Graffiti with a return address

I don’t know much -- or, ok, anything -- about the graffiti community or why people go around “tagging” things, but I have a hunch: Tagging is the spraypaint equivalent of shouting openly in code, like those annoying girls at summer camp who spoke gibberish to each other all the time (“Hiddigee’s siddiguch iddiga liddigosiddiger!” one would say, and they’d both giggle). You write your name in some wacky, tightly fashioned way, and it’s barely understandable to the general public. Even if someone can make out the letters, they’re still only reading a codename. Taggers can recognize other taggers, but that’s about it. The whole thing’s so secretly public, or publicly secret. Or both.

So when I was walking through a tunnel in London, I was amused to see a considerably less cryptic version of this. Instead of leaving spruced-up codenames, a bunch of kids were, as you can see above, leaving their e-mail addresses. They seem to have somehow missed the subtlety of their peers and gone straight for the glory. By now, who knows: Maybe they’re just gluing pictures of themselves to the wall.

I wondered if maybe this is some sort of community-building effort. Perhaps these people see each others’ e-mail addresses and write to say hi. Or, you know, become MySpace friends. So, I wrote one of them on Monday. “Has anyone else e-mailed you because you wrote your address on the wall?” I asked.

Today, a reply came: “NAH DAY AINT U DA FIRST”

That kind of says it all, doesn’t it?

Permalink: 12:03 AM | Comments (4)

Oh, and the brain on the cover? That's mine.

The October issue of Boston Magazine just hit stands, and I've got four bylines to boast of. Already posted online are my items about why the elderly need to learn about safe sex and what Christian Science Monitor superstar Jill Carroll is up to these days. Not online is a little thing I did on one of Boston's best bloggers, Adam Gaffin from Universal Hub, and the pithy calendar page, The Agenda, which I'm doing monthly.

Permalink: 09:38 AM | Comments (1)

Who does numéro deux work for?

Going to the bathroom in Europe was an adventure, because you never knew what you'd get. I must have seen dozens of styles of urinals, and flushing devices were always new and wacky: You had to pump it like a well, push what looks like a mailbox, press a button, press half a button, on so on. But that picture above was of the bathroom that took top prize. I couldn't even figure out how to flush it there, and had to leave that unfortunate job to someone else. I'm so lucky I only had to pee, because that little cell you see above is all that was available at a cafe we went to in Paris. Imagine trying to squat and brace yourself against those walls. (You can see a glimmer of the roll of toilet paper on the bottom right.) Uggghh.

And in unrelated news, here's the refrigerator with the best view in Paris:

Permalink: 08:16 AM | Comments (3)

HappyScrappy: Bringing people together since last week

I love hearing from readers of this site, and that sometimes leads me to drag out e-mail exchanges long past their expiration date. However, it isn’t often that I actually meet the people on the other side of this web server. It isn’t by design so much as circumstance: Unlike Drew from Fark, I’m not hosting big bar parties; and unlike the Daddy of Vlogging, I’m not regularly attending big ol’ blogger conferences. But in Berlin, I got a rare chance to meet one of HappyScrappy’s far-flung readers. Indeed, ladies and gentlemen, I have reached out and touched somebody.

Above you see Sebi and I kickin' it old school in front of one of Berlin’s countless graffiti-covered walls. He’s been reading the site for quite some time, and we’ve exchanged a few e-mails over the years. Because he was the closest thing I had to a source in Berlin, I e-mailed him before my trip to ask for suggestions on things to do. On his list: His band, an awesome instrumental rock outfit called Seidenmatt, was playing a show at Popkomm, a big music festival being held at the time. I went, enjoyed a fantastically catchy band called Sister Love and a wacky gyrating trio called Silicone Pumpgun, and then introduced myself after Seidenmatt’s set.

Blogging is an awkward foundation on which to build a conversation. From the comfort of my keyboard, I spew all sorts of glossed-over junk into the world and hope enough people care to make it worth my while. Readers can (and should!) shoot me e-mails or leave comments, but still: The ratio of knowledge we, the reader and I, have about each other is fairly skewed. You know me, but I don’t know you nearly as well. So when Sebi and I sat down in a little courtyard attached to the club, I realized that one of us was at a disadvantage, although I couldn’t decide who. Either way, it gave me the unnatural urge not to want to talk about myself, and so I started quizzing him on Berlin and his life and band and, hey now, who are these ultra-cute Swedish girls who just sat down? (Answer: They’re from Audrey, a really solid, melodic slow-rock group on Sebastian’s music label, Sinnbus Records.)

