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Culture on the Cheap
Ode To A Door Knob
Or as our friends across the pond like to say: door handle.
Few things are so pervasive, yet so uncelebrated as the lowly door knob. Think about it. How many emotionally charged moments in your life have involved this mundane servant of humanity?
- Have you ever been locked out of your apartment? That door knob was there to bear silent testimony to your plight (and wrath).
- Ever had a nasty argument with your significant other/spouse and elected to exit your apartment by making the dramatic statement of slamming the door? That door knob was your accomplice.
Door knobs are much more interesting than you think. I say this not only as a door knob user, but also as a drop-out from “professional workforce”. If a Human Resources Expert was to read my resume, he (or she) would deem me an abject failure. And in all fairness, I probably am. I, on the other hand, see it as ten (plus years) of wage slavery with a hefty helping of Schadenfreude (READ: blue chip cocktail party material) to assuage the pain of underemployment.
Which brings me back to door knobs.
At one point in my less than stellar career I worked as a Receptionist for a state agency that worked with victims of violent crime. The function of this entity was to give money to (uninsured) victims of violent crime to cover medical bills, “rape kits”, funerals, etc.
If you want to delve into humanity at its absolute worst a state crime victim’s board is the place to see it. If you can imagine it, I can assure you somebody has already done it. In the most vile and disgusting fashion possible. As a Receptionist I not only had to field calls from a lot of angry people wanting to know if/when their money (for example) their child’s anti-depressants will come (because the board had a backlog), but I also had to deal with a very dysfunctional staff. In other words it was the kind of job that made you want to go home and empty your liquor cabinet. EVERY NIGHT.
Nonetheless my lowly sinecure was darkly amusing at times.
CASE IN POINT
One of my (numerous) responsibilities was filing “crime blotter” clippings. One day I came across a gem and decided to bring it to the attention of one of my co-workers.
Miss H: Get a load of this. Some guy died of metallic poisoning. He had nuts and bolts in his stomach and a door knob shoved up his ass. The police called it a suicide*.
Caseworker: How old was he?
Miss H: I dunno, not young but not old. 40, I think.
Caseworker: He should have known better.
Miss H: ?
Caseworker: He was old enough to know better than to shove a door knob up his ass.
Not knowing what to make of this I retreated to the sanctity of my desk. I have never seen a door knob the same way since.
That is until last Saturday when I spied this beauty at The Thing.
Needless to say I have made this item my own. Living in an age where cheap and disposable schlockitecture is the norm in my neighborhood (and New York City in general) this is an all too sad reminder of a time when even the lowliest fixtures of a public institution were made to please the eye.
Barack Obama speaks of the audacity of hope. I wish to make a case for the audacity of beauty. Is this, for the best city on earth, too much to ask?
Miss Heather
P.S.: I wanted to install this fixture on our front door but it won’t fit. But being under 40 I can, with peace of mind, put it to a more nefarious use.
*It was later ruled a homicide. Duh.
Last Minute Gift Giving Ideas For Mother’s Day
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
A question I find myself asking more and more nowadays is as follows:
When we will we as a society pull our collective head out of our ass and get our priorities straight?
After all, I live in a neighborhood where:
- Luxury condominiums are the standard, yet more and more families are flooding into the local food pantry.
- Five banks can be found in a two block radius south of Greenpoint Avenue but nary such an institution can be found to the north.
- Bars are proliferating, but the selection of restaurants (unless of course, one likes Thai food— A LOT) is becoming more and more sparse.
Yes sir, if you love you some psychics, booze, Thai food, banks and pet supply stores, Greenpoint is the place to be. If you need to eat, buy housewares or something for Mother’s Day (like the rest of us) this arrangement presents certain challenges.
Which brings me to this.
This is the window at Just For Fun, a stationery/novelty store on Manhattan Avenue. As you can see, the theme is Mother’s Day. I am terrible about remembering such holidays. Thankfully these folks have a number of great gift-giving ideas for prodigal children like me.
Perfume, lighters shaped like the Statue of Liberty, edible underwear— all are excellent ways of telling mom how much you love her on Mother’s Day.
Those of you who are diet conscious will be pleased as punch to learn these great tasting strawberry flavored skivvies are also LOW IN CARBOHYDRATES! What will these unsung geniuses think of next? Control top edible underwear? I can only hope so.
Miss Heather
Happy Mother’s Day From New York Shitty!
Filed under: Williamsburg
I found this tableau on Graham Avenue and felt it was the perfect image to give props to mothers, on this, their day. If it wasn’t for moms (and in most cases mattresses*) none of us would be here. Thanks!
Miss Heather
*Not me! Two words: Shag rug.
Williamsburg Photo du Jour: Roy Rogers And Dale Evans Style
Filed under: Williamsburg
From South 5th Street.
Miss Heather
Another Saturday At Studio B
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
The numerous building and fire code “irregularities” barely scratch the surface as to my fascination with this establishment. No matter what time of day I walk by there always seems to be something going on. Yesterday afternoon was no exception.
It was 3:30 p.m. when I saw a minivan park in front of Studio B. Intrigued, I hung around to see what would happen next.
Man steps out of minivan, walks to the front door and stares at work permit.
Bear with me, I’m going somewhere with this.
Having read said permit, man returns to van and waits.
One block away I notice HE IS STILL WAITING. What is this man waiting for? Does he want to make sure he gets into this evening’s event? He hardly looks like the Studio B type. Or is he?
