Category Archives: NYC

Laser Etching At Gizmodo Gallery

I haven’t been able to sit down and write anything because of class, apartment hunting, and my current living situation. However, I see more blogging happening this week. That is If you’re all good little boys and girls and there’s no acting up on the drive home. I swear to god I will turn this car around god damnit.

Last week I attended the second annual Gizmodo Gallery. Gizmodo showcases some of todays more interesting fringe technology, along with some old classics. There were painting robots, a 3d printer, and of course the obligatory 103 inch plasma tv tooting Halo in the back.

Phil Torrone with AdaFruit was kind enough to lend his time, and his laser etcher to Gizmodo fans looking for a cheap way to score an etched gadget. I brought my macbook pro. There was a small donation fee (25 bucks down from 100) all of which went towards Engineers Without Boarders. My friend CNTGZ really fucking pulled through last minute and designed an amazing Guatama Buddha for me.

Here are the results:

thanks to CNTGZ, Phil from Adafruit, and everyone at Gizmodo. wadup!


My Roommate Fucking Sucks

My roommate Alison fucking sucks. And here’s why:

1. The Snark of a Genius

Firstly, I should mention that Alison is a guy. Perhaps if he was a female I wouldn’t be so outwardly ferocious towards him in my rantings. Well, perhaps not. Anyway, I interviewed with Alison before I moved in to be the new roommate. It went like this:
Alison: So you don’t have to make a year commitment. You can do 6 months.
Me: Yeah, 6 months would be better.. To see if I can acclimate to the environment, you know?
A: Acclimate hm, that’s a good word (takes a swig of milk from the fridge) Haven’t used that one in like (pause, looks me straight in the eyes) two weeks.
He possesses all the quirks, and snark of a genius without the privelage of actually being one. This was definitely a red flag, and I should have known that our personalities would inevitably clash. But everyone deserves a second chance, right? Well.

2. Tangent Lectures

Alison goes on these tangent lectures where he breaks off from what appears to be casual, docile conversation, and begins these hyper political, eccentric rants.
Me: Man, I’m fucking beat from class. Seriously exhausted.
Alison: The government is in a downswing right now. People are investing money into a business structure that’s not going to exist in 50 years.
Me: Yes, Goodnight.
These lectures started just a few days in to my occupancy. I’d invited my girlfriend over for the night and we were in the middle of a quiet dinner. “Why astroids and humans have the same DNA” wasn’t exactly the dinner conversation I had in mind.

3. Alison Is A Mooch

My roommate Robert and I cooked lunch together the other day. I made some hot mustard chicken with garlic and scallions, and Rob made a pot of rice with kale and Cabbage. Enter Alison.
A: Hey guys, got some stir fry goin’ on here?
me: Yeah man. Do you want some?
A: Yeah. (casually looking away and yawning.) I think I’m gunna have a little bit.
What a pleasant way of saying thank you. he proceeded to finish off the rest of the food.

4. Alison Is In Love With My Room

After a day of class, or being gone for the weekend I will come home to find that my room has been altered, shuffled some how. A sock that was on the floor is now on my bed. My laundry bag which sat by the closet is now hanging on a hook by my door. I’ll even come home to find new things in my room. A book on my bureau that is not mine, 2 tennis balls sitting atop my bedside table. I’m been trying to decipher the intention behind these actions and objects. Is he pointing out my personal slobbery, while rewarding future cleanliness? Positive tennis ball reinforcements? Maybe he’s just fucking around in my room while I’m gone. Dear god, I hope he’s not jacking off in my bed.

5.This Morning

I woke up to the sound of two men screaming at each other. One of them was Alison. I recognized his particular whine. The other voice I didn’t recognize.
A: You know what man, just get your stuff and leave. I’m sick of you.
There was a loud banging on my door
?: Hey man, I need to get into your room.
It was Alison’s friend, and Ex Roommate. He had left a lot of his stuff in my closet and was picking it up. He began packing his clothes, and various belongings into plastic bags.
Ex Roomie: you’re doing the right thing moving out.
I was sitting on the edge of my bed, my head in my hands.
me: I become more and more aware of that, every passing day, thank you.
Ex Roomie: You’re doing the right thing.
me: Yes (pause) I know.
He left my room and I closed the door behind him, and got back in bed. A few minutes later I am awoken once again by heavy knocking.
Ex Roomie: You should come out here man, you need to be made aware of something!
I oblige. I don’t know why. It may be my terrible sense of humor, which allows me to put myself in such volatile situations. As if a practical joke is being played on me, and I’m participating for my own gratification. I sit on the edge of the living room couch.
me: Okay, what?
A: He’s just spouting off at the mouth man, it’s nothing.
Ex Roomie: No, Listen. Alison has someone moving in in October.
A: Don’t listen to him man.
me: Wait, that’s fine. I’m moving out. I thought we talked about this.
Ex Roomie: You should be aware.
A: Don’t listen to him man!
me: I don’t know what’s going on, to be perfectly honest. Guys, I’m sick, and it’s early, so leave me the fuck alone please.
A: Listen, he’s just spouting off at-
me: STOP!

