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Posts published in “Life”

Let Matt Toder guide you through the magic of internet video on Gawker.tv

My friend Matt, of Steve’s Word fame, loves television more than anyone I know in the whole world. Growing up he wasn’t allowed it by his parents, so he came into it as an adult and devours the stuff with all the fervor of a fresh convert. During pilot season, the man is a veritable trove of TV thoughts, opinions, and commentary. Want to discuss every nuance of last night’s episode of Lost? Matt’s your man. Want to know which pilot will succeed and which will fail miserably? Matt. Want clarify a bet with a buddy about some detail on a television show? Matt. His capacity for detail is amazing.

He and I have had the following conversation numerous times.

“Joe, did you see [insert X show here] last night?”

“No, Matt, I didn’t.”

“What? It was awesome? How did you not see it?!”

“Well, I was making dinner and just didn’t watch. I’ve never actually seen any episodes of [insert X show here].”

“You’ve got to see it, man. It’s great.”

Rinse and repeat.

With that considered, when I saw his sparkling face on Gawker.tv reviewing this weeks hilarious interweb videos, I realized that he’s about one degree away from the job he was born to do: discuss television shows for a living. Well, 30 year old unpaid intern Matt, I hope they let you keep doing this because I will gladly watch every single one.

Check it out at the link above.

The Joys and Pains of finding a new apartment.

This weekend I started the apartment hunt to try to find a place cheaper than my current place that is fresh and new and my own. Typically looking for an apartment is a grueling, miserable experience. You spend a hundred years on Craig’s List (have you heard of this thing?) and you call and make appointments and run all over town to see a bunch of fucking duds. It’s a drag. I have to move out of my current apartment on April 9th, which is kind of nice because it gives me a little bit of a buffer to accomplish everything I need to, painting, patching holes, whatever.

With the hell that is finding an apartment in mind, I’ve been procrastinating. Surprise! Knowing that time was finally running short, I sat down to Craig’s List (no, really, you’ve got to check this thing out) at about noon on Saturday. I did a little searching, got on the phone and started making appointments for that afternoon and Sunday.


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I had my first viewing at 1:45 on Saturday at an apartment right around the corner from where I currently live. One huge bonus right off the bat was that the place is right next door to Taco Bite, my favorite neighborhood taco joint. The best. Ask for the tortilla soup.

I meet the real estate agent, RJ, in front of the building and we go in. The stairs were nice and wide, and the hallways were spacious. He led me up five flights of stairs and into one of many doors on the fifth floor. Though nice with new appliances, exposed brick, and refinished whatever, the apartment was tiny. I mean, tiny. Like 350 sq ft. Maybe less. I was looking around and trying to use my advance, alien spatial reasoning to see how I’d fit everything into there. The only conclusion I could find was that I would have to either get rid of my desk (hell no) or get rid of the tv/sound system (also, hell no). I wasn’t sure if I could fit my bed either. It’s too bad too, because the apartment probably got really nice light and had some awesome views out the windows of the Williamsburg bridge and Manhattan on nice, clear days. But, for 1550 a month, it wasn’t worth it. Even if they knocked it down to 1450 a month, it wouldn’t be worth it. Sometimes you just have to trust your gut.

The next apartments I wanted to see were up in Greenpoint. I walked through the blinding rain a mile and a half through the neighborhood to the Realtor’s office. When I got there, my pants were pasted to my legs. God, I love flash NY spring time rain fall. It’s like, “Walk walk walk, drizzle drizzle drizzle, walk walk walk, POURING FUCKING RAIN FUCK YOU HOLY FUCK WIND AND RAIN AND OH MY FUCKING GOD.” After a mile and a half (2.4 km, for you folks outside the US) of that crap, I was pretty much over the day. But, like a good, diligent boy, I went in and saw the two apartments.


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The first place I saw was a railroad apartment that was filled with a Polish man’s belongings. I guess he was moving out but hadn’t yet. The apartment smelled like those cheap shit scented candles you get at 99¢ stores, which I think was accurate since he had about 30 of those things spread around the apartment in various degrees of burnt. It was a strange place. The apartment itself was fine. Totally regular railroad style apartment (what you southerners would call a shotgun shack), if a little small. I’m not sure that, even at 1250/month, it was worth it to be so far from the trains. Too far, too funky, too blah. I like the park right there though, but nah. Fuck it.


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The third apartment I saw that day was super awesome. It’s is also a railroad apartment, as is the style in this part of Brooklyn, but it was significantly larger than the previous one. It also has much better train access and a whole lot more fun stuff around it. The kitchen and the bedroom are both bright as hell which is amazing. Easily worth the 50 extra dollars. My only hesitation was that the building has a funky, tiny hallway with a mere 34″ of clearance and it’s going to be hard to move things in and, eventually, out. I was nervous enough about it that I told them I’d think about it.

I talked to Charles for a while and he basically told me I was being a big pussy about the whole thing. I called them back and went over to their office the next day with all my paper work in tow in case I decided to jump. I went back to the apartment and it still felt good, like the right place. I measured the hallway to discover the 34″ clearance and then measured the typically small door. I feel confident I can get my desk in, which is important, and I also feel confident that I can order a sofa with detachable legs and get that into the apartment. It’s going to be hard, but it can be done. I hope.