A few hours later and it’s 2 a.m., and some man comes by and has a pleasant half-minute conversation in German with Sebi. I ask what the guy said, and Sebi says, “He said the club’s closing and we need to go.”

“Wow,” I say. “If we were in Boston, the guy would have just come over and yelled, ‘Out!’”

So out we tumbled onto the streets. Pictures were taken, farewells were exchanged, and some friends and I headed off into the night. But how do you like that? This blog turns out to be good for something after all.

Permalink: 08:01 AM | Comments (0)

Ich bin ein slide-climber

During our stroll around East Berlin -- a Brooklyn-like area that surprised me with its youth and hipness -- we found an elaborate little park with obstacles of all types. They had a rock-climbing wall, a zipline, a wacky and semi-dangerous version of a see-saw, a giant slide and more. (Above: A video of me trying to run up the slide.) We played around for a while -- typically enjoying a toy for a few minutes until some toddler came along, reminding us of who these things are really for, and so we’d cede control. Still, I navigated through it with giddy amusement, trying to remember the last time I’d played around on playground equipment.

Then I realized why this was so novel: We’re too afraid of this kind of stuff in America. If we have it at all, I’ve never seen it. We have swings and slides, sure, but they’re all safely low to the ground. This stuff from the Berlin park, if not used safely, could fling you into Hamburg. In America, this park would be eight trillion lawsuits waiting to happen; in Berlin, it was a place to be enjoyed.

It was a contrast I saw over and over again in Europe: Like the way porn mags were visible and accessible at every Parisian magazine stand, there was a comforting feeling that, unlike in America, not everything is viewed as potentially damaging. A French kid sees a boob on a porn mag? Who cares; nobody was hurt. But if an American kid saw the same thing for a second during the Super Bowl half-time show? An army of parents and activists will respond, claiming irreparable harm to children.

We took a bike tour of Berlin, and our tour guide gave us a quick bike safety lesson before we went riding. “This is an American company, so I have to do this,” he said. How horribly embarrassing.

Permalink: 11:38 AM | Comments (2)

Snakes on a booze!

I suppose the title of this post should be "Snakes in a booze," but fuck it: The snakes in the movie were technically in the plane, but they still titled it "Snakes on a Plane." So the hell with proper word usage today. In any case, bottles of this cold-blooded concoction were being sold in a fansy-schmancy store in London that we visited. Next to it was -- and I'm not making this up -- those cheesy Tequila-flavored lollipops with worms inside them, which you might find at a tourist shop near the Alamo. No bueno.

Sadly, my camera didn't capture the most alarming part of this bottle: the small flakes of dead snake that were floating around inside. This is one kind of vodka that could make me puke after the first shot.

Permalink: 11:12 AM | Comments (0)

Them Europeans sure are big

Thanks to a long customs line and our inability to sprint fast enough through the vast land mass that is Heathrow Airport, I missed my plane last night and am back from my European jaunt a day late. Still, what a time. I'll post more about it soon. Meanwhile, enjoy me (left) and my friend Rob hangin' with some big-time Commies in Berlin.

But the real first order of business, as per usual, is me hawking my latest wares. I had two items run in the current issue of Boston's Weekly Dig, which came out last week but I hadn't been able to see until now. So: Here's me reviewing a bar by consuming an unhealthy amount of alcohol there (pdf only, sorry; here's an explanation of the feature), and here's some Boston-related humor.

Permalink: 04:53 PM | Comments (2)

Bone-jor, jeh swee American

I'm currently in Paris with a friend, checking out the sights and buying lots of crepes. I'm with a friend, Rob, who speaks enough French to get us from point A to B, although most of our conversations with French people run like this: Rob starts in French, they answer in French, Rob gets tripped up on a word, I interject in English, the French person starts speaking English, and then we get things accomplished. But hey, at least we're trying.

I don't know any French, and Rob's been trying to teach me. As we were sitting outside a bar two days ago, he explained that "ca va" is a casual greeting.

