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Posts published in “Writing”

A Letter to Men Who Wear Their Pinky Fingernails Long.

Dear you guys,

It’s gross! Stop it!

Really though, what’s the point? To you, guy, on the train this morning wearing your stupid American Eagle shirt holding an umbrella, what are you trying to prove? Are you trying to say to the world, “I live a life of leisure. I am a man who does not have to work. I am rich and have servants to tend to my needs,” while you are clearly on your way to work? Who the fuck do you think you’re fooling? You’re riding a train out of Queens. Drop the bullshit already. The pinky fingernail is gross.

And to the Chinese guys in Chinatown working on Kenmare hauling fish, I am likewise not convinced by your long pinky fingernail that you are wealthy and intelligent and well bred. Maybe it’s the crap under your other fingernails or the fact that you’re teeth are stained by smoking too much or that you are covered head to toe in fucking fish entrails. I don’t know, call me crazy, but I’m pretty sure most extraordinarily wealthy people don’t spend their early mornings on the streets of Chinatown covered in aquatic gore. Just a thought. Call me crazy.

Is anyone else as grossed out by this as I am? I’m pretty durable generally, and quite accepting of most of people’s idiosyncrasies, but the fingernail thing just skeeves me out. It makes me want to carry around fingernail clippers and cut their fingernails. Also, it’s fucking gross when people cut their nails on the subway. What the fuck, people. Get it together.

And don’t even get my started on those silly girls at the grocery store who wear such long fake fingernails that they cannot press the buttons on the register except with the balls of their fingers.

Unapologetically yours,

The Black Laser

Things that inspire me.

While browsing the Apedogs the other day, I came across a thread where folks were filling out these influence maps. I thought it was pretty cool so I did my own. See if you can identify all my sources. I almost definitely could fill out an entirely different second one of these.

After thinking about it a little bit more, I realized that I failed the Bechdel Test SO HARD. Terrible! It doesn’t change what my influences are, but it sure makes me look like a misogynist. Oops!

If you want to do your own, download the PSD here.

And, if you head over to Apedogs, check out the speed paint thread. Amaaaaaaaaaazing.

A Bunch of Things I Want but Absolutely Do Not Need, a Bunch of Things I Probably Should Get but Don’t Feel like Dealing With, and a Bunch of Things I Need.

I am a man of few wants and fewer needs. I am low maintenance and easy to clean up after (which is nice because I’m the one cleaning up after myself). I do not typically spend a bunch of money on random things or things that have limited potential usefulness. I always prefer to purchase things that are useful and creative and inspiring, but the problem is that when I look at this sort of purchase I’m a “spend the money once and get the right thing” sort of dude rather than the “I’ll get the inexpensive thing now and upgrade later” sort of dude. This is a double edged sword in that the things I want are awesome and will work well and last, but they are costly. Sometimes embarrassingly costly. What can I say? I have expensive taste.

Ironically this post comes at a time when I am in the worst financial shape since I lost my job last summer. After taking most of the summer off, traveling, playing way too much, not working a minute, visiting with friends, concerts, drinks, dinners, bottles of wine on the river, tacos, and whatever the hell else, my poor bank account is left ravaged and my credit cards are left swollen, bloated, corpulent things demanding my blood and tears. I have just enough cash for rent, which is nice, but I won’t be playing for a few weeks until I get paid again.

Thank Jesus for work. Oy.

But when I do have some reserves again, there are a few things I want, a few things I should deal with but can’t be hassled, and a smaller list of things I absolutely need.

Let’s start are the most ridiculous shall we?

• Leica M7

If you follow me on Twitter or if you are a fan of mine on Facebook (why are you not doing both????), then you’ll know that yesterday I posted a link to an eBay auction for a used Leica M7 in excellent condition with the box. The photo above was stolen shamelessly from the auction.

