Bushwick Residents Speak Out About Gentrification
Filed under: Bushwick
Those of you who care to buy and/or rent these phat properties at 550 Irving Avenue should be advised that your soon-to-be neighbors may not bring you a housewarming casserole.
The developer even accommodated for Fedders Boxes. Or, given how upscale Bushwick is nowadays, maybe they will be— dare I say it— Friedrichs!
Miss Heather
Ad Council Intervention
I encountered this nugget of Ad Council hilarity on Lorimer Street yesterday. I’m guessing the point of this advert is to inform users of the BQE (automobile drivers all) that global warming is BAD. Indeed auto emissions are bad. But smothering a building in advertecture strikes me as being somewhat worse. for this reason I felt a few modifications were in order.
You know, I am getting pretty darn good at Photoshop if I may so myself.
Miss Heather
The D Word
(or Miss Heather’s Musings About The Art of the Insult)
Douche (doosh) n. (Fr. shower) 1. a. A stream of water or air applied to a bodily part or cavity for cleansing or medicinal purposes. 1. b. The application of a douche. 2. An instrument for applying a douche.
Bag (bag) n. 1. a. A usu. flexible container… *
Douche Bag (doosh bag) n. 1. A flexible container used to irrigate a woman’s vagina. 2. The insult of choice for the unimaginative.**
I recently confided my newfound hatred for this (oft employed by New York Shitty’s blogorati) epithet to a friend of mine. We despised this phrase, upon this we agreed. But the reasons for our respective distastes differed significantly. In his case, it was a matter of taste and decency. Unfettered by such concerns (after all this blog, New York Shitty, was founded on shit. Literally.) the issue (as far as my curiously eccentric world view is concerned) was one of creativity.
Sure, there was a time I invoked “douche bag”. Frequently. But once it became overused (and therefore rendered meaningless) I employed the extensive education my father provided me to come up with a replacement. Or more accurately (given Pa Heather’s predilection/gift for profanity) replacements.
- Cock sucker
- Dick head
- Fuggin’ asshole
- Homeless Boogeyman/men (courtesy of the Parks Department)
- Pig fucker (my current favorite)
All the previous are staples in my anger arsenal. When under duress the offal that finds its way out of my mouth is much more colorful. Which brings me to the point of this post: can we exercise a little more imagination when it comes to putting down our fellow men (or women) online? Please? It’s not that hard. Follows are a few insults to get your creative juices going folks.
Exhibit A: Woodbine Street, Bushwick
Calling someone “gay” is not a well constructed insult but the lack of personal hygiene angle is compelling. The essential underpinning of a good insult is to point out an aspect of your adversary that is socially undesirable. Homosexuality does not (and should not) have the stigmatizing sting it used to. New York City is the great melting pot. And in this crucible of cultures, creeds, religions, races and yes, sexual orientations, there is one thing we all have in common: noses. People who do not shower, well, STINK.
Exhibit B: Woodbine Street, Bushwick
Elijah (and his dear mother) are clearly objects of wrath on Woodbine Street.
Exhibit C: Bedford Stuyvesant
Why bother blathering about incest? Sucking pig balls is much more provocative.
Still not convinced, douche bag devotees, that your affront of choice is yesterday’s news? Maybe the following anecdote will change your ways.
This is Hana Food Deli and Grocery. It is located at 534 Metropolitan Avenue, Williamsburg. 11211. I happened to be in the area (and very hungry) so I went inside in seek of kibble.
I always preferred my douche bag on the rocks. Shaken, not stirred. Just like James Bond. A douche bag with blue cheese dressing?!? That’s just plain gross.
But I suppose a douche bag tastes pretty damned good washed down with Pabst Blue Ribbon. $7.99 a twelve pack who can argue with that?
Miss Heather
P.S.: I ordered the “Sandy-wich” which was (simply put) a vegan BLT. It wasn’t bad. That said, these guys have NOTHING on the Franklin Corner Store in good ol’ Greenpoint. Andre, his son, partners and Oreo know how to make a sandwich.
*Websters II New Riverside University University Dictionary, 1984
**Miss Heather
Bushwick Photo du Jour: Sunday Special
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
From Jefferson Street.
Miss Heather
Williamsburg Photo du Jour: Maspeth Avenue
Filed under: Williamsburg
I was under the impression that pirates preferred cable.
Miss Heather
Bed-Stuy Photo du Jour: Next To Godliness
Filed under: Bed-Stuy
From Madison Street.
Miss Heather
TODAY: You Pick The Movie At East Coast Aliens
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
Tonight the folks at East Coast Aliens have a great pair of movies to choose from for this special Oscar Award Winner “Pick Pick Night”. Per their press release:
Oh well,
It’s the Oscars again!
And boy! We almost missed out on the big show.
For those out there who don’t give a damn about artifice but care about art we give you the choice of… who should turn out to be the big winner of the night.
So you decide:
shall it be
Paul Thomas Anderson’s Boogie Nights
or shall it be
the Coen brothers’ O Brother, Where Art Thou?
East Coast Aliens
216 Franklin Street
Brooklyn, New York 11222
Doors open at 8:30 p.m. and the suggested donation is $6.00 per person. The selected film will begin at 9:00. p.m.
Miss Heather
Woodside Photo du Jour
Filed under: Area 51
The 61 Street platform of the 7 train.
Miss Heather
Meet The Snowmen Of Greenpoint
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
Passed out at Ashbox.
Faceless next door to Ashbox.
Faceless on Green Street.
This one (my favorite) comes from Manhattan Avenue.
Miss Heather
A Little Red In Greenpoint
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
I happened upon this Greenpoint Red in the usual manner: while engaged doing something else. I was warning a fellow tenant of Chateau de Ghetto that someone has been parsing through our mailboxes. Our conversation came to an abrupt halt when I saw him, this fellow traveler of the Crosstown local.
Miss H: Pardon me, can I take a photograph of your coat? My husband is a card-carrying Commie. Since Castro resigned he’s been really bummed out.
Bearer of the Cloth: Oh yes, the hammer and sickle. But the Soviet Union were not true Communists.
He’s right. That’s why Mr. Heather is a Trotskyite.
Miss Heather
*Brazenly. Stealth is not our felon’s strong point: he (or she) leaves the mailboxes open for our edification. Mr. Heather and I have not received mail for two days save a Victoria’s Secret catalog. I left it in the mailbox on Thursday (in the hopes this person would take) only to find it still there on Friday. Bitch.