Thankfully I walked by again around midnight. Not only were things starting hop (and the rooftop garden appeared to be closed) but across the street I found a very curious item jammed in a window sill.
And then it all made sense. Next thing you know Bob Dole will be down there trying peddle his little blue pills to get around paying Studio B’s exorbitant cover charge.
Miss Heather
Greenpoint Photo du Jour: Authority
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
From the Greenpoint Terminal Market.
Miss Heather
Bike Fetish Day 2008
Today after getting off work I decided to go for a stroll. Much to my surprise (and good fortune) I stumbled upon the Bike Fetish Day festivities in full swing!
This is the winner for “Ugliest Bike”. I for one do not see what is so ugly about it. I think it is pretty damned cool!
For more pictures and video footage of Bicycle Fetish Day, check out my flickr and YouTube sets. Be sure to check out who won “Best Of Show” as it made me want to gouge my eyes (and ovaries) out.*
Miss Heather
*As I was trying to film this event (while seated on the street) this man’s son kept using my head as a place to lean on. Twice I had to remove this houseape’s arm/body from my head. Having to supervise another person’s offspring makes me more than a little testy. Hillary Clinton once said:
It takes a village to raise a child.
This may very well be so. But speaking as one such “villager” I am none too fond of this arrangement. I am all for free childcare, I just don’t want to be the person providing it.
This Week In Shitwick
Filed under: Bushwick
This was the subject of an email I received this morning. It comes from a good friend of mine named Chin who lives in Bushwick. The content pretty much speaks for itself. Enjoy!
Yet another message from the universe that I need to replace my broken camera and carry it AT ALL TIMES.
1) As you well know, I have oft complained of the copious dissemination of chicken bones throughout this neighborhood. My dog walker claims to have seen people eating chicken in their cars and tossing the bones out the windows. Bushwickians loves them some chicken! Or as I have hypothesized in the past: they hate chickens so vehemently they kill them daily and scatter their bones Trojan War-Style so their chicken souls will never rest. If I could “see dead people” I would no doubt have to stomach the horror of wading waist-deep through thousands upon thousands of chicken ghosts sentenced to walk the earth in limbo–ghosts thick as mud –just to procure my morning vitamin water at the corner store.
Well, this week while walking the dog I came upon a full-blown chicken corpse in the park, feathers, feet and all–apparently died of a broken neck. There was no ripping as one would expect from an animal attack. This was pre-meditated. Now, I don’t see chickens walking around here so undoubtedly the murder took place elsewhere and this is where they decided to dump the body.
2) 6 foot+ dude with a mullet toting life-sized jousting equipment that was built out of sticks, cardboard and tape. This dude has been spotted playing bad music in the subways and coughing on people’s heads at art film viewings.
3) Less exciting but noteworthy–again walking the dog–got distracted by a sound, looked back too late to stop my dog from walking directly through a puddle of drunk vomit.
4) 2 public urinations, one of whom went out of his way to come within earshot (thankfully after zipping up) to wish me a good evening
5) My favorite place to buy beer has now a “no pets allowed in store” sign. Now I have to cross the street to buy beer.
Dead chickens, mullets, vomiting and two public urinations. Methinks I was all wrong about Bushwick. It is well on its way to becoming another Williamsburg any day now!
Miss Heather
Greenpoint Photo du Jour: Psychic Friend
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
From Manhattan Avenue.
Miss Heather
No Sleep Til Greenpoint
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
Anyone in the know will tell you schlepping one’s ass from Greenpoint to Park Slope and back is no picnic. This usually entails taking the G to F. Getting to the Brooklyn Lyceum is a bit more complicated. Do I want to transfer at the 4th Avenue Station for the M(aybe) or R(arely)? No, I have more faith in my feet than those trains, thank you very much.
So after the Blogfest the Mister and I walked to the F. This ended up being a trek well worth making. Firstly, I learned the pay phone at the intersection of 4th Avenue and Garfield Street is tapped. How do I know this you ask?
Someone was kind enough to label it.
This person (presumably a patron of the Manhattan-Queens bound F) employed a very novel (if flawed) approach to solving this civil liberties conundrum: if you can’t hear them, the spooks can’t hear you.
We saw this at Bergen Street waiting for the G train. While too abject for some, I have to admit any commentary involving a penis and a small fluffy dog makes me chuckle.
Further down the platform we saw some subway Seppuku. This is pretty dark. Even for me. I want to go home.
Nothing says welcome back to Greenpoint to yours truly like:
I like big dick in my mouth
scrawled on a Department of Buildings subway poster. I suppose “Construction Safety Week” didn’t go over as well as intended. Yes, I am just as surprised as you are.
As many of you know Town Square’s “Earth Day” celebration at McCarren Park was co-sponsored by Exxon Mobil, British Petroleum and Bruce Ratner (among others). What you may not know, however, is Susan Anderson of Town Square rolled out this classic one liner in the April 25, 2008 edition of the Greenpoint Courier:
Exxon, for better or worse, is a part of the community.*
Greenpoint— with or without oil— is is indeed going green. Just not in the manner the local patricians had intended. Unlike the party-foulers at Nassau Avenue, we folks at the Greenpoint Avenue stop don’t worry too much about death.
We prefer to celebrate life.
Miss Heather
*I just about pissed my pants laughing when I read this.
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