Search Results for “adorable”

This is the single most adorable comment I’ve ever received.

December 14, 2011 |

For some reason, I tend to get a lot of hits on a post I wrote in January 2010 about New Old School Death Metal. It’s one of the top hits on google when searching for “New Old School Death Metal”. I guess people dig that. That’s cool. Once in a while I get a comment from someone who has read and they are always really positive or they’ll suggest something I hadn’t thought of. I like those. People are nice.

But today I got this comment.

Isn’t that cute?!

This is my very first (!) hateful comment here on The Black Laser. It feels good, kind of like I arrived. I appreciate what he said, too, and now I have a bunch of new bands to check out which is fun. I don’t know what “morrisound” means, but I immediately thought of Morrissey, which is pretty cool. I love The Smiths, especially when I am feeling sad. I suppose he could have been nicer in his comment, but this is the internet, where anonymous communications turns everyone into the kind of asshole they’d never actually be in real life. Regardless, I guess I am just some metalhead hobbyist who believes that the excessive splitting of metal into subgenres is kind of stupid. Oh well!

Luckily for us, this fellow who goes by the handle “Nietzsche Tzu” provided a link to his Facebook account. That’s pretty neat. Do you want to see what he looks like? Sure you do.

Pretty tough. The hammer is a nice touch. I imagine that there are many nails out there who are very afraid when Mr. Tzu comes for them. Honestly, though, I think I prefer his more sensitive side.

Awwwww. Nice. Now that’s a face you want to talk to when you’re stressed out and feeling down. Unfortunately, his description of himself doesn’t seem to quite back up how sensitive he looks in the photo.

Oh no! Sounds like someone needs to be hugged before he’s ready to hug other people. Let’s look at his favorite activities…

I think maybe he needs to replace one of his two “Fighting”s with at least one “Hugging” and maybe add a “Rage management” to the list. Probably a good idea to knock “Intelligent Critical Debate” off the list, too. We’ve seen his lovely attempt at that. But maybe I’m being a bit of a dick here. I only know what he chose to present in a few brief sentences. Maybe he’s a really nice guy, out there in Austin, Texas. Funny side note, he’s from San Jose, CA which is only about 20 minutes from where I grew up. Wow!

So, thanks for reading, Mr. Tzu. I hope you’ve enjoyed your time here at The Black Laser. I work hard to make sure it’s an interesting, lively place for people to visit and maybe see or hear or read something new.

And, for fun, here’s my favorite death metal band.

Bonus points, Mr. Tzu if you can tell me in the comments what I am referencing. Cool!

UPDATE!!!!! \\\\\\\\\\\

After I posted this, Mr. Tzu commented in reply to me on the original post. Awesome!

Here’s how I dealt with it.

nt_comments_excerpt — Click the image to see the whole thread!

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Have you seen my sister’s sickeningly adorable blog?

February 9, 2011 |

Thoughts

This is my sister Christina.

She works for eBay and has a blog (linked on the right) called Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang. It is named that because her nickname is Kissie. Get it?

In stark and violent contrast to The Black Laser, Christina’s blog’s content is comprised mostly of random love letters, cute things, and country music videos, whereas The Black Laser is all metal, weirdness, and dirty electro beats. Here are a few headlines that I think really encapsulate what her blog is about.

Ok, so that last one isn’t really one of her posts, but you get the idea.

Even her “About Me page is adorable. I quote:

Hi!

Feb. 3, 2010

Spread love.

Jan. 6, 2010

I felt the urge to express my love for great wine, amazing beer and delicious food that goes along with it. I have a pretty good sense of the kinds of wine and beer I like, although I’m always learning. I am currently working on my taste for whiskey. Hopefully I will soon be knowledgeable on the subject because it is just so delicious.

Nov. 29, 2010

Continuing this life journey on my blog. It’s funny to see how after 315 posts and a year + a couple months my life has changed. Here is to new adventures and new stories.

March 2, 2010

A little more about me:

I have a passion for numbers and the way the mind works, but I’m not just limited to that. I have a passion for technology and innovation. I’m an early adopter. I love new gizmos and gadgets. I am quick to learn. I like to fiddle around with and read about programs until I understand and can use them.

I like to keep busy and do productive things with my time. I hope that I can make the next generation just a little bit tougher by coaching them [and making them run the floor]. I love competition. I want to be a mentor.