"Cah vah?" I said.

"No, like 'Sava,'" he said.

"Oh. Sava. Sava?"

"Sava."

"I'll have to try that," I said.

Then I turned to my right, and a woman was walking toward us. Our eyes met, and she smiled. Sava, I think. Perfect time for sava. But I open my mouth and "Hi!" comes out.

She kept walking.

I am hopeless.

Permalink: 05:02 AM | Comments (1)

Time to twiddle your thumbs

Very, very, very light blogging -- that is, probably none unless I become Super Geek and post something from a Parisian Internet cafe -- until Sept. 25. Have a great week and a half.

Permalink: 10:17 PM | Comments (1)

Sweet ice cream, but hold the sour notes

If this writing thing doesn’t work out, I know one place I won’t be applying for a job at: Cold Stone Creamery. Then again, after this, they probably wouldn’t want me either. After the strong response to last month’s blog post about the company, in which I describe how its employees’ song made me uncomfortable, I decided to do a little research into this unfortunate phenomenon. The unflattering results are in this week’s Boston Weekly Dig.

Permalink: 08:18 AM | Comments (1)

BBC is for begrudgingly bought cookie, that’s good enough for me

I occasionally go to Dunkin’ Donuts in the morning to get a bagel with egg (or, uh, whatever’s left of the egg after it’s been ultra-processed and pumped with preservatives) and cheese. For the last few weeks, the cashier has followed my order by asking, “Would you like to try one of our new cookies?”

“No, thanks,” I say. But I really mean this: “What? Don’t you see I’m ordering breakfast here?”

But that’s not the only reason I objected. Those cookies look pretty good, but I refused to order one because I don’t want to feel like a sucker who can be easily upsold. When Dunkin’ Donuts sends out the memo to employees saying, “It’s time to sell more cookies,” I instinctively want to buy less cookies. I want to make my own decisions when ordering; I don’t want to feel tricked.

Two things have changed, though: One, they finally stopped asking me to buy cookies. And two, I saw a post on my friend Berto’s blog about how good these cookies were. So today, when I went to Dunkin’ Donuts for my bagel with egg-like and cheese, I ordered one. The chocolate chunk one, in fact.

And you know what? It’s not bad.

Ok, actually, it’s pretty good. Not great, but good.

I do still feel like a sucker, though.

Permalink: 08:11 AM | Comments (2)

But it's a two-dimensional coordinate system!

The above comic was one of two religiously saucy strips that ran in the University of Virginia's college newspaper, and, as is par for the course, they got some culture warriors salivating. (Links via Romenesko.) Never mind that, until Fox News started beating its chest, these comics were probably only glanced at and forgotten by busy and hung-over college students. In these battles, people square off over thoughts, not deeds.

I think the Jesus cartoon is kind of funny, actually. But what do I matter? None. I have no connection to the comics, Catholicism, the University of Virginia or anyone involved -- and nor do I have anything particularly insightful to add to this discussion. Why am I even blogging about this? Why is anyone blogging about this?

That’s exactly what the editors of the university’s paper wonders, and it’s why they won’t apologize for the comics. They write:

Another important thing to remember is that The Cavalier Daily is a college newspaper intended mostly for an 18 to 30-year-old audience. The vast majority of complaints we have gotten, however, are from people outside Charlottesville and that intended audience. ... Many of the people who have written us from around the country have said that they were hurt and saddened by the comics. If so, they were hurt needlessly.

Right on! Don't back down. I was so happy to see this perspective that I couldn't stop myself from becoming just another meaningless pundit. Because really: Just because content reaches an unintended audience, the content’s creators shouldn’t be obliged to cater to that audience. With everything so widely available on the Internet, this is something we’ve got to be more realistic about. Otherwise, we’re all going to bitch and moan until Parade Magazine is the only thing left standing. And nobody wants that.

Permalink: 08:12 AM | Comments (1)

At least it didn’t tell me how to pee

At a bar I went to this weekend, the bathroom had a sign explaining how to wash hands. (The elusive steps: wet hands with hot water, apply soap, wash hands, rinse, dry.) I know people aren’t always completely in control of themselves at bars, but are we really so helpless as to need this help? If any step-by-step signs are up in the men’s bathroom, they should be for things like “Ways To Stop Acting So Sketchy Around That Girl” or “If You Must Puke, Here’s Where To Do It.” Now that’d be a public service.

