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Posts published in June 2010

My utterly stressful day.

June 30, 2010 |

Thoughts

I know you have all missed my banter so much while I’ve been in California, but you don’t have to long anymore now that I am back in Brooklyn. I intend to recommence posting at the same semi-regular clip I maintained in the past. That is, 15 music videos to 1 post with any content. Deal.

Anywayyyyyy, I had a super stressful day today and thought I’d share it with you. Here’s what I done.

  • I woke up, discovered a job I thought was supposed to start today got killed, and went back to sleep.
  • I woke up a second time, much later. I won’t tell you when, but Europeans would call it 14 o’clock.
  • I showered.
  • I shaved.
  • I realized I left my toothbrush and toothpaste in the shower in California, but then I found I had an extra tube of toothpaste and an extra toothbrush. Score!
  • I went to the bank and deposited a check.
  • I walked down Manhattan Avenue to Bedford to the N7th L train stop and boarded the train.
  • At Union Square I transferred to a downtown 6.
  • I got off at Spring Street, dropped off my rent check and the stupid parking ticket I got in Durango, and went into Smoke & Mirrors.
  • I met S&M’s pretty new receptionist, picked up Chip Chip, and left. Total time for that errand: 5 minutes.
  • I sauntered up Broadway since it was beautiful out and got back on the train at Union Square.
  • I got off at Beford again, walked down to get a burrito.
  • They didn’t have pork, so I got the steak. O! life’s hardships.
  • Burrito in hand, I found my spot in McCarren Park and laid in the grass for maybe an hour and a half enjoying the sun and the breeze.
  • Satiated with my burrito and entertained by the inane conversation the two teenaged girls playing badminton next to me had, I went home.
  • I played my old Gibson for a little bit.
  • I came online to download some scale tabs to practice my fingering. GET YOUR MIND OUT OF THE GUTTER, MISTER.
  • I reapplied for my leftover funemployment benefits. Booyah!
  • I wrote this.
  • I am going to turn on yesterday’s baseball game and play my guitar.

Isn’t my life hard? Don’t you all wish you were coming to visit me on my summer vacation? It’s so great.

> Continue reading...My utterly stressful day.

Telluride Bluegrass and Country Music Festival 6/17/2010

June 23, 2010 |

Galleries and Photography

JJ and I drove into Colorado on a semi-whim to attend this year’s Bluegrass and Country Music Festival. We arrived on the 17th (my birthday) and drove on out of there Monday the 21st. We logged 2400 miles of driving over the course of 4 days, all of which I did. It was absolutely epic.

The festival itself was totally amazing. Of course, I took photos the whole time. I only hit about 330, which is low for me, but I was doing a lot of partying and hanging out and whatever that got in the way of my efficient photo taking. Oh well. I had a blast.

On the way back, we had to take a detour around the Grand Canyon because of a fire raging outside Flagstaff. We’d seen the beginning of the fire on our way through the first time, but it has gotten so out of hand that they closed off 13 miles of highway just a few days later. Smartly, we stopped and got out to sight-see at the Grand Canyon and we lucky enough to experience it completely filled with smoke from the nearby fire at sunset. Pretty god damned awesome.

Here are a few of my favorites.

Check out the whole gallery here:

Telluride Bluegrass and Country Music Festival Gallery

As far as thoughts on technique, I decided to shoot with only primes. Seeing these dudes walking around with their huge zooms and crap gave me a delightfully smug shudder of pleasure knowing that I was probably taking nicer looking photos than they were. But I might just be an arrogant prick. Whatevs.

My beloved 85 f/1.8 performed as amazingly as ever. The 28 f/1.8, though harder to use, worked nicely as well. But the poor 50 f/1.8 really had trouble nailing focus. Enough so that it ruined a bunch of photos that would otherwise have been just fine. Looking through the first two days of pictures today, I regretted sticking with the 50 both days because of the sheer number of just-out-of-focus photos. It made me angry. I will be purchasing the 50 f/1.4 as soon as I can not for it’s slightly faster aperture, but for its improved autofocus. I refuse to let a shoddy, cheap shit lens, ruin another photo. If my photos are going to be ruined, I want the fault to be my own.

Either way, I think there are some good photos in the set. Enjoy.

