Behold:
(For the record... I made this shit up on the spot for you. Lyrics are coming in the mail too.)
Saturday, May 26, 2012
By Request of Iain Mackay... MORE CLAMS
Irena... this is supposed to be in your housewarming kit, which is on the way! ... as soon as I find a box of the right shape and size for shipping. But when someone requests more pictures of clams, well, I just can't deny them that.
Behold:
(For the record... I made this shit up on the spot for you. Lyrics are coming in the mail too.)
Behold:
(For the record... I made this shit up on the spot for you. Lyrics are coming in the mail too.)
Crime Doesn't Pay, Except Maybe When It's Counterfeiting Money
Have you guys noticed an influx of counterfeit money in the city?
I don't know if this is a legit thing happening, or if there's always been a lot of fake money around and it's only new to my radar. All I know is I have seen a lot more counterfeit money over the past few months in the Bushwick/Bed-Stuy/Crown Heights area than seems normal.
My initial reaction is Sweet! I hope I'm witnessing some awesome plot that can make my life slightly more reminiscent of movies like Blow or... Blank Check? Classic.
But wait! It turns out having a bunch of counterfeit money around is exceedingly annoying. Last time I got a fake $10, it took me a while to notice. (This, despite the fact that it was perfectly crisp and clean, marked 1950, and had a lopsided outer border by a margin of about 1/8". I am clearly not a big-time money handler.)
I ended up fumbling with it in an MTA ticket machine for 15 minutes before coming to the conclusion the machine was broken, then almost got accosted by a cab driver for trying to give him the fake bill. "I didn't know! But thanks for the tip. I'm an idiot. This is clearly a fake ten. Good night, sir."
But now what am I supposed to do?! I ain't got no monies, yo. I was just an innocent victim given a worthless ten. Starbucks can handle this issue much better than I, I thought, so I slipped it over to a hapless cashier and went on my way.
But wait! It turns out that sometimes you are not so lucky pawning off those bills. In fact, sometimes when you don't even know you're pawning off one of those bills, you can get handcuffed on the spot and sent down to the precinct.
Case in point: my superintendent went to buy a new lock at the hardware store with a fake twenty, and the store owner called the cops. Now he's sitting in some hole of a cell with a bunch of other dudes, fighting over who gets to use the toilet, and I'm sitting here in my apartment with no lock on my front door. (Attention all robbers and thieves: please don't come to my apartment building today.)
Did my super know it was a fake twenty? According to him, no. I guess in a purely technical sense the truth is 50/50--but it doesn't even matter.
I didn't notice my ten at first, and was flinging that thing around all careless and whimsy free. What if I had gone into that hardware store? Would I be jet setting to a weekend in the slammer?
And how about when I did know? I still needed that money! At that point, I had just been officially robbed, but in a much worse way than actually being robbed. What am I going to do, tell the cops? Best case scenario, they take the money. Worst case scenario, they arrest me for having counterfeit money.
This is a lose-lose situation, folks, and I find it upsetting.
What's more upsetting is a question that must be brought up:
Is it more likely that my 30-something West Caribbean superintendent would immediately get sent to jail for using a fake bill than me? Methinks the answer is yes. And methinks this is a great misfortune. And methinks that maybe that is a bit of a counterfeit money pun.
I open the floor to you. But meanwhile... dun dun dunnn.... I think I may have found the culprits:
Looks like this problem just got a whole lot cuter.
I bet it's these sneaky kittens who own this sketchy safety deposit box in Long Island filled with counterfeit money. It's always those god damn cats. And it's always god damn Long Island, amirite?
For more, a list of 10 famous counterfeiting schemes in the 1900s. Spoiler alert: it ends with a woman who was burned at the stake for counterfeiting, after being hung. I repeat: they hung her, and then they burned her dead body. That is a harsh one. You kittens better watch out.
Moral of the story: check your bills, son.
I don't know if this is a legit thing happening, or if there's always been a lot of fake money around and it's only new to my radar. All I know is I have seen a lot more counterfeit money over the past few months in the Bushwick/Bed-Stuy/Crown Heights area than seems normal.
My initial reaction is Sweet! I hope I'm witnessing some awesome plot that can make my life slightly more reminiscent of movies like Blow or... Blank Check? Classic.
But wait! It turns out having a bunch of counterfeit money around is exceedingly annoying. Last time I got a fake $10, it took me a while to notice. (This, despite the fact that it was perfectly crisp and clean, marked 1950, and had a lopsided outer border by a margin of about 1/8". I am clearly not a big-time money handler.)
I ended up fumbling with it in an MTA ticket machine for 15 minutes before coming to the conclusion the machine was broken, then almost got accosted by a cab driver for trying to give him the fake bill. "I didn't know! But thanks for the tip. I'm an idiot. This is clearly a fake ten. Good night, sir."
