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Posts published in June 2011

It’s my birthday.

I am 29 years old. It is an insignificant marker, but that’s where I am. Happy birthday to me. That is all.

I wish The Black Laser a productive, magical year. Everyone who reads this should enjoy a delicious treat in honor of my birthday. I don’t care what it is, but send me a photo.

Love you all.

edit//Here’s something else I learned: I share the same birthday as Iceland. Let’s all eat sheep’s face and rotten shark! Huzzah!

RIP Seth Putnam, a list of my favorite A.C. song titles

As I am sure you all know by now, Seth Putnam, lead vocalist from legendary, asshole, grindcore band Anal Cunt, has died. AC (as they were known around people who find the word “cunt” offensive) were a profound influence in my life as a young metal head. Here were a bunch of guys making absurdly heavy, dissonant grind who obviously didn’t take themselves seriously at all. This stood in stark contrast to the other guys who were making absurdly heavy, dissonant metal who obviously took themselves pretty damn seriously indeed. If you’re a metal head (and I hope you are), then you know what I am talking about.

To celebrate the life and career of a man who wrote some of my favorite under 1 minute long songs, here is a list of some of my favorite Anal Cunt song titles in no particular order.

  • I Respect Your Feelings As A Woman And A Human
  • MTV Is My Source For New Music
  • “Well You Know, Mean Gene…”
  • Brutally Morbid Axe of Satan
  • You Must Be Wicked Underground If You Own This
  • Our Band Is Wicked Sick (We Have The Flu)
  • Selling Out By Having Song Titles On The Album
  • Pepe, The Gay Waiter
  • Living Colour Is My Favorite Black Metal Band
  • Don’t Call Japanese Hardcore Japcore
  • Foreplay With a Tree Shredder
  • Old Lady Across The Hall With No Life
  • You Look Divorced
  • I Hope You Get Deported
  • 311 Sucks
  • You Went To See Dishwalla And Everclear (You’re Gay)
  • You’re a Fucking Cunt
  • You’re A Trendy Fucking Pussy
  • Your Family Is Dumb
  • Van Full of Retards
  • You’ve Got No Friends
  • You Own A Store
  • You Are An Interior Decorator
  • You Have Goals
  • Being A Cobbler Is Dumb
  • Your Kid Is Deformed
  • You Go To Art School
  • Your Best Friend Is You
  • Ha Ha, Your Wife Left You
  • You Live In A Houseboat

Here are a couple of jams from Anal Cunt’s weird-as-fuck career.

Oh, Anal Cunt, I wouldn’t trade all the years of hilarious song titles you’ve given for anything. You will be missed, even if you were a fucked up, misanthrophic, junkie asshole. RIP Seth.

Welcome To Earth, Corinne Katherine Dillingham!

Yesterday my lovely sister in law Leah gave birth to her second daughter, named Corinne Katherine Dillingham. Originally due on my birthday (6/17), she decided she was sick of being cooped up in Leah’s womb and thought that yesterday was a good time to emerge in San Francisco. My sort-of sister in law Beata works at the same hospital as a nurse and excitedly came online to IM me that Leah was going into labor and that she was SOOOOO EXCITED and had to share since Cha was still at work.

Well, then I got all excited and texted my brother and Leah wishing them “Good luck with the hatching!!”

He replied, “The alien will come out through the ribcage.”

To which I replied, “Catch it before it burns a hole in the floor and kills everyone else, Ripley.” Then I requested photos. Which he sent! Do you want to see?! Of course you do!

What a lovely family.

Welcome to planet earth, you crazy little shit. You’re in for a wild ride.

A Letter to Men Who Wear Their Cell Phones On Their Belts

Dear Men Who Wear Their Cell Phones On Their Belts,

What the fuck are you, fucking Batman? What your pockets aren’t good enough to hold you phone? You need to proudly display the shitty old Nokia you got for free when you signed your 2-year Boost Mobile contract? Is it some sort of status symbol for you that you can own—and display—an item that 900 million other people also own?

I don’t understand at all. I’ve known people who have worn their phones on their belt, but only while they were working. I guess that is sort of acceptable, but I still think the phone should just go in their pocket. Put it in your pocket, guy.

But, you ask, what about those poor unfortunate souls who don’t have pockets? Wait. People are wearing pants without pockets but are still wearing enough of a belt that the can hang their phone? Do you see the essential problem with this? Let me recommend a solid three-step course of action for you if find yourself mired in this existential quandary.

  1. Buy pants that have pockets.
  2. Put those pants on.
  3. Put your cell phone in your pocket.

Three easy steps to success! Do you know what else it will do, MWWTCPOTB? It will help you look like less of an ASSHOLE.

For example, look at this:

This dude looks like an asshole! Why does he need a cell phone on his belt, let alone MANY cell phones!? Can you enlighten me, MWWTCPOTB? No, I didn’t think you could.

Get some pockets, jerk.

Sincerely,

The Black Laser.