For me success is creating a life that will be comfortable for me and my [far] future family while being vehement for what I do and the people around me.

September 18, 2009

As I enter into this blogosphere, I realize there are hundreds of thousands, if not millions of blogs out there. I’d be lucky to have more than one reader – Isa. So please enjoy!

I’m a recent graduate from the University of Oregon living back in the San Francisco area, getting my life on track! Killing time by writing things down…

There is a mixture of humor and seriousness in my blog. I hope you find the funny postings funny and the not so funny ones interesting or intriguing. Thanks for reading!

Right? Who knew that yours truly and she could come from the same gene pool?

When you’re feeling tired of the unrelenting weirdness pouring forth from The Black Laser, take a little vacation on over to Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang and let your heart be warmed. The Space Pope knows we all get a little tired of The Black Laser now and then, so don’t let yourself feel bad with letting Christina help you take off the edge.

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I Love Tiny Chef

I Love Tiny Chef

November 7, 2025 |

Film & TV and TV

With small children in the house, I get exposed to a lot of television and movies that I would otherwise totally miss. They’re not iPad kids, either, so TV is a communal event which is much harder for me to ignore.

Bluey? Seen every episode probably like 10 times. There are, what?, 170 of them? I’ve seen a lot of Bluey. Top episodes: Granny Mobile, Sleepytime, Baby Race, Tradies. Those are my top episodes, not the children’s.

K-Pop Demon Hunters? Regularly jamming out to “Golden” in the car. Cheeks calls the movie “Be-bop deemee hunners”. She’s two and a half. Is that too young? I don’t know. She’s fine. She asks you what your name is and when you ask her what hers is, she answers “Soda Pop.”

Power Rangers? We got about halfway through the original run, but it’s crap and the girls didn’t really click with it. However, they did click with Power Rangers Dino Fury and the subsequent Cosmic Fury and the preceding Ninja Whatever. Did you know they’ve made Power Rangers in New Zealand ever since finishing the original run? There’s something very uncanny valley about the show since it’s supposedly set in the US, but all the environments are just different enough to feel wrong. Well, that’s because they’re in New Zealand. I will say that the modern Power Ranger shows are light years more sophisticated in their integration of the Japanese source material than the original was.

My Little Pony? Meh. Vampirina? Skip. Dora The Explorah? Whatevs. Blue’s Clues? Fine, but the OG run only. Sofia the First, Bubble Guppies, Robogobo, every crappy Netflix CG princess show ad nauseam. Miss me with it. I’m good.

But somehow in all the years of the boob tube, we’ve missed Tiny Chef. This is a good show. It’s currently at the top of my Best Shows For Adults Made For Kids mental list. It’s even dethroned Bluey, mostly because of some very real Bluey fatigue. Still love you, though, boo boo.

But who is Tiny Chef? He’s a tiny, green, irrepressibly positive, vegan chef who lives in a tree trunk and cooks stuff. He’s got a bunch of buddies, talks on the phone a lot, and has a caterpillar for a pet. And he’s perfect. The stop motion animation is adorable. The production design is thoughtful with lots of fun, sneaky jokes. And Tiny Chef himself is a bundle of imperfections the way all great characters for kids are. Think The Muppets or pre-Elmo Sesame Street for the vibe.

Let me give you a taste.

He was recently at the center of some internet outrage after Paramount canceled his show. That chatter is what brought him to my attention to begin with and drove me to give the show a shot with the girls one rainy Saturday afternoon. Glad I did it! And shame on you, Paramount.

I could recount his backstory, but instead I’ll share the PBS NewsHour story they published a couple months ago.

God, that little bit where he tears up after learning they’ve been canceled? Heart breaking.

It looks like the creators of little dude have wisely retained ownership of the character so I hope we get to see some more of him in the future on a scale greater than Youtube. I love you, Tiny Chef.

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Six Dang Weeks

Six Dang Weeks

February 4, 2022 |

Life

Six weeks!

I have to keep my finger in this tiny, stupid splint for six weeks!

I suppose, though, it could be worse. It could be my whole hand. Or a finger on my dominant right hand. Or my arm! OR MY NECK!

It all happened last Thursday. I was home, getting the girls ready for their evening bath. I had Penny undressed in my right arm and Beanut in her diaper in my left. The bath was run and the water was warm. Everything was going swimmingly.