Permalink: 01:41 PM | Comments (0)

Don't tell me the amount of money spent developing these things. I might puke.

Remember Hypercolor shirts? And how they changed color? And how you would wear them, and they'd change color, and you thought it was amazing? And how all your friends wore them, and they all thought it was amazing? And how you'd breathe onto them, or put water on them, or hold a hairdryer up to them, and when they'd change color, it would be amazing? And how, years later, you look back on these shirts, and wonder why this was amazing? How, in fact, you can't really even remember why this was mildly impressive? Or something you'd want your shirt to do? Or exactly when you got rid of this stupid shirt?

Well, dear world, prepare for a whole new generation of disillusioned youth:

Permalink: 01:47 PM | Comments (0)

Table scraps:

♣WHO COULDN'T ROB their way out of a paper bag? Is it a) The guy who tries holding up a Hardee's with a long cardboard tube covered in black tape, or b) The guy who can't get taken seriously during his hold-up and so starts begging an old man for five dollars? Or, better question: If these two guys tried robbing each other, who would walk away with the cash?

♣THE DOCTORS SAID she was brain dead. And among the hysterical commotion that followed that announcement, the doctor guided my father’s hand toward a piece of paper allowing them to remove my aunt’s healthy organs. Read the rest of this blog post. It contains one of the most intense, jarring quotations I've ever seen.

♣"WHAT'S THAT EXPRESSION? 'Dr. Somethingorother, I presume.' Who is it?" A friend asked me that yesterday while trying to describe a hat. (Long story.) I Googled it, and found it was "Dr. Livingstone, I presume." And, it turns out, there was a real Dr. Livingstone.

♣MATT CANNOT DANCE. But you'll be jealous of all the places he's danced.

♣A SUBWAY RIDE gone wrong: He asks whether I have a husband and then asks why I'm alone, when I say no, and starts turning on whatever passes for charm with guys who have set themselves a 5 minute deadline for getting a woman's phone number. (via Universal Hub)

♣SEPT. 19 WILL be a great day, because Ben Kweller's new album will hit. I'm already loving what I've heard. Some of the tracks (mixed in with old stuff) play when you go to his site, so I advise a visit.

♣I'M ALSO EAGERLY awaiting the next season of Lost, which apparently begins Oct. 4. Meanwhile, though, some strange things have happened on the island. Eko found a car and sped past some cop survivors, and two beach bum morons join the cast.

♣WHEN YOUR WEBSITE gets graphed, it's oddly compelling, seemingly important and yet, as far as I can tell, totally useless.

♣AND THEN, THERE'S this.

Permalink: 08:16 AM | Comments (0)

Because the world needs a high five

As a way to creatively and prematurely blow all my vacation time, not to mention a potentially unwise amount of money, I’ll soon be taking a trip with a buddy to London, Paris and Berlin. We’ve got London pretty well covered because we know people there, but Paris and Berlin are mysteries. I was in Paris briefly when I was 13, and have never been to Berlin. Neither of us like sight-seeing, so we’re probably going to wander aimlessly, which is pretty much how I like to travel. In Berlin, we’re considering staying in a multi-bed hostel, just for the experience. At worst, I figure, we’ll be reminded of why we don’t normally share rooms with someone who snores. Whatevs.

Anyway, we’re not leaving for about a week, and I’ll let you know when the blog will be affected. In the meantime, if anyone has any suggestions for what fun things we might consider doing in these cities, leave a comment or e-mail me. Oh, and if anyone’s braved the privacy void that is a dorm-style hostel, let me know if it’s worth the experiment. We haven’t booked the room yet, so there’s still time to turn this ship around.

Permalink: 08:14 AM | Comments (5)

The last three posts on this blog were about food? Well, make it four.

Dessert at a friend's wedding this weekend included a chocolate fountain, into which guests dipped various treats. I saw someone making a kabob of chocolate strawberries with one of the enlarged toothpicks that were there, and said aloud, "I need a stick!"

"Don't we all," said a heavy woman next to me.

Permalink: 12:02 AM | Comments (1)