> Continue reading...Telluride Bluegrass and Country Music Festival 6/17/2010

Abraham Lincoln: President. Emancipator. Beardo. Poet?

June 10, 2010 |

About Writing, Thoughts and Writing

Yeah, that last one got me too, but apparently there’s a poem published in The Sangamo Journal in 1838 that is attributed to Lincoln. Wild, right? Even better is that it’s dark as hell which you know just sends me into a tizzy. Read it below.

The Suicide’s Soliloquy

Here, where the lonely hooting owl
Sends forth his midnight moans,
Fierce wolves shall o’er my carcase growl,
Or buzzards pick my bones.

No fellow-man shall learn my fate,
Or where my ashes lie;
Unless by beasts drawn round their bait,
Or by the ravens’ cry.

Yes! I’ve resolved the deed to do,
And this the place to do it:
This heart I’ll rush a dagger through,
Though I in hell should rue it!

Hell! What is hell to one like me
Who pleasures never know;
By friends consigned to misery,
By hope deserted too?

To ease me of this power to think,
That through my bosom raves,
I’ll headlong leap from hell’s high brink,
And wallow in its waves.

Though devils yell, and burning chains
May waken long regret;
Their frightful screams, and piercing pains,
Will help me to forget.

Yes! I’m prepared, through endless night,
To take that fiery berth!
Think not with tales of hell to fright
Me, who am damn’d on earth!

Sweet steel! come forth from your sheath,
And glist’ning, speak your powers;
Rip up the organs of my breath,
And draw my blood in showers!

I strike! It quivers in that heart
Which drives me to this end;
I draw and kiss the bloody dart,
My last—my only friend!

Neat! So metal.

> Continue reading...Abraham Lincoln: President. Emancipator. Beardo. Poet?

An architectural critique of sofa forts.

June 10, 2010 |

Thoughts

I found a link to an article with architectural critiques of children’s sofa cushion forts on BoingBoing and it’s so damned funny and great I feel compelled to share with all of you. Here are a couple I thought particularly good.

At first glance the composition appears unintentional and the construction shoddy. But further investigation reveals a clear delineation between indoor/outdoor space with a design focus on protection through the use of barrier. Planes are shifted off the orthogonal to accommodate function; as a side effect it relieves inhabitants from a harsh Euclidian geometry. Grade B

Good God gentlemen, you’re a mess! You need walls, you need a roof. Get to work man! Grade: F

I know that it’s strongly reminiscent of Maddox’s critiques of children’s art, but it’s definitely more highbrow. And, really, can you ever get enough of insulting children? I don’t think so.

Check out both parts for more chuckles here:

Couch Cushion Architecture; A Critical Analysis

Couch Cushion Architecture; A Critical Analysis 2

> Continue reading...An architectural critique of sofa forts.

A letter to the coffee industry.

June 7, 2010 |

Letters and Writing

Dear coffee industry,

See this?

This is a small cup of coffee. Do you notice anything about that last sentence? You don’t? I’ll clue you in: it’s entirely in English. I didn’t have to use a single fakey-Italian or fakey-French word to describe it. And wasn’t it wonderful? I know, it really was.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind using foreign language words to order in two specific cases. The first is when it’s the actual name of what I want. When I want to order and espresso, calling it a “quick coffee” would be just as stupid as calling a small a “grande”. The words espresso or americano or cappuccino all refer to something specific and are not used as some bullshit affectation to make the coffee look smarter.

The second situation is when I am in a place where they do not speak English. It makes so much sense, right? If I’m in a bodega in the Bronx, I’m going to ask for a coffee. (Note: guys, no, I don’t want 8 sugars in my coffee. None please. I know you think that’s the strangest thing you’ve ever heard, but the correct amount of sugars is ZERO.) If I’m in Mexico City, I’m going to ask for un cafe. It’s just reasonable. I don’t want to have to go pick up some Starbucks and be forced to utter the words “venti half-caf non-whip chai mochaccino latte.” I just made that up. But I bet they’d actually try and make that for you.

I guess, coffee industry, you’re playing into my loathing of being forced to use silly fucking names to order from a place. I don’t want to order the cleverly named smoothie from wherever. I don’t want to order the alliterative sandwich from some other place. And I sure as hell don’t want to use fake as shit, affected foreign languages to tell you I want a fucking small coffee. And, no, I don’t care if if takes 8 hours to make a single cup of drip coffee on your ridiculous Japanese contraptions that drip 12 drips an hour. What a waste of time.