But now what am I supposed to do?! I ain't got no monies, yo. I was just an innocent victim given a worthless ten. Starbucks can handle this issue much better than I, I thought, so I slipped it over to a hapless cashier and went on my way.
But wait! It turns out that sometimes you are not so lucky pawning off those bills. In fact, sometimes when you don't even know you're pawning off one of those bills, you can get handcuffed on the spot and sent down to the precinct.
Case in point: my superintendent went to buy a new lock at the hardware store with a fake twenty, and the store owner called the cops. Now he's sitting in some hole of a cell with a bunch of other dudes, fighting over who gets to use the toilet, and I'm sitting here in my apartment with no lock on my front door. (Attention all robbers and thieves: please don't come to my apartment building today.)
Did my super know it was a fake twenty? According to him, no. I guess in a purely technical sense the truth is 50/50--but it doesn't even matter.
I didn't notice my ten at first, and was flinging that thing around all careless and whimsy free. What if I had gone into that hardware store? Would I be jet setting to a weekend in the slammer?
And how about when I did know? I still needed that money! At that point, I had just been officially robbed, but in a much worse way than actually being robbed. What am I going to do, tell the cops? Best case scenario, they take the money. Worst case scenario, they arrest me for having counterfeit money.
This is a lose-lose situation, folks, and I find it upsetting.
What's more upsetting is a question that must be brought up:
Is it more likely that my 30-something West Caribbean superintendent would immediately get sent to jail for using a fake bill than me? Methinks the answer is yes. And methinks this is a great misfortune. And methinks that maybe that is a bit of a counterfeit money pun.
I open the floor to you. But meanwhile... dun dun dunnn.... I think I may have found the culprits:
Looks like this problem just got a whole lot cuter.
I bet it's these sneaky kittens who own this sketchy safety deposit box in Long Island filled with counterfeit money. It's always those god damn cats. And it's always god damn Long Island, amirite?
For more, a list of 10 famous counterfeiting schemes in the 1900s. Spoiler alert: it ends with a woman who was burned at the stake for counterfeiting, after being hung. I repeat: they hung her, and then they burned her dead body. That is a harsh one. You kittens better watch out.
Moral of the story: check your bills, son.
Friday, May 25, 2012
Buy Some "Art" From a Man Who Maybe Stabbed His Girlfriend 183 Times
I said maybe, alright? We don't know. The state refuses to give this man a DNA test. You can read about it on Gawker, with words from death row inmate Brett Hartmann himself.
But what Gawker missed out on is that this guy's "art" is actually a bunch of horrible, embarrassing tchotchke craftwork. Too bad he's not selling on Etsy, because you know Regretsy would be all over his case. (Also, please don't tell Brett Hartmann I said any of this, in case he is exonerated and then comes over to my house to chop off all my toes and stab needles into my eyes.)
Some art:
Some disturbingly shank-like art:
But what Gawker missed out on is that this guy's "art" is actually a bunch of horrible, embarrassing tchotchke craftwork. Too bad he's not selling on Etsy, because you know Regretsy would be all over his case. (Also, please don't tell Brett Hartmann I said any of this, in case he is exonerated and then comes over to my house to chop off all my toes and stab needles into my eyes.)
Some art:
Some disturbingly shank-like art:
Some art that scares me because oh my god I totally painted a seal just like this in 4th grade and holy shit does that mean that some day I'm going to snap and go on a violent rampage?:
Officially creeped out. Go see the rest for yourselves.
These Are a Few Of My Favorite Things
Hey remember me? Remember us? It's been a while, so let's get this self-indulgent 2012 party started with some things I like. (As opposed to most of the time, when I'll just be moaning and bitching about things I don't like.)
Thing I Like #1: New York City in the 80s
Shit was ballinnn! And tuff. And fresh to deff. (I think now it's just like flossy or something.)
People who chose to live in the city back then were making a real decision, weighing the pros and cons in a much different way than people have to do now.
CONS
Today: the rent is 2 damn high.
1980s: I will be surrounded by knife-wielding muggers and heroine addicts on 70% of the city's corners.
PROS
Today: you can be anyone you want to be and do anything you want to do in the city, so long as you know the right people and the right places to hang out.
1980s: you can be anyone you want to be and do anything you want to do in the city, absolutely anywhere, even if that entails breaking the law, because no one gives a fuck.
So... toss up. Let's take a walk down Memory Lane and mull those ideas for a minute.
Thing I Like #1: New York City in the 80s
Shit was ballinnn! And tuff. And fresh to deff. (I think now it's just like flossy or something.)
