My Favorite Color Has Changed, Now What?
I couldn't tell you exactly when it happened. There were signs, sure, but everything is clearer in hindsight. In the moment, I didn't see that there was a reason I was reaching for the black pen a little more often than the blue one. Or, when getting a new laptop a few months back, I set the operating system theme color to red - quite a first for me. My two pairs of navy blue pants found themselves getting pushed further and further back in my closet, replaced by black, gray, and tan ones. The arrival of summer heat had me storing away my blue bed comforter - I thought the room looked way better.
When I first got some notion that my palette preferences were diversifying, I didn't think much of it. Going all the way back to the rug featured in The Inaugural Issue #001, it was green! Green had never been of my favorite colors, never even cracking my top three if memory serves. Blue had had a dominant grip on the number one spot, with purple, yellow, and to a degree, orange all vying for second and third place. Why did I get a green rug when it's never been a color I've been fond of? It's because it matches wonderfully with the green wood paneling that make up the walls of my bedroom. I was hesitant, but knew the rug was for me because of this.
It wasn't that I disliked blue, I was still getting and displaying blue things. The first chess table was sky blue around the border, done via some stained glass method. When hosting some friends and requiring some extra bath towels, yeah, I got some blue ones. Navy, specifically. Sure, I had changed my desktop color preferences to an orangish-tan during this time, and I changed my keyboard backlight from a royal blue to yellow-white. But, I still thought this was an expanding of my color opinions, rather than an outright change.
Eventually, the picture became too clear to not recognize - not only was blue no longer my favorite color, I didn't even really like it anymore. The initial feeling was of instability, my go-to subconscious answer to a core common question was now a lie, I wouldn't have known what to say if someone asked me what my favorite color was in that moment. I took stock of my surroundings, and realized how little blue I had allowed to survive in my apartment over the past eight months. A blanket on the couch, a bathroom mat. Some ChapStick. The blue towels, arguably first string linens given they're pretty new, were left unused on the shelf in favor of tan towels. Even the chess table had been giving me an inescapable feeling that it didn't quite fit for some reason. At this moment, the only blue things I can see from where I sit are a Souvenir Mets Cup, the status light on my router, and a pair of jeans in the hamper.
Blue was my favorite color for as long as I can remember. Blue blankie and blue teddy bear for the first years of my life, Spongebob sheets for many years of elementary school which were blue because they're underwater in the show. I was more of towards the aircraft and space side of things rather than general big trucks when it comes to boyhood machinery obsessions. The sky, NASA logo, Air Force, all give off or explicitly show blue vibes. Being a young patriot in the state where the federal government is the number one employer, you gain an affinity towards the red, white, and …. blue.
When my parents would get things for me and my brother, they were often color coded. I would get blue, Chris would get green. My mom went to a pottery class when both of us were very young, and made us clay decorative light switch covers - I got blue, Chris got green. When our dad repainted our rooms, I got blue, Chris got green. We both remember a Christmas morning where Santa had accidentally swapped the names on our presents, knowing that the gifts in our hands were meant for the other due to the color. It didn't make any sense that Chris would get blue, and I'd get green.
Didn't think it really mattered, at first at least. I was convinced someone's favorite color is just a childish thing, a trait you can pick to have something to talk about when you're four years old. Little did I realize how much direction and influence your favorite color can have over your overall style without you even realizing it. I stopped wanting to wear any of my blue pants, most of my blue shirts got relegated to running shirts. When the fall weather hits, I think my blue sweatshirts and coats will stay in storage longer than they expect. The options for where it's possible to go with my wardrobe are limitless - but too many options can sometimes be a bad thing. While happy that I'm no longer constrained anywhere on the visible light spectrum, knowing that blue was my color made a lot of things a lot easier. Which color Lightsaber to call dibs on, what color mini-golf ball to use, which color to play in chinese checkers and Risk. I now need to make those decisions on my own.
