Our Amsterdam office kicked their intern Mieke out on the streets and wouldn't let her back in until she asked people what they would do if they were treated like dogs. We laughed long and hard about the ingenious irony of the situation, and when we were done she was back with a handful of photos and some answers.
Is there any
nationality that really
irritates you?
Eleanor: English.
Are you English?
I’m half-Irish. I don’t
like the way the English all jump on the
bandwagon of St Patrick’s Day. Why don’t
you celebrate St George’s Day? Also,
killing a dragon’s not the same as
chasing snakes.
Two of the best things about summer are seeing all the embarrassing tattoos people try to cover up during the colder months and seeing all the weird scars and knobby limbs and deformities people try to cover up during the colder months. Scars trump all though because they’re like tattoos that GOD gave you. God or you being stupid. Whichever way you want to look at it. Plus scars always come with a story. I mean, a better story than “I was going through this time in my life and the scales the monkey is holding are meant to show how everything had fallen out of balance and the sunglasses blah blah blah…”
This game evolved from a conversation we were having about how strong weed has gotten. The deal is this: You've got one minute to travel back in time and talk to your teenage self. It's totally up to you what you say to you—it can be practical advice or you could just try to blow your own mind about iPods or whatever, the only catch is if you use your minute to tell yourself what stocks to buy or how to bet on the Superbowl you are a boring asshole. Obviously, this whole operation opens up some pretty major questions about the linearity of time and chronol loops and disrupting the present and blah blah blah, but whatever, you've got your minute and you've got to use it—no dorking out. Let's go. (Oh, and ours was "In the future the guys from Orchid got fat and weed is so strong that people hate it.")
Since it's finally getting warm enough to do anything outside other than push your hands into your pockets as far as they can go and scream "Jesus Christ! Are you fucking serious! Come On!" we decided to hit the streets and ask a small sampling of New York folks about the best/worst fight they've been in. We weeded out the most BS-y of them, and still, this is what we got.
Learning about your area is a magical time in a young person's life and also often an extremely weird and unsettling one. For the tiny fraction of "first-time" stories we've heard that don't involve members of the same sex or older sister's bras or repurposed turkey sandwiches, it's almost amazing to think that the world isn't peopled exclusively by gay, psychologically-crippled scat fetishists. Then again, maybe it is and everybody's just much better than us at cleaning up after themselves before having company over. In any case, we went out and asked a bunch of folks to tell us about their passage into the "age of discovery." Here are their tender mem'ries.
OK, folks. The name of the game is Two Foods. You can only eat two foods for the whole of eternity. They have to be specific foods—you can’t just say a general category like “dairy.” Same with “sandwich.” That’s a food style, not an actual type of food. Health is not an issue in Two Foods. If you want to pig out on taffy and whole sticks of butter until the end of time, that’s fine by us. You’re not getting any fatter or any more cholesterol-y. The flip side of that coin is if you pick salad, you get punched. Even if you claim to “love” salad. Everybody on the same page? All right, let’s get started…
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