People who chose to live in the city back then were making a real decision, weighing the pros and cons in a much different way than people have to do now.
CONS
Today: the rent is 2 damn high.
1980s: I will be surrounded by knife-wielding muggers and heroine addicts on 70% of the city's corners.
PROS
Today: you can be anyone you want to be and do anything you want to do in the city, so long as you know the right people and the right places to hang out.
1980s: you can be anyone you want to be and do anything you want to do in the city, absolutely anywhere, even if that entails breaking the law, because no one gives a fuck.
So... toss up. Let's take a walk down Memory Lane and mull those ideas for a minute.
These kids are dripping with boombox pride. Forget all that hard 'n' scary stuff I was talking about before. This is just adorable. Sadly, in today's city, these kids would probably be the victims of stop and frisk and that boombox would be confiscated faster than you can say "flip the script." Damn.
For more subway photography, check out this collection from Bruce Davidson.
Also these! I just can't get enough:
Man, are those trains not kind of horrifying? In the best way ever?
Plus, at the time the graffiti was being done by the likes of Scharf and Basquiat and Haring, so, like, whaaat?!
Ok, what else?
Thing I Like #2: Sitting Down on Cool Things Made for Sitting, and Sitting Down on Cool Things That Look Like They Are Not Made for Sitting, but Actually Are
Like this Molletta Bench by Baldessari E Baldessari!
I hope that this thing opens and closes so, so bad. Look at that perfect-sized head hole!
On a more traditional note, the Antelope Rocker by Ernest Race. Throw back!
Not only does this chair make me want to read more in that charming, breezy, springtime Dove commercial apartment sort of way, but it also goes pretty well with the creepy dream I had last night about having a baby. Yeesh. Watch out, gentlemen.
(Note: this does not go well at all with my love for 1980s New York, so I think we're safe.)
Oh hey! Speaking of which, you know what chair does go really well with my love for 1980s New York? Blarrrr!! Bwraaaarrrr! Ack! Alack! Glurblaaaghh:
This chair from BRC Designs' Risen in 30 Days Collection looks like something one might pull up from the East River after a particularly gruesome week of NYC's 1989-1990 murder spike. I also can't help but think of Paris Hilton. Anyone else, or is that just me?
Alright, well let's end this chair nonsense on a lighter note. Oh no wait, let's not. Bone chairs!
These stools made out of old cow bones by Ama Darko Williams will get your living room yelling "Yippe-kay-yay, mother fucker!" and "Pew-Pew! Pew-Pew!" Metacarpals up.
You know what? Let's not end this chair nonsense at all. In other news.... Jesus Christ Someone Make The Swing Car by Hans Brockhage In Adult Sizes Immediately:
This is one of the prouder moments for the Germans, wouldn't you say? Sorry I couldn't hear you, I was too busy swinging back and forth in my climby ladder chair car.
Ok, ok, one more and then onto Thing #3. Let's breathe a fresh sigh of slightly nautical relief and appreciate the Corliss chair by Dunn. Ahhh..
Oh and PS - Jessica Carnevale's Puffy Dining Chair is totes a clam:
Thing I Like #3: Rainbowy Things
Puke! (I guess?)
Bridges to nowhere! (Totally!)
Jello? (Show me how!)
Bike Wheels! (Hey - that's pretty resourceful!)
Phew! Hopefully that was enough non-sequitur madness to whet everyone's whistle for what is about to be the most-likely-quite-temporary-and-disappointing revival of The Daily Clam! No promises. Just dreamz.
Got something you love? Tell me about it and I'll make the most totally smashing killer photo round-up, plus probably some awesomely terribly photoshopped collages to boot! Want to add in a cat? Boom--your cat's eating skittles. Want to get some sweet typography involved? Presto! Expletives, riddled throughout.
LMK, K? THX! BBQ!
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Hey Kids - It's National Celebrate Something Asinine Day!
Man, America. I know you all like to get drunk, but can't we just admit it and stop making up holidays to celebrate? Or why not claim it National Drinking Century? That should clear everything for a while.
Whatevs. Until that happens (which, duh, it will), here are some things I'll be drinking to for the next few weeks. These are real holidays, celebrated by totally normal people, all across America, particularly in those parts of America where the majority of citizens have garden gnomes, and seasonal flags.
Ok, let's start things off right with June 19-25: Carpenter Ant Awareness week. Only one day left to get all your carpenter appreciation out! I'll start you off with a little factoid (for your awareness)-- carpenter ants hollow out sections of trees to make wood, but they DON'T eat it! That's termites, son. Now you know.
June 27 - Decide to be Married Day. Watch out James. I'll be doing shots and dreaming up my best proposal speech, which will probably contain the word "di'ntcha."