The question was asked why I needed another camera body. Indeed, why did I need a used 35mm film camera body sans lens that eventually sold for 1681.00 +16.00 shipping? I reply that to ask the question is to display an essential lack of understanding of the issue at hand. I look at it as concerning two things: quality and simplicity. As you know from reading my photography posts, I’ve been shifting toward a prime-lens-only style of shooting over the last couple of years. Again, simplicity and quality. Prime lenses allow me greater image quality while being simpler and not getting in the way of me getting the shot. My trio of 28mm, 50mm, and 85mm primes cover 98% of the shooting I do. I have (and rarely use) a bunch of other lenses, but the three mentioned are my go to guys all the time.

Can I not achieve good quality with a regular camera? Probably, yes. Must I use a film-based, Leica rangefinder? No, I don’t, but where’s the fun in that? The advantage of a film Leica over, say, my current Canon 5D II, is that the Leica, properly cared for, will never stop working. Eventually the 5D II will be superseded by the next cool ass thing that comes out and that by the next and so on and so on. But with the Leica, as film technology advances, all you have to do is buy new rolls. Done and done. And, no, film’s not going anywhere, people.

Another thing you probably don’t realize about the photos I’ve posted for you is the sheer amount of monkeying around that goes on between capture and output. I shoot everything as RAW files and process every single photo on my computer before you ever see them. With a lot of photos it can become a serious amount of time we’re talking about just to get the photos to a place where I am happy with how they look. Of course, I enjoy this process, but it’s also distracting in the same way that zoom lenses are distracting: too much noodling, not enough decision making. I can change anything and everything as long as I exposed the photo appropriately. There’s no point at which the photo is finished. I can tweak and tweak and tweak until my brain explodes. That is a hindrance. It slows me down. I could shoot JPEG like a fool, but that’s stupid. Never.

Film provides proven, unerring quality, but with most of the salient decisions already baked into the negative. Yeah, sure, I could scan the neg with a drum scanner and tweak in Photoshop or whatever until I’m blue in the face, but that’s not my intent. If I want to do that sort of shooting, I’ll use the 5DII. What I want from the Leica is simplicity but quality and enough control to make it do what I think it should. Sure, I could use some shitty little digicam (more on that later) and it would be simple, but the photos would be of poor quality. Inferior. I could carry around a view camera and achieve startling quality, but that’s not simple at all. I’m going to extremes here, but you get my point.

Of less importance, but still part of my decision making, the Leica is inconspicuous. If you were some shlub on the street and you saw a dude wandering around with his Leica around his neck, you probably wouldn’t identify it as a surprisingly pricey camera. (Note to thieves: find the Leica M9, those go for like 9 grand) You can point it at people in the street and because it’s not much larger than your average point and shoot, people won’t be put off by you pointing a lens in their direction. Conversely, if I’m wandering around with my 5D II and giant, white 70-200 f/2.8, people notice. You can’t point that thing at anyone without them noticing. It’s like pointing a huge, white, glass and metal hard-on at someone: obvious.

Nevertheless, the next time I have 4500 bucks to spend on a Leica and 50mm f/2 combo, I’m going to. It just doesn’t make a whole mess of sense at this point. The good thing is, if I ever want to sell it down the road, I should be able to sell it for about what I paid. Killer.

Price: $1600-2500 (body only)

• Fujifilm FinePix X100

Oh god, what, another camera? For serious? Another rangefinder, this one digital, with a fixed focal length 35mm equivalent non-interchangeable lens?

Yes. For serious. Hear me out.

I’m not usually excited about product announcements during tradeshows. They’re often just updates of last year’s myriad consumer-grade, multicolor piece of shit models or they’re middling updates of last year’s low-end DSLRs or they’re significant upgrades to camera systems in which I’ve not invested or they’re some ludicrously expensive medium-format niche drool-worthy piece of kit. None of those things are my usual purchase areas. But recently I’ve been thinking about picking up a pocketable camera to take out with me so that Michael and I can continue to create Yeah Du’s.