Either way, after about 4 whole hours, I was sick as hell of looking for an apartment so I applied for this one on Sunday. The only negative for me was the entrance way and I’ll just have to make it work. They called me today, Monday, and told me I was accepted. I just have to go up and get my keys and put the ConEd and whatever in my name. Done and done. And all without a guarantor! Lookie here, I’ma grown man now.

I’m going over there with Mike and Charles on Saturday to measure and then eat brunch somewhere, so expect photos. Fun!

Your mother is of such extreme proportions that…

A few days ago a user on Reddit started a thread for nerdy “Yo’ Mama” jokes, and it’s delightful.

Here are a few of my favorites.

Your momma’s so fat that you can see whats behind her due to gravitational lensing.

The woman who carried you in her womb for your gestation period and later expelled you from her vagina has such an excess of adipose tissue that one could reap cardiovascular benefits simply from taking a brisk walk around her person.

#you parent.female {width:120%; border-bottom:thick; padding:0 auto; max-width:auto; size:landscape;}

Your mother is so fat that the assertion “she sits around the house” may be interpreted literally rather than figuratively.

There’s also a good deal of laughing to be done on the comments all the other nerds leave about the jokes. It’s like 12 levels of nerdiness deep and I love it.

Here’s the original thread.

Of course, you can’t drop Yo Mama jokes without reminding me of this gem by the Pharcyde.

The Great Lucky Charms Challenge of 2009

Gardner, who I’ve discussed before on The Black Laser, loves pranks. Loves them. He also loves mischief making and bets with people to get them to do outrageous things. He’s a good natured troublemaker, and also a complete pain in the ass sometimes. For instance, I remember one night I was at work making copies of tapes or something and he calls me.

He says, “Hey dude, will you get a tattoo with me?”

I say, “I’m at working, but I’ll go with you, sure.”

“No,” he says, “we have to get the same tattoo.”

“Fuck you,” I say, “I’ll go with you, but I’m sure as hell not getting a tattoo with you. What are you getting tattooed?”

“I can’t tell you. It’s a secret.”

“Wait. You mean, you wanted me to get a matching secret tattoo with you of something you won’t even reveal to me?”

“Yeah, basically.”

“You’re fucking nuts. But I’ll still go with you.”

I meet him and this girl in Washington Square Park and we head over to one of the myriad tattoo parlors in the West Village. Along the way he refused to tell me what he was getting tattooed. When we had selected a fine establishment, the girl and I waited in the waiting area and Gardner went into the back. I convinced her to tell me what he was getting at about the same moment I could see but not hear him describe it to the guy doing the ink. The guy looked at him, laughed, shook his head and went to work.

You know what he got? He got this. Even more hilarious, he went swimming before it fully healed and half the tattoo washed off. Hah!

Anyway, this was all just a preamble to the real story here. Gardner called me last year and asked me to make the most horrifying Lucky Charms based image I could think of. He had challenged a girl at work that she couldn’t eat only Lucky Charms for 7 days. It doesn’t sound all that bad, but if you think about it, it’s terrible. I won’t even eat Lucky Charms for ONE meal, much less for an entire week. What happened was epic, but don’t let me ruin it for you. Instead, enjoy this video.

Death by Black Hole.

As you might know, this site posts to Facebook every time I write something. Fun. Anyway, a friend of mine Matt left this comment:

Hey bro if you go past the event horizon you are fucked, whether by gravity or your inside-out crew — doesn’t matter.

That reminded me of this amazing video that describes what it would be like to be killed by a black hole. Enjoy. Science is awesome.

Even The New Yorker has hit on the fire.

Sometimes the internet is a marvelous thing. What we were discovering just weeks ago has since completely blown up and spread virally. I’m, of course, talking about Die Antwoord, South Africa’s finest art. And even the stodgiest of the old guard, The New Yorker, has hit on their magnificence. Check it.

If authenticity is a vampire threatening to suck the fun out of pop music, the South African band Die Antwoord (“The Answer,” in Afrikaans) is a fistful of garlic. Go to the band’s well-designed Web site and you will find a goofy, vibrant ball of confusion. Die Antwoord was founded by a South African music-biz veteran named Waddy Jones (Ninja, here) who celebrates zef, which translates roughly as “common” or “redneck,” but which Jones claims is a synonym for “the ultimate style.” This dicey language game will be refereed by South Africans; everyone else can unravel the band’s musical preference for the nineties. (Vanilla Ice and Technotronic come to mind.) The band is better at generating questions than answers. What’s with the post-Keith Haring illustrations? Why does the band member Yo-landi Vi$$er look like both a model and a normal teen-ager? Is Die Antwoord a celebration or a sendup? Get ready for a fight about the legitimacy of the group and, hopefully, for an influx of more South African pop culture.

What’s next? The Wall Street journal reviewing The Behemoth’s next record? A four page article on Detroit Ghettotech in the Conservative Chronicle? An editorial in The Economist on the best places in Brooklyn to drink on a Saturday afternoon? Will the wonders never cease?!

Check the original here.

Thanks for the heads-up, Sarah!