In honor of the passing of Dr. Kevorkian, here’s some Acid Bath

Jack Kevorkian died yesterday at the age of 83. You all know who he was: the infamous Dr. Death, proponent of assisted suicide, inventor of the suicide machine, and… a painter and jazz musician? Yup. He painted some grotesque, disturbing works in his day. And released a jazz flute record.

What you might not know if that the painting above on Acid Bath’s 1996 metal masterpiece Paegan Terrorism Tactics is a painting by Kevorkian called “For He Is Raised.” If any of you love me, you’ll follow that link and get me a print. Really.

In honor of the passing of a man who I think genuinely helped those in need, here are a few of my favorite tracks from Paegan Terrorism Tactics.

[audio:https://www.theblacklaser.net/blog/wp-content/uploads/2011/06/02-Bleed-Me-An-Ocean.mp3|titles=Bleed Me An Ocean|artists=Acid Bath] [audio:https://www.theblacklaser.net/blog/wp-content/uploads/2011/06/05-Locust-Spawning.mp3|titles=Locust Spawning|artists=Acid Bath] [audio:https://www.theblacklaser.net/blog/wp-content/uploads/2011/06/08-Venus-Blue.mp3|titles=Venus Blue|artists=Acid Bath] [audio:https://www.theblacklaser.net/blog/wp-content/audio/ab_dead_girl.mp3|titles=Dead Girl|artists=Acid Bath]

Enjoy. I had a very hard time picking just four songs to share with you. Paegan Terrorism Tactics is easily one of my all-time favorite metal albums.

Buy some photos from my brother. I command it.

I’ve written about my brother Charlie before here numerous times. Well, he recently started an Etsy store where he’s selling some prints of photos he’s been taking around San Francisco. Go give him some money. The prints are very reasonably priced and he’s a good man.

I particularly like this one:

Cha, do you hear that? I like THAT one. You have my mailing address.

Here’s the link to his Etsy shop: Charlie Dillingham on Etsy.

A letter to Infinite Jest

Dear Infinite Jest,

Well, I’ve finally finished you. It’s been, what, like 8 months? When I started you, you looked like this:

But you were so big and cumbersome that it took me months and months to make it through even a few hundred pages of your massive, dense, nearly-1000 page (without endnotes) bulk. Luckily, bitching about how you hurt my hand on the subway inspired a random Kindle from my mom for Christmas. She offered at the time to buy you again for the Kindle, but I retorted that I already owned you, so why buy another copy? I’ll just finish the paper copy and use the Kindle for other books.

Well that dream didn’t last very long. You were so large that I couldn’t really hold you with one hand on the train, much less flip back and forth from text to endnotes without much difficulty. Lucky were the times I got a seat so I could spread you across my lap and actually read without worrying about letting go of the pole and being tossed on the invariably rough subway ride to or from work. I gave in. I spent the 9.99 on Amazon and bought the Kindle version. When I finished you, you looked like this:

Nevermind the text on the image.

A few weeks ago, after a brunch mandate to stitch & bitch with Jesse (MACHO AS HELL), we found ourselves in the back yard of TBD in my beloved Greenpoint drinking beers and having a sans-women hang out time. It was really nice. As such, we got around to talking about you. But before we get into the whole post of this letter, let me restate something I mentioned in reference to Ken Follett’s Pillars of the Earth.

I like to work for a book. I really dislike having everything handed to me in tidy pockets of exposition. Nothing pulls me out of a book more than when someone within the first 30 pages stops to explain what they mean but this or that term that the author has created and feels some need to explain directly rather than letting us figure it out like rational, literate adults. I want vagueness and mystery and hints and intentional misdirection. I want to use my brain to participate in unraveling the text. I don’t think that’s so much. In fact, it is the one characteristic that differentiates books into the “enjoyed” pile and “would recommend to someone” pile. Sure, I enjoy books that are quick and hand me things, but only in the way you enjoy popcorn movies filled to the brim with explosions and tits and car chases. They’re little pieces of mental vacation. Think summer blockbuster versus art house.

Infinite Jest, you clearly fit into the “would recommend to someone” category for me. There’s nothing easy about your nearly-1000 pages and I enjoyed the task of deciphering you. You are a specific work of mad genius that I could never ever create. I enjoyed you immensely for all your rambling and wandering and temporal shifts and insane characters and plotless plot and asides and footnotes and nonsense and magical realism. It is clear to me that you are an intensely personal work by someone who was a tragic loss.

And then the other day on the subway I finished you. And all I have to say is fuck you, Infinite Jest. Fuck you with a knife and die. I’m all right with vague endings and I have never minded leaving questions unanswered at the end of a book, but this was too much. I felt like we’d stopped 100 pages before the book should have actually ended. In a flashback nonetheless. Total bullshit.

So, fuck you for making me feel like I didn’t get it. And fuck you for making me want to read you again so I pick up all the clues I missed the first time through. Fuck you. I love you. I haven’t been left wanting more so badly by an ending since I finished Neal Stephenson’s Anathem (which I thought I discussed here, but cannot find record of).

Fuck you, I love, and oh my god I am so sorry.

Love,

The Black Laser.