I wasn’t planning on publishing this particular blog until after I moved out, but  the more I thought about it the more I realized I should post it now. It is more sincere, and it’s that much more funny to think that as you’re reading this I’m living in TOTAL SUCK! By the way, I’m fully aware that it is in bad taste to post someone’s real name and picture, but if you’re going to eat my food, and invade my privacy there’s really no holding back. Don’t eat my food. The end.

Kanye West Is An

Couldn’t have said it better myself google. Tonight at MTV’s VMA’s (who gives a shit, I know) Kanye so graciously grabbed the mic from Best Female Video Award winner, 19 year old Taylor Swift, in support of Beyonce’s video Single Ladies.

He then proceeded to shoot off at the mouth like a child demanding his say. When did it become okay for a grown ass man to have a tantrum?  Not up on this celebrity gossip shit, but I’ll leave you with this. Am I the only one who thinks beaver whenever Kanye’s on tv? He has brace face. You know, the puckering, protruding lips of someone who is trying to hide their dental gear by forcing their lips down over it.

Hypochondriac, But Only By Association

I had a physical done earlier this month. My doctor gave me the usual: took some blood, had my boys looked at, knocked them around a little (that’s part of the usual, right?). You know the deal. About two weeks passed and I received a voicemail:

Hey um, This is Dr.X-X-X-X. And I have your (pause), I have your blood results here. And, well (pause) give me a call, or I’ll call you back soon.

fuck. What’s with all the pauses? So I’ve developed this terrible habit of putting off  bad news, regardless of its inevitability. Didn’t do well spring semester? Wait ’til fall semester to check my grades. Think I might’ve overdrawn a few bucks in my bank account? Wait til I start receiving letters to find out.

And I also happen to be a Hypochondriac, but only by association. I was raised by my mother, my mother’s mother, and my sister. Three legit, hardcore Hypochondriacs. For the first decade+change of my life my mother used to sneak vitamin powder into my sandwiches (taking three bites of a ham and cheese, and then on the fourth tasting eat wax is so much fun) almost sure that I would contract some forgotten disease; the plague or yellow fever at school (which is ridiculous because asian girls have never tickled my fancy.) My sister, when she would visit from college would try to convince me that I could get AID’s from staring at some skanky looking bitch the wrong way. And whenever I would visit as a child, my grandmother would force me to chug fish oil, and chew on flax seeds. She was the alternative medicine Hypochondriac in the family. So, more or less I’m the direct product of my sickeningly paranoia inducing environment.

So because of my Once-Removed-Hypochondria I refrained from calling my doctor back, and all the possible ailments I may have had began to fester in my mind. I became more, and more distrought with fear, sickened by the idea that I was a walking, talking germ vessel. At one point I was sure I was dying. If I coughed too hard I thought my dick would fall off.  if I was feeling particularly jumpy I was sure I had MS. If I hadn’t pissed all day I’d start fingering my prostate (kidding?)

It eventually got so bad that I could no longer screen my doctors phone calls and decided one day that I had to pick up. Maybe it was time sensitive, perhaps there was an antidote! Turns out I have a “slight leaky heart.” which is “borderline standard, and completely normal.” Now I just feel like a bitch. I mean a leaky heart aint very manly.

Then again I’m just glad my dick didn’t fall off.

The Three People You Will Encounter In Community College

This year I was lucky enough to be invited back to the Borough of Manhattan Community College. Now that the first week of class has passed I want to take a moment to tell you about the three types of people that you will encounter in Community College, if you are lucky enough to get the opportunity.

First, there are the Under Achievers. This group consists mainly of 20 somethings, fresh from their post year high school sabbatical.  The Under Achievers don’t really know what they’re doing with their life and luckily don’t really care to find out. They’d rather be at home playing xbox and jerking off (not a far cry from what I do in my spare time.) They never really considered the whole “four year thing” after high school but ended up in Community College because otherwise “yo my moms said she was gunna turn off my phone if I don’t go to school, and I was like naww.” The Under Achievers don’t give a shit about class, and chances are they’ll forget to register for class next semester, BUT IT’S OKAY! Anyday now their silkscreening company/rap career is totally going to blow up and they’ll be rollin’ in that new money.

Then there are the Over Achievers. Oddly enough, they are a similar breed to that of the Under Achievers. Neither did very well in high school, nor cared to take their SAT’s. What sets an Over Achiever apart however, is his/her bloated sense of self importance. By filling out the application, and paying the 35 dollar registration they are now of a higher echelon. A realm in which only the most elite minds are privy to exist, they are a well oiled gear in the think tank that is Community College. They will fight to sit in the front row, and raise their hand before they have a question to ask. Congratulations mutha fuckers.