The natural extension of all of this, and the question you may be screaming into your device screen, is what is my favorite color now, if not blue? Well, dear reader, that is the very question I've had knocking around my head these past four weeks. The obvious answer has to be green, given my walls, rug, and general other style around my apartment. I've never been super partial to red, although the Maryland flag has really been calling my name in recent months. Other than the Maryland flag, my exceptions are darker red, maroon, burgundy. My favorite shirt I have right now is purple. I think the main takeaway from this is that I shouldn't rush to figure out what my new favorite color is. There must be some sort of root natural state of chromatic preference for every person - I'm going to try and find mine. In the meantime, however, don't ask me what my favorite color is. Frankly, I don't know.
Bathroom Decor - Having A More Lavish Lavatory
Restroom, washroom, water closet, latrine, lavatory, can, head. Whatever you want to call it, apartments in buildings that that were constructed after April 18th, 1928, are required to have one under Title 27 of the New York City Administrative Code. Legally mandated, and for good reason. People don't realize how much they love having a bathroom - if we didn't have bathrooms in our dwellings, it would be such a logistical hassle-bordering-on-nightmare. Some activities such as teeth brushing and basic-to-intermediate hair-care and face-washing could, in theory, done over the kitchen sink. However, anything that engages the plumbing in a meaningful way would require one to venture onto the streets, scavenging for a place to do their business. That's a scary way to live.
However, for a room in which most people visit at least twice a day, I feel as if I hear very little on what goes into good style. This article will go over some things that I think really brighten up the bathroom, and hopefully get your noggin' joggin' on ways you can improve your own.
Nautical Themeing
If you have to pick a general theme for your bathroom, I think the obvious choice is a nautical theme. It's not just about the funnier-than-the-rest name sailors give to the bathrooms on their ships, it fits a vibe you didn't even know was there. Lighthouses, seagulls, and seashells are all great things you can put in your bathroom to spice it up.
I suppose the previous example was more beach theme than strictly nautical, but your bathroom style doesn't have to be a hard and fast rule - do whatever you think looks best! If you want to lean more into the naval than the beachy, pieces of boats can be hung on the walls quite easily. For example, you could get a sailboat steering wheel, I think that'd look quite cool. To achieve this myself, I hung up a porthole, positioning it in a way so that I could see it looking in the mirror while brushing my teeth.
"What do you see?"
A Good Shower Curtain
In terms of surface area, the shower curtain is one of the most important decorative opportunities in the bathroom. You could go with a classic look with a solid color curtain, maybe even going as crazy having one that features polka dots or stripes. In previous bathrooms I've called my own, I've had navy solid color and one that featured boats sailing on a blue background, both unintentionally fitting into the nautical narrative (hence the vibe you didn't know was there).
However, most people while considering their options focus more on the outer-layer of the curtain, rather than the plastic inner layer. The outer layer is what people visiting your bathroom will see, and they will get certain impressions based on what the outer layer looks like - style accordingly. The inner layer, on the other hand, is a much more private ordeal. You're the person who is going to be looking at the inner layer the most and, again, you should style accordingly. My favorite shower curtain inner layer I've had was one that featured a map of the world, and it was fun to practice a little cartography while freshening up.
Be careful, though! If your outer layer is transparent, people will be able to see what is on the inside. Not to mention, it will appear backwards to the outside observer! It's best to get an opaque curtain outer layer if you are to have graphics or other depictions where orientation matters on the inner layer. Otherwise, it looks silly. Note that the below above is not only impractical because the curtain is outside of the shower, but also stupid. Why would you want the map facing away? It shouldn't be backwards from the perspective of inside the shower.
Tub or Shower Objects
Everyone's showers are too minimalistic! Add a little flare in there with a water toy, such as a rubber duck or a spongy ball. If you're the artistic type and find yourself bored when showering, snag a pack of shower markers from your local arts and crafts store and draw away while washing up! Don't like what you've created? Tilt the shower head towards your miss-terpiece and scrub until it doesn't exist.
When I moved into my apartment, these things were in the shower already! They beam light out of their eyeballs at night, run on solar power, and are some fun cute animals as well! It took me several months to adjust to the alien-abduction-esque lighting that they produce, but now I wouldn't have it any other way. Highly recommended if you're looking a way to light up the bathroom that doesn't assault your visual sense in the middle of the night.