And so to my humble French press, I say, I love you. Thanks for taking the bullshit out of coffee drinking. I don’t even need electricity to make you work, just boiling water and 4 minutes.

Get your shit straight coffee industry.

Curmudgeonly yours,

The Black Laser.

PS – If you see my orange and gray messenger bag around, will you let me know? Thanks.

PPS – You’re still a dick.

PPPS – Unless you return my bag. Then I promise a whole year of ordering stupidly named coffee drinks.

> Continue reading...A letter to the coffee industry.

A list of “Your Momma” jokes as told by me.

June 4, 2010 |

Thoughts

Your momma’s so fat people often complain of her enormous girth on airplanes.

Your momma’s so fat she has trouble reaching her toes, which is actually common enough for people of moderate obesity and pregnant women.

Your momma’s so fat that her doctor is worried for her health.

Your momma’s so ugly that people do not find her attractive and, really, it’s only due to alcohol that you’re here at all.

Your momma’s so lazy that her work regularly goes unfinished.

Your momma’s so fat she suffers from congestive heart disease.

Your momma’s so mean that people do not like to be around her very much and few will call on her birthday.

Your momma’s so cruel that she’s been put on trial for neglect.

Your momma’s so peaceful that people often compare her to The Buddha.

Your momma’s so stupid that she has trouble doing the rudimentary math that her job at the grocery store requires.

Your momma’s so smelly that people politely try to recommend that she shower more often.

Your momma’s so stupid that she made a mistake on her taxes and was audited by the IRS.

Your momma’s so ugly that she has terrible self-esteem issues.

Your momma’s so fat that she can no longer get out of bed, instead relying on you to bring her food and bathe her.

Your momma’s so old that you had her placed in a home where she could be cared for properly.

Your momma’s so old that she remembers when her father returned from World War II.

Your momma’s so old that she regrets squandering her youth and is very bitter because of it.

Your momma’s so fat that when she walks down the street young children will point and then be hushed by their mothers so your momma doesn’t get offended.

> Continue reading...A list of “Your Momma” jokes as told by me.

Ken Follett’s The Pillars of the Earth

June 3, 2010 |

About Writing and Writing

Recently I finished The Wizard, the second part of Gene Wolfe’s Wizard Knight. I enjoyed it, even if reading it on the train made me feel like I was reading The Dungeonmaster’s Guide or something similarly dorktastic. Wolfe’s writing is strange and dense. Making sense of the story is like a puzzle, with details casually dropped and hinted at throughout. There’s a genuine sense of satisfaction when you recall a tidbit that gets paid off 300 pages later.

My current novel is Ken Follett’s The Pillars of the Earth, a novel my mom recommended to me last summer. Apparently Follett makes most of his living as writer on techno-spy thriller kinds of books, a genre with which my mother is definitely enamored. I have never read one of his books before, and, honestly, I probably won’t. I’m a hundred pages into this one and I just don’t like it, even though I’m whipping through it. His writing is flavorless to me, mechanical. He tells too much and explains too much. As in films or theatre, I want characters to be mysteries we as audience member or reader need to unwrap. I am always fond of the unreliable narrator in books since it provides me with another level of something to work out in the novel. I’m not just trying to decipher the plot, but also the true nature of the protagonist. That is enticing.

But Follett leaves little of his characters’s motivations to the imagination. Rather, he spells them out for us like an elementary school teacher explaining long division to a third grader. It’s like a popcorn movie where every last beat is obvious, clear from the outset, where vagueness is alien. You don’t have to think to understand what’s happening; you’re being told. It’s the clear opposite of Samuel Delany’s Dhalgren, a novel I struggled with a bit last year for all its deliberate lack of clarity.

Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe the novel will develop into some tightly plotted, brilliantly executed mesh of interwoven plotlines and characters over the next 880 pages. It certainly has the space for it. But maybe it won’t. I’m not exactly ready to give up on it yet, but if it doesn’t turn around real fast, it’s entering the discard pile.

> Continue reading...Ken Follett’s <i>The Pillars of the Earth</i>