And then they announced this little guy, supposedly available early next year. It features an APS-C sized sensor (awesome for a small camera) and a fixed-focal length lens. You read that right. Not a zoom in sight here. And who needs one? Distractions! So I’m considering this thing seriously next year when it comes out and I’ve been able to read the reviews. Of course, it will cost me about 3 or 4 times what some piece of shit Point & Shoot would, but you pay for goodness. And I bet it shoots RAW. God, I hate JPEGs.

Price: $1000 (estimated)

• The full printed version of the Oxford English Dictionary

Does anyone besides maybe a library actually need a 20-volume version of the dictionary comprising of some 21,768 pages? Of course I do. Don’t be silly. Don’t forget the 3 volumes of additions since the main version was printed.

English is a dynamic and interesting language. Constantly changing, evolving, picking up pieces from other places, and discarding parts it no longer needs, it has become a vibrant tapestry of history and human culture. The OED doesn’t just define words. It also explores their etymologies, which, for a great big word dork like me, is exciting as fuck. I bet no one has ever described a dictionary as exciting as fuck before. You saw it here.

I would love to have this mammoth stack of books just sitting around my house. Relative volume to me Brooklyn apartment be damned.

Price: 995.00 (main edition) + 215.00 (additions) = 1210.00

• A new laptop

I was going to put this in the above section because it is going to end up being so expensive, but it’s actually more appropriate here. My current laptop, a late-2006 MacBook Pro, is showing its age. I’ve replaced basically everything on it: the screen, the hard drive, the ram, the optical drive. It’s been carried all over the place for years. It’s been dropped out of the back of a car resulting in screen and case damage, the latter of which I ended up bending back out with pliers. It’s funky, it’s dirty, the screen has dark patches. It’s been well used.

But none of these are compelling reasons to replace the thing. The only reason this is a “probably should get” and not a “want” is that I really do use it for work all the time and the poor little guy just isn’t up to the task of editing high quality, high definition material. It kicked ass when all I had to throw at it was standard def NTSC. But throw some 1080p/24 ProRes HQ shit at it and it explodes. This summer when I was in California I spent some time finishing up the Atmospheres videos for Arian. On my computer at home, they were handled with ease, but on the road on this laptop things quickly spiraled into darkness. Every time I made a tweak, I’d have to re-render. Each render took over an hour. Little things that would have taken me an hour or two in my apartment took me over 18 on my mom’s kitchen table. That’s just not ok. If I use the thing for work, it needs to be able perform up to the task.

Then there’s the issue of the photos. This guy used to handle my old 20D files with zest and flair, but when I got my 5D II and this was still my main computer, I started to see that it was getting long in the tooth. It chokes on those 5D II raws. Just chokes. That’s not work, but it’s a drag. Not compelling, but it adds to my reasons to replace it.

And I think I might go 17″ this time. I’ve always thought it was too big to carry around, but I don’t carry mine around that much anymore. Typically when working somewhere, I bring it on the first day and leave it there until I’m done. So the added weight of the 17″ won’t be a huge factor. Besides, I’m a big enough sort of dude, so fuck it, right? I also like the greater screen real estate and that it was an ExpressCard slot.

Price: $2599.00

• Bicycle

Remember all my blah blah blahing about how I wanted to get a bicycle earlier this summer? About how I was going to ride it around Brooklyn and overcome my fear of getting brained on the sidewalk after being sideswiped by a bus? Well, I am still utterly bike-less. Dumb, right? I even have space in my building’s backyard to store it safely. Yet I am unable just to pull the trigger and get one. Come on, Joe. Just do it.

Price: ~$150-250

• Coffee table

A few months ago I moved into this apartment and furnished it partially with the things I felt most important: sofa, kitchen table, kitchen island, tv stand, bed frame. Some things we neglected, or, rather, were low priority so I felt I could wait on them. That was April. It’s now nearly October and I’ve not purchased any of them. One of the things I most need is a coffee table. I’d like one that is not too expensive, solid, between 48 and 60 inches long, and about 18 inches deep. It is surprisingly hard to find nice, skinny, inexpensive tables like that. I’ve seen some on the street but with the bed bug epidemic going around New York City, you need to be cautious when pulling in sidewalk furniture.