Then Beatrice saw something so fun on the floor and dove for it. I don’t know if you are aware of this, but 1 year olds do not possess the world’s greatest self-preservation instinct. Luckily, I was there to get my hand under her to prevent toddler suicide. The bad news was that I got my left pinky under her sternum at just the wrong angle. It snapped.

The child was, and still is, totally fine. I caught her and she had no idea about the fate she narrowly avoided. I placed them both down on the sofa, set my broken finger back into place, and moved them to the tub. I sent Sarah the following text message:

She promptly called me back and I told her what happened as Penny and Bea splashed in the background. She promised to be home as soon as she could. I gave the girls a cursory bath, got them dressed, and set them up with some milk. I’d be lying if I told you I combed their hair, though. That really requires two hands: one to stabilize the squirming child and the other to operate the comb. Getting them dressed usually requires two hands as well, but I managed to pin them down with my forearm. No left hand fingers needed for that task.

By 6:45pm Sarah was home, and by 7 I was on the road to the local ER. They did a round of x-rays, determined that the photos were inconclusive, wrapped my finger in a splint, and sent me home. I was home by 9. It might have been the fastest ER visit I’ve ever had. Of course, they barely did anything and arrived at no answers, but, still, it was quick.

I was doing my very best to hold it straight here.

For a week, I’ve lived with the busted pinky. I’ve shoveled snow more than once. I’ve cared for tiny children. I’ve deboned chicken. All successfully, if a little slower than normal. Each day, I took off the splint for my shower and carefully redressed it afterward. I definitely splinted it more securely than the ER did.

On Thursday I had my follow-up appointment. The ER discharge paperwork told me I should have gone in on the 29th, but that wasn’t going to happen because A) a blizzard rolled through on the 28th and B) it was a Saturday. So Thursday it was.

I got another set of x-rays done and this time we were able to see the tiny bone fragment floating in my finger where the tendon snapped the bone. Pretty cool! I regret not asking for a copy of the images, though. Then the doctor told me that every time I take my finger out of the splint I tear through any new scar tissue formed and that if I want it to heal correctly—that is, heal in a way that allows me to fully straighten my finger—I need to keep it in the split for six weeks.

One of these is not doing what it’s supposed to. Chili for scale.

What a pain in the butt. At least the doctor cut the finger-length splint down to a knuckle-length splint to allow me to partially bend my finger.

So for the next six weeks I’m living with this adorable pinky splint that I need to keep clean and dry. I’ve ordered some extra-large nitrile gloves from the site that shares a name with a rainforest which will hopefully get me through six weeks of dishes, diapers, and cat litter. I already want to take the thing off and bend my finger. But I am going to be good.

Download the audio of this post.

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Olive Shields Dillingham 1/20/2021 – 5/09/2021

Olive Shields Dillingham 1/20/2021 – 5/09/2021

May 26, 2021 |

Life and Thoughts

My dearest Olive,

I am sorry.

I am sorry you spent your brief life sick and hurting. I am sorry for the tinkering and experimentation and discomfort we put you through. All your mom and I wanted was for you to have a shot at a normal life and we were willing to do whatever we could to give that to you. We would have done even more, everything and anything, if we would have thought the pain you lived in was going to be fruitful. But it wasn’t, and suffering for suffering’s sake is no life.

I am sorry you don’t get to grow up with your sisters and your mom and me. I am sorry you never had a chance to leave Johns Hopkins to be warmed by the sun on your face. I am sorry you never felt the wind or saw the moon. I am sorry you only met your sisters a single time. I am sorry you never met so much of your huge family and that they never got to meet you. I am sorry that your stink-eye is something you only ever shared with your nurses, not your siblings. I am sorry I only got to hear your tiny cry a single time. I am sorry for all the onces and nevers, in all their terrible shapes.

I am sorry you will never get to experience all the joys of life, both regular and exceptional. Eating pomegranates outside during the summer. Listening to a great song that connects with your soul for the first time. A perfect cup of coffee on a cold morning. The pride of knowing you did a job as well as you could. A warm blanket and cool feet as you sleep. Falling in love and fighting to keep that love alive and healthy. A visit with a friend on a lazy Sunday. Christmas morning treats. Silly photoshoots. Blankets. Warm fires. Mountain tops. Birthday dinners. Late night karaoke. Chocolate chip cookies. Making art. Hugs. All the silly little and big important happinesses that we take for granted. I’m sorry I cannot share them with you.