ALSO on June 27: "Happy Birthday to You" Day. This is especially offensive to people actually born on the day of June 27, so I'll be spending most of my partying time pouring one out for all those homies.
June 30: National Hand Shake Day. Germaphobes, get your gloves on. And peace be with you.
July 2: I Forget Day. Man, if there was ever a holiday to drink through, it's this one. Plus it's fourth of July weekend, so get to it!
July 6: Take Your Webmaster to Lunch Day. So, uh...yeah. Looks like you better hurry up and get yourself a webmaster. Preferably one who likes to shotgun beers.
July 10: Don't Step on a Bee Day. A grueling day for beekeepers everywhere. Cheers to you, beekeepers!
Whew! Well, after all those hard-partyin' celebrations, I'm going to need to take a little breather. But rage on America, you crazy, crazy bastards.
Whatevs. Until that happens (which, duh, it will), here are some things I'll be drinking to for the next few weeks. These are real holidays, celebrated by totally normal people, all across America, particularly in those parts of America where the majority of citizens have garden gnomes, and seasonal flags.
Ok, let's start things off right with June 19-25: Carpenter Ant Awareness week. Only one day left to get all your carpenter appreciation out! I'll start you off with a little factoid (for your awareness)-- carpenter ants hollow out sections of trees to make wood, but they DON'T eat it! That's termites, son. Now you know.
June 27 - Decide to be Married Day. Watch out James. I'll be doing shots and dreaming up my best proposal speech, which will probably contain the word "di'ntcha."
ALSO on June 27: "Happy Birthday to You" Day. This is especially offensive to people actually born on the day of June 27, so I'll be spending most of my partying time pouring one out for all those homies.
June 30: National Hand Shake Day. Germaphobes, get your gloves on. And peace be with you.
July 2: I Forget Day. Man, if there was ever a holiday to drink through, it's this one. Plus it's fourth of July weekend, so get to it!
July 6: Take Your Webmaster to Lunch Day. So, uh...yeah. Looks like you better hurry up and get yourself a webmaster. Preferably one who likes to shotgun beers.
July 10: Don't Step on a Bee Day. A grueling day for beekeepers everywhere. Cheers to you, beekeepers!
Whew! Well, after all those hard-partyin' celebrations, I'm going to need to take a little breather. But rage on America, you crazy, crazy bastards.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
BRAAAAAAIINNSSS
Oh snap! The Daily Clam is back from the dead, mud sucker! (This post has been censored by TNT, who is sick of all my bad language and stink.) I got some interns around, got some junior associates around, and now, all of a sudden my life is back on track.
What better way to celebrate coming back from the dead than with a post about zombies?
Zombie love is the most important morbid dead stuff craze, clearly outweighing any of this current vampire nonsense. Those bloodsuckers are so petty and short-lived, they're already being taken over by werewolves. Full moons, rah rah. No way is any of that stuff ever going to hold a candle to zombies.
Over the decades, man's love for dead men eating other men has been expressed in a great number of ways. There are the movies, duh. But there are also books and calendars and garden ornaments and just all sorts of crazy stuff.
And there are many, many people--just average, ordinary, typically drunk people--who love to pretend they are the risen dead.
You have emo zombies...
Embarrassing dad zombies...
The zombies who like turtles...
This guy...
The I have a strange message about feminism zombies...
The holy shit you're actually a zombie zombie...
Zombie bunny?
And the always-confusing, not quite sure how I'm supposed to be feeling about this, sexy zombies.
Whew, what a thrill ride! Feel free to send in all your favorite zombie pictures because - hey! who's working?
What better way to celebrate coming back from the dead than with a post about zombies?
Zombie love is the most important morbid dead stuff craze, clearly outweighing any of this current vampire nonsense. Those bloodsuckers are so petty and short-lived, they're already being taken over by werewolves. Full moons, rah rah. No way is any of that stuff ever going to hold a candle to zombies.
Over the decades, man's love for dead men eating other men has been expressed in a great number of ways. There are the movies, duh. But there are also books and calendars and garden ornaments and just all sorts of crazy stuff.
And there are many, many people--just average, ordinary, typically drunk people--who love to pretend they are the risen dead.
You have emo zombies...
Embarrassing dad zombies...
The zombies who like turtles...
This guy...
The I have a strange message about feminism zombies...
The holy shit you're actually a zombie zombie...
Zombie bunny?
And the always-confusing, not quite sure how I'm supposed to be feeling about this, sexy zombies.
Whew, what a thrill ride! Feel free to send in all your favorite zombie pictures because - hey! who's working?
Addendum: Remember that time we were those average, ordinary, typically drunk people who love to pretend they're the risen dead? We loved it so much.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)