The picture I used above for illustrative purposes is actually pretty nice and quite close to what I’m looking for, but that one is 1200 bucks and way too many dollars. I saw one last week that was the right size and 117 bucks, but the top was made of this awful crushed pottery shit inlaid in cement or something. It would have been very uncomfortable to rest bare feet on. Close, but no dice. I mean, it doesn’t have to be SUPER cheap. I’m willing to spend up to 300~350 bucks if the table is fucking amazing. I’m not a cheap ass here, but my standards are also not very low.

The search continues. One day I’ll find the right one. One day when I have more than 10 dollars left in my pocket until the check that I’ve been waiting for since late August arrives in the mail.

Price: ≤ $350

• End tables/bedside table

See above. It would be nice to have a couple of these. You can never have too many places to put down your beer or remote or book or socks or keys or pencils or knives or really just another surface to collect dust.

Price: ≤ $50~75 ea.

• Lamps

Because overhead lighting is a drag, but so is sitting in the dark. I’ve been using a combo of overhead light from the other room, sunlight (when available), and lamp on the floor to light my house. It’s not ideal. Yet, I don’t want to just plunk down on any old cheap shit, tacky lamps. I want nice lamps that don’t look like they’re going to fall apart. I need a mix of floor lamps and table lamps, but I’ve just not yet found anything I wanted to spend money on.

For 6 months.

There’ve been a lot of dark ass nights in my place.

Price: who knows?!

• More pants

I’ve purchased pants twice in the last two years. The first time the lady at the store busted my balls for buying 34″ x 34″s because she said they were too long for me. But when I got the 34″ x 32″s home and washed them—KAPOW!—they became too short. But I liked the pants so much that I bought a few more pairs online at the correct size.

This summer, not needing a bunch of slightly too short pants, I turned them into shorts. Now it doesn’t matter that the original length was not satisfactory because the offending parts of the pants have been removed. But, it also means that I am down half my pants. With autumn setting in and winter coming, my “new” shorts, comfortable as they are, will no longer be appropriate clothing.

Luckily, I already know the kind of pants I want. If something works, why mess with success? These are easily the best pants I’ve ever owned and the only ones whose pockets don’t rip. I hate ripped pockets. The worst.

Now I just need to plunk down the cash and have some sent to me, but I’m lagging. Low priority, I guess.

Price: $40/pair

• A convenient mix of oxygen and nitrogen

Breathing is awesome.

• Something to eat

It doesn’t even have to be particularly good or fancy, just something that will satisfying my nutritional needs.

• Water

It’s good and good for you. You have to replenish the internal ocean.

• Shelter

Being rained and snowed on while trying to sleep is not a good recipe for staying alive.

• Sleep

Because it’s fucking weird when you’re no longer able to tell dreams from reality and you start to lose your mind.

A Letter to My Beard Inquiring On The Steadily Increasing Number of Gray Hairs Each Time It Comes Back In.

Dear My Beard,

How’s it going, buddy? It’s been a while, huh? It’s real nice to see you again on my face and I bet you’re pretty glad that I’m not cutting you every few days. Must be some relief, right? I can’t imagine the horror it would be to have my head cut off every few days! Jeez, color me insensitive! I promise I don’t mean to be cruel.

Anyhoo, we both know that it has been a few months since you last graced the landscape of my face, and I have to say I am glad to have you back. You’re an old friend and good to me.

I must admit, beard, that your return wasn’t arbitrary. I didn’t just up and decide, “You know what? It’s time to grow my beard back.” I mean, it’s still August and summer and beards just don’t mix. (Sorry!) I grew you back because I’ve noticed that there are a lot more gray hairs in you than ever before and I was curious to see what it would look like grown out.