And I am sorry for all the sadness and annoyances you will never endure. Heartbreak and loneliness and embarrassment. Being kept awake at night thinking of some stupid thing you said to someone a decade ago. Seeing an ex on the street and quickly deciding if you are going to be polite or pretend you didn’t see them. Annoying work e-mails. Saying something unintentionally rude and having to own up to it. The shame in knowing you failed at something because you half-assed it. Fights with your sisters and your parents and your friends. The feeling that no one understands you. All the stupid little miseries that make all the silly little happinesses so much sweeter. I am sorry I cannot comfort you through them.

I am so, so sorry that I don’t get to know what kind of woman you would have grown up to be. I would give anything to know you as a child and adolescent through your awkward teenage years and into your formative young adulthood. And then as an adult and potentially as a parent. And if you didn’t want to have kids, that would be ok too. I wanted you to have a life that was your own—Olive’s life—to make decisions on how and where and with whom you live it. Olive’s choices and Olive’s mistakes. Olive’s triumphs. Olive’s failures. The tapestry of a life that should have been uniquely yours.

I am sorry you don’t get to grow into the old lady name we gave you. I am sorry you only ever got to experience the little girl version, even if “Livvy” is an especially cute nickname. It was such a perfect plan: strong old lady names with adorable little girl versions. Your mom and I were willing long lives for all three of you to allow you time to make the most of the names we gave you and to become the perfect, distilled versions of yourselves. I am sorry you will miss that.

I am sorry your sisters will grow up without their middle triplet, the filling in their sibling sandwich. Since we learned that there would be three of you, your mom and I had a thousand ideas about what sort of life you girls would have as a trio. We imagined you all growing and learning together, experiencing life as a unit. What would the dynamic have been like between you all? Was Penny going to be the protector and Beatrice the quiet accomplice to Olive’s adventures? Would you all be friends or not? What secrets would you have shared together? What tales would you have told each other? I am sorry they don’t get to have that and that you don’t get to be a participant in our lives. I am sorry that they will only ever know you from photos and stories. I am glad your sisters are spared from our current sadness, but I am still sorry we couldn’t share you with them.

And please know, my little Tapenade, that we did everything we could for you. We pushed you as hard as our hearts, modern medical science, and the counsel of the medical team in the PCICU at Johns Hopkins would allow. We spent every single moment we had with you in the hospital to advocate for you in the busy times and love you in the down times. We thought long and critically about what the best path was for your care. We subjected you to serious risk with some of the things we allowed, some of the things we pushed for. But all of it was with the hope that something would break through and allow you to get better so you could come home to us. So we could be a complete family. Olive, Penny, Bea, mom, and dad. All your mom and I ever wanted was to have all three of you home, together, and safe.

I hope, my heart, that we made your last few days as lovely as we could. We strove to fill your hospital room with as much color, brightness, and love as possible. We wanted every second of that limited time to be free of hurt. Everyone in the hospital who knew you and loved you came by to say goodbye and make a memory with you. There were photos and hugs. Nurses and doctors cried and shared stories with us. We had three days of photos and decorations. We smelled your little head and kissed your cheeks and played with your funny little poof of hair. We held you as much as we could in those final days to try to make up for all the time you were in the hospital when we couldn’t and all the time after the hospital when we wouldn’t be able to.

And I hope, in the end, as you passed away in our arms, that it was gentle. You were surrounded by people who loved you so much and cared for you so hard. I had my hand on your chest and felt your heart slow and then stop. I watched you take your final breath, and then we knew you were gone. I will never know what it was like for you in that moment, but I hope it was as easy for you as it was terrible for us. I would have traded your pain with you in a heartbeat. I would have given everything of myself for you, if I could have.

My sweet little Livvy Bear, I don’t for a second regret the horrible decision your mom and I made to let you go. Given the same set of circumstances, I would make the same decision again. We chose your comfort over our own. But I am forever, forever sorry that you didn’t get the chance you deserved to live, to thrive, and to be. I love you, Olive, and I am so very sorry.

Love always always,

Dad.

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The Clean Up, a Kickstarter

March 21, 2013 |

About Filmmaking, Film & TV and My Work

My dear friend Jesse and I are making another film in a couple of months called The Clean Up. He does his best to explain it in his classic Jesse Allen manner in the video above. Or you can read this handy text copypasta below.