Late night Illumination
Good God, A Grandfather Clock?
Much of the things I have I theorized before finding. The chinese e-reader smart phone is a prime example, I wrote down a list of things I wanted out of a phone and this was the one that turned up in the search results. Had never heard of the manufacturer "Hisense" before. In terms of furniture, the chess table was something I had been talking about for months before I finally found one. On occasion, however, I find something I didn't know I wanted but can't stop thinking about it after I see it.
Such was the case this past week - a grandfather clock. Never ever have thought about getting one. It's such a universally recognized piece of furniture, but I think I could count every grandfather clock I've ever seen in person on one hand. Are people still buying them? Are people still making them? A "Highly Carved Italian Grandfather Clock" for a small fraction of the price I was finding similar ones online. Call it an investment, call it a waste of money, I think both are arguably true.
After winning the auction, I was giddy. What a crazy piece, I had to tell someone! I called my equally-eclectic father, bubbling with excitement, before he brought the reality of what I had just done to the forefront of my thinking - "How the hell are you going to move this thing?"
I had tentatively scheduled a morning appointment with my friend Whit, founder and operator of Boy with Truck. While his prices, moving services, and availability are unmatched for 99% of reasonable needs, it was decided that moving a grandfather clock requires a level of expertise that he was unable to provide. Apparently, it's really easy to break one of these things! Very fragile internals! After an apologetic cancellation, I began searching for someone who would be able to move this clock from Queens to my apartment.
I talked to some standard moving companies, but they did not inspire much confidence. Their understanding of the process to move a grandfather clock was even less than mine, and I had only watched a few YouTube videos and read a WikiHow article. I couldn't trust movers whose answer to "Are you going to undo and secure the internal weights?" was “Yeah, sure."
Finally, I found someone who was up to the task. They rattled off the same procedure on moving a grandfather clock that I was seeing online, and I took them up on the offer. The next morning, they promptly arrived and helped me move it up into the apartment. They showed me how to reassemble the weights and chains, I shook their hand, and the reality sunk in. It was so awesome.
The inside of the clock is an ultra-complicated piece of machinery - no less than four hundred individual parts moving to make this clock tick. The weights were relatively simple to re-attach, and required some chain pulling to get them into the correct position. The pendulum attached with a simple hook. According to the internet, all there was left to do was knock the pendulum to one side, and it would start ticking. A slight tap, and tick, tick, tick. It was going. Timing the ticks of the clock with a watch, gave an estimate that it was off by about a tenth of a second (that adds up though!). I sat and just watched it for at least forty-five minutes. The clock chimes on fifteen minute intervals, with a slightly longer melody depending on if it's X:15, X:30, or X:45. At 15 minutes it only plays the first four notes, at 30 the first eight notes, etc. The top of the hour, you get the full melody followed by the classic "bongs" to indicate the number of hours that have past. Very magical.
Now that it's been running for a few days, I found that it runs about five minutes fast per twelve hours. To keep it in sync with the real world, it requires some simple moving of the clock face hands. The weights have fallen about one third of the way down over two days - I'm assuming I'll need to do chain pull clock resets on a weekly basis.
I have zero regrets, except for the spot that I put it in my apartment. I think I want to put it in a different corner, but that will require full disassembly again. In time, perhaps.
My Swords and Which Historical Battles I Would Have Liked to Use Them In
C-Squared, Staff Contributor, Arms Liason
In this article, I fully unsheathe my opinions on swords, history, and battles, exploring the swords' respective gimmicks to the fullest extent. Much pontificating will be done upon the possible opportunities for sword achievement that could have presented themselves to me had I been at any of these historical battles.
These predictions and imaginations are based on nothing experienced or researched by myself and I make no claim that I have been or ever will be present at the time or place of the battles mentioned, nor will I have or will ever use any one or combination of swords mentioned to participate in nor spectate any battles mentioned. Past-looking statements such as "could have", "would have", "might have" are not indicative of my intent, unless you have a time machine that you are willing to show me, and will rent to me for a reasonable price. If you do have a time machine that you are willing to rent to me, contact me by appearing exactly 3 seconds from now. Acknowledgment of time machine is not valid if it does not follow Bill and Ted rules.
