husband professed to do a lot of things. Cleaning, cooking and administering back rubs immediately come to mind. I have since learned better. I pretty much do the first two tasks nowadays.
Cooking and cleaning can make a girl tired and achy. Thankfully help is only a subway ride away on Avenue A.
As I have mentioned on previous occasions, I had a crack head as a neighbor at my former apartment. After the usual tom foolery, e.g.; drug-fueled screaming, leaving his apartment door open so as to perfume the hallways with the smell of FERMENTED SHIT, and having visitors at all hours he would find himself in the need of a good massage. To this end he would use a column at the entrance of our apartment building to give himself a good rub down.
I once saw him doing this when I was coming home one Saturday afternoon. It was a sight I will not soon forget. He sort of reminded of a video I once saw at the San Diego Zoo. If a panda could be a crack head, that is. Pandas smell better.
Miss Heather
P.S.: On a completely unrelated note, I’d like to give props to my buddy Bob over at the Gowanus Lounge on his first day at Curbed.com as a full-timer! Congrats. This, your, sinecure is long overdue.
Something I found yesterday in Manhattan
From 11th Street in the East Village.
As a Capricorn, Miss Heather thinks Kristen has some serious issues. And very bad taste in actors.
Miss Heather
Happy Labor Day from Greenpoint!
Filed under: Area 51
Indulge yourself with as many crullers as you see fit, obesity epidemic be damned! Why not wash ’em down with copious amounts of espresso while you’re at it? But please refrain from smoking.
Now I’m off to indulge myself— but not before I see how the Labor Day Festivities are going at 154 West Street. If Sunday was any indication, it should be swinging! Maybe I should bring these chaps some beer?
Miss Heather
Bright Lights, Big Shitty
This morning I found my person in elevated state of fabulousness. Unlike many of the impeccably-wrecked 20-somethings I call neighbors, my mid-30’s person knew this was a day to promenade my bad self in (where else) WILLIAMSBURG. Unlike men, who are considered to be ‘distinguished’ as they get older, women are not. I grasp the odd MILF straws when I find them, and today was one such day.
I called my buddy Rachael on her cell. She was at McCarren Park. We rendezvoused and proceeded to poo poo the Bedford Avenue cat walk with our fine-ass Greenpoint selves. We were in the belly of the beast and we prevailed! On Berry Street the bowels of the beast gave us an offering in return.
A mini bottle of Vodka. Poop was presenting. But the Bic pen cap was what triggered the fit of rage I had today*.
Back in 2001 (when I had a “real” job and no self esteem whatsoever) I did weight training at the Greenpoint YMCA. After a particularly heavy workout (and drinking copious amounts of water) I needed to go to the bathroom. BAD. I went to the women’s locker room— which some cretin saw fit to equip with two stalls.
I wait. And wait.
Inasmuch I believe being a lesbian would solve many of my (mal)adjustment problems, the sad fact is I am not one. Not for wont of trying. But, as Scarlett O’Hara Said:
Tomorrow is another day!
What I saw in that bathroom stall was a set-back in this endeavor. FOREVER. After hopping around like a circus chimp with crabs for several minutes, I peeked at female who was reluctant to vacate my much-needed stall.
It was a 40-something Polish soccer mom snorting cocaine from a plastic Bic pen cap.
Just like the one in the above photo.
We are all addicts, each and every one of us. But for the love of god please:
- exercise your additions with panache, e.g.; if you’re going to take up a high-dollar habit, get the proper accoutrements and
- do not interfere with my essential bodily functions!
Miss Heather
*That and finding some shitty-ass piece of jewelry I priced at the junk shop for $3.00 at a “ritzy” vintage shop on Grand Street marked-up to $45.00. Bad fashion has a price. Perhaps Williamsburg has an idiot tax? I can only hope so.
Fast Times on Freeman Street
Filed under: Area 51
Sometimes you can just look at the litter strewn on the sidewalk and know something really intense went down.
Case in point: what I found at the intersection of Freeman and West Street today.
I can only hope this was the result of some guerrilla prostrate exam initiative by the Department of Health. A 24 oz. can of Budweiser is laid as bait and, well, you can figure out the rest. For what it is worth, it looks like this dude put up one hell of a fight.
On top of losing his pants and his dignity, it would appear this chap might have lost his keys as well. If you’re listening out there my recently anal-probed amigo, you can collect them at the intersection of Freeman and Franklin Street.
Damn.
Miss Heather
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