“The Clean Up” chronicles a single night in the life of two Mexican cleaning ladies, Paola and Alejandra, as they clean a tall Manhattan office building.

New to this country, city, and job, Alejandra is lead around by her jaded co-worker, Paola, as they make the rounds of each floor of the building. Paola’s disdain for the office workers, and their complete disregard for her, becomes immediately apparent to Alejandra. Paola’s mood, however, shifts when she runs into Mr. Samuelson, an amiable older businessman. The two seem to have developed a genuine friendship throughout the years.

As they finish their shift later that night, Alejandra notices that her necklace has gone missing. When retracing their steps through the building, however, the two discover the dead body of Mr. Samuelson by his desk. Judging from the content on his screen, the position of his pants, and the belt around his neck, Mr. Samuelson seems to have died via Autoerotic Asphyxiation.

Paola is horrified. The death of her friend, especially his cause of death, are (sic) too much for her. Shifting between denial and panic, she convinces Alejandra to help her stage elaborate fake deaths for Mr. Samuelson that might seem more dignified when he’s eventually found in the morning. As they drag around his dead body, each setup grows even more ridiculous and desperate. Finally, Paola gives up.

Seeing no other option, Alejandra suggests that the two stage Mr. Samuelson’s suicide by throwing his body off the roof of the building. Though not as “dignified” as Paola’s original intention, it’s better than the truth. Tasked with now writing a suicide note for Mr. Samuelson, Paola conjures up her resentment for the other workers in the building (expressed in the beginning of the film) and constructs a cathartic critique of how this building, city, and society function. While she’ll likely be ignored again the following day, she finally has a voice that will be heard. That voice, however, is through the proxy of a dead, white collar worker.

The Clean Up will be our fifth film collaboration, another in a much longer line of creative collaborations between me and Jesse since we’ve been twelve years old. That is a long time. It is nice to have a working relationship with someone you are friends with because it makes telling them their ideas are stupid a lot easier. And, in the end, I think the work truly benefits from having that sort of frank discourse with a creative partner.

And Jesse is just adorable. Who wouldn’t want to work with him?

So go ahead and donate to our Kickstarter. We have 20 days left and are over the 50% mark. I know that Jesse would really appreciate your help, however minor, and I would too. Give us your money and then look forward to seeing the film here, there, and everywhere else.

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The cat game.

December 26, 2012 |

Thoughts

I play a game with Sarah that has no name and very few rules. In fact, it might have only one rule, a rule which I have imposed upon the game myself: no repeats. Everything else is fair, but repeats are expressly forbidden. You see, what I do is every day around when I think she has a little lull in her day before peak-stress, I send her a funny cat photo.

The cat photos can be anything: funny cats in costumes, cute kittens, dumb looking cats, kids holding cats up like The Lion King, whatever. The only thing dictating the cat photo is my taste…and whether or not I think she’s going to like it. Therein lies the game.

See, I never really know what she’s going to like. I suspect, I estimate, I gamble, but I am never entirely sure if she is going to like one photo more than another. Some choices are more obvious than others, but there’s always a risk.

Because I am never sure, I’ve collected a huge variety of cat photos from all over the internet. Then I dole them out, one at a time, when I think the moment is appropriate.

I almost never get direct feedback on the game. I only know if I’ve hit a home run one of two ways. 1 – She posts the photo to someone else’s Facebook. 2 – She changes the lockscreen photo on her iPhone. The most common is the latter. Both make me feel like a complete winner.

So. The folder of used cats on my phone grows and grows (remember, no repeats is the only rule), and finding myself amazed at the myriad idiot, adorable cat photos the internet produces. It’s amazing. And startling. And a little bit scary. But they are out there, just waiting to be sent.

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Sesame Street: 12 Little Chicks song

January 31, 2012 |

About Music and Music

You know you remember my awesome friend Mandy of Akwarian Sea Rebel fame? Yeah, you totally do. Anyway, she recently collaborated with a friend of hers on this adorable video for Sesame Street. The task was to reimagine the 12345-678910-11-12 song (you’re singing it right now). I think the result is great. If I had kids I would force them to listen to this until they needed years and years of very expensive therapy.

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17 search results for “adorable”

Feb. 3, 2010

Jan. 6, 2010

Nov. 29, 2010

March 2, 2010

September 18, 2009