Now, don’t misinterpret this as me pining for my fading youth or fearing the passage of time and the realization of my inevitable death. No, actually, I kind of like the gray hair. It goes nicely with my otherwise very dark hair as evidenced by the white spot I’ve carried on my temple my entire life. What surprised me is, now that you’re grown in a little, how many more gray hairs there are than I have previously suspected based on evidence gathered from days’ worth of stubble. Given weeks’ worth of beard, the story is a little different.

Not bad, just different.

So, just writing to say what’s up, stay cool, and whatever.

Keep it real,

The Black Laser.

A Letter to the Hospital Where I Was Supposed to Have Surgery This Friday but Am Not and To My Doctor’s Office For Not Letting Me Know Until I Called This Morning.

Dear you all,

Seriously, I am annoyed.

Regular readers of this site know of my troubles with strep throat not just this year but over most of my life. I’ve mentioned the issue here before. Luckily, I’ve not gotten sick in a few months which I associate with…uh…pretty much pure luck. Such things are a mystery to me.

Earlier this summer, the whole ordeal reached a point where taking my tonsils out made sense. We went through all the motions, remember?, of setting up a date and dealing with insurance and all sorts of crap. I originally wanted them yanked before I went to California for June, but that didn’t fit into the doctor’s schedule, so I went with August 13th. The astute of you out there will realize that August 13th is the coming Friday. Very soon, I know!

When I hadn’t heard from the doctor’s office last Thursday, I started to get worried. Why hadn’t they called me? Had they forgotten? Where was I supposed to go? Did I have prescriptions to fill out? When should I be there? With these fairly important questions in mind, I called this morning. This is how it went, if you don’t remember.

Me: Hi! I’m having surgery this Friday and I was just, you know, wondering where I should go and all.
Them: Oh, let me check….what was your name again?
Me: Joseph Dillingham.
Them: Oh. Uh, I need to call you back.
Me: Of course.

I do some work, drink some coffee, and then my phone rings.

Me: Hello?
Them: Hi Joseph, this is your doctor’s office calling.
Me: Hi! What’s up?
Them: So there’s been a mix up at the hospital and the room we were trying to get for you has been taken by another doctor.
Me: And what, exactly, does that mean?
Them: It means there’s no slot for you this Friday.
Me: Well, that’s bullshit.
Them: Yes, I’m sorry, but the doctor doesn’t get a preferred slot there and if some other doctor who does wants to come in and operate, we get bumped.
Me: That’s complete and utter bullshit.
Them: The best we can do is offer you September 3rd.
Me: But I’ve already been put on hold for September…fuck. Ok, put me in for the 3rd and, you know what, I don’t even know if I’m going to take it then, but put me down and fuck the hospital. We’ll treat them like they’ve treated me.

It wasn’t until I was off the phone—l’esprit de l’escalier strikes again!—that I realized that THOSE MOTHERFUCKERS IN THE DOCTOR’S OFFICE SHOULD HAVE KNOWN THIS BEFORE NOW. What the fucking fuck?! Fucking hell guys. I know you’re human, but if I dropped the ball like this for something my client was expecting my ass would be grass. And that’s just commercials! We’re talking about my throat here. God damn!

Go health care!

The reality is though that Sept 3rd is fine. It makes my finances a little more stressful than they needed to be, but I have some projects on the horizon which will hopefully turn into money. And, shit, I can cut when my throat hurts and I am recovering, so whatever. But still. I’ve been planning this all summer and it’s drag to have the proverbial rug pulled out from under me at the eleventh hour. How many more idioms can I pack into that last sentence?

Sincerely,

The Black Laser.

PS – Fuck you.

Abraham Lincoln: President. Emancipator. Beardo. Poet?

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.

A letter to the coffee industry.

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.

Ken Follett’s The Pillars of the Earth

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.