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Posts published in “Life”

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!

Guy kicked off plane for stinkin’ like hell.

With all this talk of Kevin Smith being kicked off airplanes for being a portly fuck, it’s easy to get all pissed about the airlines being total dicks or whatever. But what about when the airline actually has a legitimate reason for kicking some bastards off the flight? I’m not talking about perceived threats to your safety in the air or some other terrorism bullshit, either. I’m referring to good old fashioned offensive sons of bitches trying to make your flight hell.

For example, one Canadian Airline kicked off a guy for smelling like crap. I think my favorite little tidbit of info from the article was this.

Another passenger described the smell as “brutal.”

Brutal? HAHAHAH. I’ve experienced some brutal stinks on the subway so I can only imagine how bad this guy must have stunk. Like what the fucking fuck, guy? Are you serious? Take a fucking shower.

Andy Richter has written one of the saddest jokes I’ve ever read.

And here it is.

A salesman is sitting in the reception area of a big corporation, waiting to give a presentation to some of the people there. He is kept waiting almost 40 minutes beyond the time of his appointment, and then he’s finally ushered into a conference room. He goes in, and sitting around a big table are two Jews, an African-American woman, and a gay guy of Chinese descent. The salesman goes into his pitch, for software or a phone system or something, and it’s pretty evident a couple minutes into it that these four people couldn’t care less, especially the younger Jew, who keeps checking his BlackBerry. But he plows through the presentation anyway, and when he finishes, everybody shakes his hand and thanks him. He goes out to his car and starts to drive home. On the road, his cell phone rings and he answers it. It’s his wife, and she asks him to pick up a couple of groceries on his way home. He says OK. She says, are you OK? And he says, yeah, I’m fine. She says OK. He hangs up, and this commercial for anti-itch powder comes on the radio, and it’s got all these country-sounding old people giving testimonials about how this powder completely improved the quality of their lives. And the salesman starts crying. Big choked sobs. He shades his eyes with his left hand so that the other drivers can’t see that he’s crying and says, “And I don’t even fucking care about this shit!”

Seriously, this really gets me for some reason. It comes from “Jokes” by Andy Richter on McSweeney’s. Check out the rest of them. His other 4 jokes in the article are similarly awkward and deliberately not jokey, but this salesman one is just miserable and makes me sad, not because it’s badly written, but because I feel for the pathetic salesman. Just horrible.

Funny how such a small bit of text can be so affective.

Thanks, Andy Richter. Real cool.

An Analysis of 2009 – The Year of 5000 Photos and 50 Short Stories.

Now that February is clipping along rapidly, my application to Hunter is finished and submitted, and I have had a moment to think about the results of last year’s theme, the time has arrived to discuss 2009 – The Year of 5000 Photos and 50 Short Stories. I know that you were all super excited for yet another text-heavy Black Laser posting in which I muse about things that matter to me but probably don’t matter to you. Isn’t the internet wonderful?

In case you missed it, here is my original statement of intent for 2009.

2009 was wildly successful for my photo work. Not only did I hit 5017 out of 5000 photos, but I really do think that my photos got noticeably better over the course of the year. I’ve throw together a gallery of some of my favorites from the last year. There’s no rhyme or reason for the selections; I just went through 2009 and picked a bunch I liked. They are arranged in chronological order, oldest first.

[flickrset id=”72157623234441883″ thumbnail=”square” overlay=”true” size=”large”]

I took a lot of good photos and a handful of great ones. I feel much more confident with my tools than I did before. I learned and experimented and limited myself. Tremendous success. We’ll see how many photos I take this year. I’ve hardly touched my camera since the year began because I was working so hard on my graduate school application, but that will soon change. Making photos is fun and rewarding, even if I don’t make a damned dollar doing it.

Here are all the galleries I’ve posted on this site. Anything tagged “Year of 5000 Photos and 50 Short Stories” is, obviously, part of this theme.

The results of my writing last year are much less clear. In one quantitative manner, it was only a partial success with only 38 of 50 short stories being written. Even once I lowered my goals in terms of word count, I was unable to get as much done as I had strived for. There is no excuse really. I missed the mark and that’s it. It’s disappointing too, because once I really got down to it, I was able to crank out piece after piece. Between the middle of November and the end of the year I wrote 36 of my 38 short stories. If you do the math, that works out to an average of 6 stories a week for 6 weeks. Not bad at all.

And that’s the rub. More importantly than whether or not I met the quota I set for myself in December of 2008, in terms of my skills as a writer, I think that 2009 was a complete success. Writing as often and as much as I did undoubtedly helped my writing. “Duh,” you say, but it’s true. I believe that whipping through those short stories made me a stronger writer. It’s one thing to know that practice makes you better at things, but it’s entirely different to have experienced it. I am sure that the writing I did last year contributed directly to the quality of my creative submission to Hunter this year, which is quite clearly superior to the work I submitted last year. And that is awesome.

I’m still not that great with writing about myself, though.

Check out all posts with the tag “Year of 5000 Photos and 50 Short Stories” to see the work I did.

This year I’ve already written 1 of my assigned 12 Finished Short Stories. I’ve not yet done any real work on the music videos, but it is only February and there is time. I hope to continue the roll I started in November when I decided that all the worrying I was doing about the quality of my work was preventing me from doing any at all (stupid). I’ve got more writing to do and photos to make. It feels great to make something out of nothing, and I hope all you lovely readers of my tiny speck on the face of the Interwebs will continue to read and look. And if you don’t, at the very least, I enjoy it all and that’s really what matters.

Further information dug up regarding Die Antwoord

I’ve been rustling through the interwebs today and found out a little more about Die Antwoord. Apparently, the group is the brain child of Watkin Tudor Jones, aka NINJA. His career in South African hip-hop stretches back to the halcyon days of the mid-90s (remember those?) and across several different projects, such as Max Normal and the Constructus Corporation.

Now, I could go and rehash all the info I read, but instead I’ll just send you to the site where I read it.

How about some samples of their previous work?

Max Normal.tv

Constructus Corporation

I’ve also learned about this concept called “zef” which is a South African word meaning something like “common.” Based on the description I got from Kameraad Mhambi’s blog post “What is Zef?” is that it’s like a blend of ghetto and trailer park sensibilities. Read the article though, it’s more informative than what I just wrote.

Where does that leave us with Die Antwoord? Exactly where we were before. They are still awesome. If these guys ever came to New York, I’d be in line an hour before doors. Seriously, I don’t care if there’s a whole scene in South Africa, this shit is fresh as fuck here in the States and I am into it. I need—NEED—the record. Need it so bad.