Finally, the last group you encounter in Community College are the Foreigners. They are former Doctors and Lawyers from around the world with degrees that don’t mean a thing in the States, and now they are taking business administration, or hotel management courses. So you went to med school graduating at the top of your class, then opened a small practice in Poland which you’ve operated for the last 12 years? Sorry Volodyslav, but you’re in America now baby, and soon you’ll be sitting in some stuffy office creating excel files listing popular cat and dog dry foods for a cat and dog food conglomerate. LAND OF THE FREE!

At this point, I should apologize for all my hating. In fact I possess some of the qualities of both the under achiever, and the over achiever. I’m even a bit of a foreigner, albeit in my own right. Truth be told I’m just a bitter old/young man who is judging a student body that I’m too snobby to get to know, and not interesting enough to interact with. I should mention that I have however met a few curious individuals, like the Greek Pop Star, and the Romanian Ping Pong Champion. Anyway, let’s make Fall 09 an interesting semester.

oh, I may have over-looked a group. There happen to be a ton of old people hanging around. Like, fucking everywhere. Too old to start a new career not old enough to retire.

Hey Grandpa! CHUG! CHUG! CHUG!


Paradise Lost; Apartment Found

I was reading the NYtimes’ Complain Box tonight, and the current article is about a trip the author had taken with his children to P.S.1., one of his favorite places to view contemporary art in NY. Unfortunately the trip turned sour when they were suddenly ambushed by a bunch of dicks and pussah’s all over the place. Well:

We quickly encountered what appeared to be an indoor swimming pool- only it turned out to be an illusion (A glass sheet mounted in the floor, with a bit of water runing over it.). A stairway made it possible to see the pool….my kids ran up and down the stairs a dozen times, gleefully posing for photos. It was the exactly the kind of playful installation that I take them to museums like P.S.1 to see.After five minutes, they asked if there was anything else…they’d like…I didn’t know, so we checked out the exhibition across the hall…Two minutes later, I saw something alarming over my right shoulder: a giant photo of Katie Couric delivering the evening news with her genitalia exposed.

Funny, I’d come across that same giant photo not too long after reading the article.

The author continues on about how, though he is against censorship, he feels that there should have been a more clear warning  regarding Couric’s flaming news labia. His reason? A “harried parent” wouldn’t have noticed the small printed sign which warned of the 18 plus. But when did it become a museums responsibility to make sure that children don’t come across lewd paintings? and I use that term extremely loosely because it is a fucking museum. Does it have something to do with the fact that paintings typically hang about 3 to 4 feet high, which inevitably leads to a childs head being level with cock, pussy and/or ass? Irregardless,  a harried parent shouldn’t bring their child to a museum. A harried parent, with children with a ton of energy to expel, should bring their child to a park, or a pool. Not an illusion of a pool. I’m all for bringing your kids to the museum but perhaps P.S. 1 isn’t necesarily that educational oasis of child distraction in a sea of mind numbingly bland parks and playgrounds. I was brought up on the MET and the Natural History museum. They may not be genitalia free, but if you’re not okay with your kid seeing a nude oil, or statue, then maybe the reccenter should be your next destination of choice.

The author concludes

Do New York museums really want to make parents scared of what their kids will see around the corner? I propose this rule: The warning signs should be at least as large as the exposed genitalia.

Do New York parents really have so much wreckless abandon as to let their kids run wild in a contemporary art museum? I think the author should just be glad that the signs aren’t as big as his genitalia. In which case they would look something like this:

In other news, I found an apartment. Good bye alleyway, hello Brownsville! Just kidding. I’d never live in that broke ass ghetto. (Sorry Brownsville, you know you’re my boo.) Instead, I’ll be living a stones throw away in Bed Stuy: A Step Above the Rest. Just kidding+1. Their motto is Bed Stuy: Do or Die. As in kill or kill yo’self cuz you a pussay, ya pussay. At least I’ll be able to tell my kids I lived in Bed Stuy pre gentrification. CUZ IM REAL LIKE THAT

Youssouf Drame Is a NYC Bad Ass

“I Didn’t come to America to die” Youssouf told the NYTimes. Mr.Drame had killed two men who attempted to rob his store.

but Youssouf Drame isn’t a cold blooded killer. He’s the owner of Crown Heights Electronics. When four men entered his store last November, one shouting “Don’t do anything stupid Africa” Drame grabbed the mans gun and BLATBLATBLAT’d him in the face-hole. Perhaps you should stop and think before you rob someone who immigrated from Senegal.

What I think is fascinating about Drame is that, even after being shot 7 times, and murdering two men in self defense, he seems to have a pretty firm grasp on the situation at hand. I really do have respect for Youssouf Drame, and it’s not because he can stand his own ground. According to the NYTimes, many shop owners who had held similar stand offs come out shell shocked, and depressed. It seems unjust that they end up living a life of regret for something that wasn’t really in their power to control.

You’re probably wondering if Mr.Drame thinks what he did was wrong. With five kids to feed, and a long life ahead of him he doesn’t have much to regret. When asked if he would have done it all again, Youssouf simply replied “I’d do worse.”

via NYTimes