1. Cursed Indian Sword at D-Day
The Allies did a fine job on Omaha Beach, but it would've been done by tea time had I been there with my sweet ancient Indian Sword. This sword came from inside of someone's closet. I like how it has the hair and teeth of some animal, and a bunch of trippy visuals painted on it. This sword is double-edged; no, that's not a misprint, it's rather some humorous wordplay, because the sword has an additional hidden benefit of a tinier sword that can be stuck into the main sword's sheath. You may notice its odd shape; particularly the hooked bit. This is probably so that the sword could be used to grab far away objects like beer cans or chips, without the wielder needing to get up.
"They never saw it coming"
This very power would be harnessed at D-Day. I would scurry my little butt up to the beach head and post up against the German bunker. I would then extend the sword's hooked bit to swipe away the guns from their very hands! I could then either throw their guns to my team mates, or use the sword to swing myself up and over the bunker for a nasty flank. Another benefit is the swords aesthetic. Creepy Native American kitsch decor may be tasteless to you, but to a Nazi, it's paralyzingly terrifying. Nazis are afraid of ancient looking stuff (Spielberg, 1981).
2. Alibaba Sword at the Massacre of Cajamarca
While this event has been recently upgraded to massacre status, it still contains all the necessary aspects of a battle. This was the homecoming for the Spanish conquest of the Incan Empire. Notice that the sword in question appears to be made of all gold, with many valuable jewels. This sword has an important history: once, I was playing with it gleefully, when the wobbly blade simply fell out, narrowly missing my leg and foot. Left with an impotent handle, I learned an important lesson not to play with my sword immediately after exiting the shower.
"Who's in charge here?"
In any case; since the sword is prone to breaking so much, why not smash it to bits and use those valuable bits of apparent riches to soothe the Spanish into getting along with the Incans? While I would surely be forlorn at the destruction of one of my most impractically big and gaudiest swords, the vibes in that part of the world would be secured for centuries to come. You may ask, why not bribe Spain in order to protect precolonial Mexico too? You see, the sword is not so great in size that I could allocate so much of it and not attract suspicion of being a witch who can conjure up gold and jewels. Additionally, interfering with the conquest of Mexico would create a negative time-blast that could immediately and simultaneously render nonexistent the following but not limited to: enchiladas, George Lopez, mariachi music, and even Japanese Cholo culture.
3. Thai Shortsword at the First Battle of Bull Run
This sword isn't good for much. I bought it at a flea market from a man who not only had no apparent connection to the flea market, but whose demeanor suggested that he might even be prohibited from the flea market. He told me that it is from Thailand, and this I believe this because I trust a fella's word.
"Squad."
You may remember the Battle of Bull Run for being the first major battle of the American Civil War. It had another unique aspect that I believe would have made it a great candidate for the Thai Shortsword's application: there were spectators having a picnic when the battle erupted. Therefore, as a spectator, my disadvantaged sword would pose no issue, as I wouldn't actually be fighting anybody, but rather sitting on a picnic blanket and watching the battle. What I wouldn't give to sit there on a fine day, hobnobbing with square 19th century folk and eating their weird food. I might even show-and-tell my cool Thai Shortsword, explaining to the folk what is a flea market or what is Thailand.
4. Sting at the Battle of the Sommes
I know, I know - World War I is totally boring. A snooze-fest of outdated Eurotrash aristocrats doing old-school war on each other was extremely cringe, especially at a time when the United States was just starting to perfect its many breads and butters, remarkably but not limited to hoarding natural gas and economically bullying Latin America. World War I set us Americans back by a considerable amount of trillions of dollars and banana republics, and this commentator recommends seeking reparations from the EU; nevertheless, it could have been stopped by a certain me with a certain sword from the classic Lord of the Rings saga.
