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:

1. 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.
2. I cleaned out the refrigerator today. Disgusting as usual.
3. 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