Despite all of our many medical advances over the decades, there’s now a dangerous new sickness sweeping the land, infecting the brains of people born in the mid and late 1980s. Doctors haven’t named it yet, but we will: It’s called Ninetiesopia, and it’s a condition that limits your ability to see the entirety of the 1990s only through the Vaseline-smeared lens of nostalgia and declare even the most justifiably forgotten aspects of the culture to be so great as worthy of a kingly tribute.
Do you suffer from Ninetiesopia? Ask yourself the following: Have you been on the edge of your seat waiting for the Full House sequel? Did you wait on the line to get into a promotional recreation of Central Perk?Most importantly, are you foaming at the mouth at the chance to buy a VIP ticket (or a ticket at all) to Williamsburg’s 90s Fest, the newly announced festival dragging out Smash Mouth, Tonic and the corpse of Blind Melon for a big payday? Too many people are going to answer “Yes” to one or maybe even all of those questions, and it makes me sad. It makes me sad because I had a hope, maybe a foolish one, that we weren’t going to repeat the mistake our parents made and desperately try to hold on to our youth and pretend that it the era we grew up in was the only cultural era worth preserving.
We’re reaching a tipping point though, one we won’t be able to pull ourselves back from soon if we don’t take a stand today. Especially in a city where our cup already overfloweth with 90s humping, from a Saved By the Bell themed night out at the ballpark to monthly 90s dance parties at the Bell House to monthly 90s sing-alongs AND dance parties at Union Hall, the existence of an entire festival devoted to the 90s seems like just the thing to push us over that precipice of permanently being afflicted with Ninetiesopia. Repeat after me, and repeat it loudly: “Death to the fucking 90s.” (more…)
You can pry our dumb coffee shop sandwich boards from our cold, dead hands
This morning, Slate’s Heather Schwedel penned an article criticizing coffee shop sandwich boards. She titles the article, “When Did Sidewalk Café Sandwich Boards Start Trying So Hard to Make Jokes?” I see your point, Heather, and raise you the advertising industry since the 20th century. Call us old-fashioned, but we sincerely don’t understand what’s wrong with “creative expressions of branding,” as Schwedel terms the sandwich board art.
She gets pretty rant-y, spending about 1000 words shaming pun-happy baristas. In referring to one solicitous sandwich board, Schwedel writes, “the sheer cheekiness nearly knocked me over.” Oh honey, this is New York City. If everyone’s sheer cheekiness threw me off balance, I’d spend most of the day on my back. We’ll sum the Slate article up by saying TL;DR. But let us rant for a sec, too, because there’s a fair amount of barista dignity at stake here. (more…)
Car? Bike? Eh, just cross out the license plate part and write “CYCLIST”
It’s not every day you’re slammed with a $278 ticket, the same amount as one given to cars doing this, for allegedly running a red light on a bicycle in the snow. And yet that’s what happened to me one day this winter, when all I was trying to do was get to work. It’s a lot of money, but what elevates it from nuisance to insanity is that it turns out the fine is the same as that given to a car for running a red light. That’s completely crazy any way you think about it. On the ticket, I’m allowed to select “guilty” or “not guilty,” but I select a third option: “bollocks.” (more…)
Oh why can’t Brooklyn boys be fly like they used to be? via nydailynews.com
Doesn’t matter where I live, or how old I am; for as long as I can remember, women have bitched about men. Fuck and run, even when I was 12. In New Orleans, where I’m from, it used to be, oh, they’re all drunks and druggies who can’t get a real job. At Oberlin, where I went to college, it was, oh, they’re a bunch of weirdos who think they can just do whatever they feel like. And now that I live in Brooklyn, every girl I talk to is sure the men here are the worst—too broke to buy you a drink, too busy shitheaded to text you back, and somehow don’t even want to get it on as much as you do, what? My conclusion, based on raw data amassed from a lifetime of being a heterosexual woman, is a version of Daria’s famous quote: “Men suck no matter what, so don’t be fooled by location changes.” Am I wrong? (more…)
Despite the greatest fears of right-wing homophobes, it seems that the gay agenda is failing — at least in Bushwick, that is. Despite being a highly homo-populated neighborhood (as is much of Brooklyn), it seems that there are just not enough places where one can go to explicitly avoid all those pesky straight people. (more…)
Coney Island, 2015. via Flickr user Ashlee Catherine
Brace yourselves, Coney Island, hurricane Rita is coming, as in Main Street ‘Rita, that vaguely booz-ish beverage you ordered off the Applebee’s menu to dull the pain when your parents wanted to go to dinner in Times Square. Amusing the Zillion reports Coney Island is set to become a strip mall chain mecca copying all the authentic local charm of your average highway rest stop, with Johnny Rockets, Checker’s, Red Mango and an (blrgghgg) Applebee’s set to open soon, with others like Outback and Hooters in developers’ sights too, a rage-inducing proposition for which no curse word yet exists, so we will invent one: This is a mediocrifuck. A blanddicking. But really? It’s the Myrtle-Beach-ification of our once-beloved beach.
Myrtle Beach, for those who are fortunate enough not to have visited, is both one of the worst beaches in America and among the worst, soul-suckingly tacky places in the country: endless chains and theme restaurants, a never-ending loop of Jimmy Buffett blaring from every chintzy t-shirt shop, 40-story high rise hotels with frat-vomit filled lazy rivers in their basements and all the originality of a Disney beach-themed ride. Coney was once the anti-Myrtle Beach; is it now officially too late to go back? (more…)
Sunday TV’s longest-running sitcom, The Simpsons, logged another stop in its 2012 Desiccation Tour with an episode dedicated to the “cool-ification” of Springfield by Portland natives, voiced by Portlandia’s Fred Armisen and Carrie Brownstein. Though the show dodged the use of the term “hipster” thank god (they rely on the simple word “cool” and Fred’s character refers to his demographic as “us-types”), it’s pretty clear that The Simpsons were looking to take on that new fad (of the last 8 years) known as hipsterism. (more…)
We dd it guys! We were funny on Twitter! via Infowars
After the Presidential Debates, we issued a plea for people to step up their joke game on Twitter. You listened. Last night, with the deluge of campaign coverage options, including an apparently shitfaced Diane Sawyer on ABC, Twitter was the most entertaining. Behold, some of our favorite election tweets from Brooklyn funny people.
Professional sports day continues here at Brokelyn with a statement of our official editorial position on the move of the New York Bodega Cats Islanders to Brooklyn: go the hell back to Nassau County you rotten losers. The people of Brooklyn shouldn’t even have a second thought about rejecting the Isles like a bad organ transplant. They bring the stink of losing with them, an embarrassing owner and the possibility of suburban crowds that already hate Brooklyn. And even better, the team is gonna be shoehorned into an arena that’s not even built for hockey. Oh well, guess that’s plenty of work for the overnight conversion crew. (more…)
The face of a man that can’t use Twitter. via The Rico and Mambo Morning Show
Last night marked the third and final Presidential Debate. Thank god, because I don’t think my newsfeed or my eyes can handle any more pointless tweets. Live-tweeting is as much a part of the American dream as playing the lottery: hoping against hope that a blog will see your brilliant tweet, broadcast it and you’ll get a ton of new followers and a book or a sitcom. But at the very least, turn off Facebook sharing so that your loved ones aren’t subjected to your “wit.” (more…)