As you probably know, Sting glows blue when orcs are nearby. What Tolkien failed to mention is that it glows green when Germans are nearby. Tolkien was motivated to omit this detail by two possible causes. The first being that he was sympathetic to the German cause in World War I: remember, he was forced to go to France. Any reasonable person would find this upsetting. The second possible cause is that he was too busy with combat-related stuff in his little trench, being bombarded by artillery, whilst half-assuredly writing the lore that would please dorks a century later. If I were present at this battle, I would present this sword to him. I would first request that he translate the Elvish written on the blade; I don't trust internet translations of Elvish, I want to hear it from the horse's mouth. Then, I would retrieve my little Sony and show him the DVD of the animated version of The Lord of the Rings from the 70's. I fear his opinion of the more popular and recent live-action Peter Jackson trilogy might be tainted by the abundance of special effects and handsome actors in that work.
"Peter Jackson is a phony."
Suddenly, my sword glows green. Tolkien knows exactly what this mean. A mighty wind and a foul stench abound, I make my way through the troubled soldiers round, and realize what may God forbid may be, that stinky mustard gas is rolling over me. Tolkien ask me if I got that Gandalf power; I get sour, I tell him it's our hour! Man, if you don't know about the Germans, you better ask somebody.
I would then commandeer a bomber aircraft and win the war myself. After all, why not? I have dozens of flight combat hours logged in DCS; not only than, but I am a believer in the Fisher theory, which posits that each generation is smarter than the last. Following this logic, I should be at least 3 times smarter than everybody in the early 1900's. What a nice thought!
Hey Reader, thanks a lot for opening your mind to this. I hope you learned a lot about the art of combat. If you're interested in the art of the blade, LARPing, ineffective militias, or home protection against intruders who haven't heard of guns; a sword collection might be just what you need! You can find good swords at secondary markets a la flea. Unfortunately, Goodwill does not possess the cojones to sell weaponry. One day, I hope to open my own market, Chris' Crazy Cutlery, which would buy and sell outrageously impractical swords from and to the unstable consumer. I acknowledge that a sword collection is less valuable, practical, and cool than the vast majority of collectors' items. I also hereby declare that I do not care, because I think that it is hilarious to collect something that you could not realistically use; not because it is something that attracts legal consequence, but simply because it is something so unfeasible in modern society. If I went out and started swinging that dumb ass golden sword at people, the total reaction would be laughter, followed by several shots to my chest. If I went out swinging a golden sword 1000 years ago, I might've been a conqueror.
Music Music Matt - Heat Treatment's Kerosene
Saturday, August 24th - Johnson Avenue, Bushwick. Excited show-goers are milling about a high-ceilinged room that, by day, is used as a photography studio. Tonight, however, a different art form will be on display. A wicked-chill living room set-up has been constructed in the front of the room, audio and data cords are strewn about connecting instruments to amplifiers and other production and computational devices. A strange ritual of a person getting their hand smushed in a George Foreman grill takes place - much to the confusion of this critic. Minutes later, Heat Treatment's Ricky Lomas and Walker Perry take the stage, adjust their instruments, and get ready to play. The Brooklyn based group released their debut album, Kerosene, earlier this month - this was the launch show.
As the show began, it wasn't long before a majority of the room was dancing. Their Spotify About section says, “we make the music we wish the club would play.” And, after several listen throughs, I find myself wishing for the same thing! All the songs are going to make you want to dance, but Telephone and Waiting on You are my personal two favorites on the album, finding myself getting low and lower for them during the show, respectively.
Henceforth, the rating scale in this Newsletter will be based on the number of radians in a circle. Please refer to this diagram if you have any questions. Kerosene is getting the first official rating of the Newsletter, recieving a 11ℼ⁄6 out of a possible 2ℼ!
You can listen to Kerosene, Heat Treatment's first album, right now on Spotify, and be sure follow them on Instagram @HeatTreatmentMusic!
If My Name Was Tony Penis
Tony P is a twenty-five year guy old living in Washington D.C, widely known on the internet for his wholesome and relatable Instagram content about being a young professional in the city. Several people from different parts of my life have sent me his posts over the past year or so, and I have overall enjoyed them. He seems pretty OK in my book, however I have never taken any sort of dive into the lore or true beliefs of Tony P.
A few weeks ago, my friends Lindsey and Sydney were comparing me to Tony P. I didn't necessarily see the relation, but it spawned the following text conversation.
Which got me thinking, could I actually work with that? What if my name, from birth, was actually Tony Penis rather than Matt? Would my life be materially different in anyway? In this article, I explore what could have been if this farcical name was given to me, along with some thankfulness that my name is not, in fact, Tony Penis.
Grandfather Penyus
The divergence point in the timeline for this alternate universe is set in the mid-to-late 1940s in Europe. Living in a world that had been torn apart by six years of the most brutal war in human history - my grandparents, Nicholas and Zoe Penyus, would have been looking for a better life and opportunities for themselves and their future family. Through some lucky connections through the Greek shipping industry, Nicholas would manage to get himself and and Zoe on a boat headed to America.
Upon arriving at the Port of Baltimore immigration offices (I am still from Maryland in this hypothetical), Nicholas and Zoe would apply for and be granted residency. Due to a mis-translation with a customs officer upon arrival, the both had the surname 'Penis' recorded on their identification cards. However, the couple did not care. They were simply happy to be in the States, away from the aftermath of the second world war. He and his wife would go onto have two children, Anton and Oskar Penis.
The Penis Brothers
Oskar Penis would go on to have a semi-successful stand-up career, hailed as one of the greatest “What Ifs” of the comedy scene in the early 1970s before flaming out and succumbing to alcoholism. Referred to by his friends and colleagues as “O-Peen,” he would be one of the first comics to record and sell their work on vinyl, which became standard in the industry shortly after. Oskar leveraged his family's name in many of his jokes, with such classics as “You're a dick! - No, I'm a Penis, and so is my mother!” which often were followed by thunderous laughter and applause. Overall, he would came to terms with the name.
Anton, on the other hand, would not be able to handle it. He would have been bullied constantly throughout his childhood, and lacked his brother's resiliency and light-heartedness to laugh it off, growing to resent the name his father gave him and the world that laughed at it. In several attempts to reconnect with his roots, he would insist people use the “Penyus” surname when referring to him but be largely ignored by those around him. These issues would likely poison his mind, causing him to think that everyone was out to get him and everyone took him unseriously because of his name. He became fanatically confident, to the point of lunacy, about himself, his family, and the Penis name. In Anton's mind, if you weren't with the Penis', you were against them. These values would be instilled unto his son, me, Tony Penis. He'd try, anyway.
Please, Mr. Penis is my fathers name! Call me Tony.
Growing up, my father would make the Penis name the center of attention at every turn. When getting a reservation at a restaurant, he would always have the host put down “Penis” for the same, show up and say “Table for Penis” at a louder than necessary volume. If the host hesitated for even a moment, he would start questioning the employee, “What, you don't believe me??” and shove his ID in their face. “My name is Anton Penis, and this is my son, Tony Penis. We placed an order over the phone for pick up, is it ready? It should be under the name Penis.”
He was always commenting on the fact that gift shops never had souvenir key-chains with the name “Penis,” he'd declare conspiracy when well-meaning call center support people would pronounce it “Pen-iz” in an effort to prevent potential embarrassment from their customer - they just didn't know who they were dealing with. “Penis, P-E-N-I-S, pronounced Penis, like, you know.” This attitude and outlook from my father never suited me, however. I tried to just forget about the name, and live my life like a normal kid.
While not as bad as my father had it, I would too get bullied in school because of my name. The anti-bullying policies of the 21st century would aid me in this regard, but what happened at the bus stop was outside the scope of what the school could protect me from. However, I'd have a few close friends that would stick by me through thick and thin, making it through my teenage years despite my psychotic father and ruthless peers.
As I entered adulthood, I would have wholeheartedly rejected my father's outlook on the family's name. Once out of the house, it would allow for me to consider my name from an objective point of view for the first time. I could always have a worse name. Not needed was my uncle's comedic attitude towards it, taking the whole thing as a joke, nor my fathers insistence on letting everyone around him know that his last name was Penis, and threatening to fight them if they didn't take such a comment in stride without flinching. I realized I can make my own path and whichever I choose is what will make the name, Tony Penis