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The Black Laser

Creative Projects-July: One and A Half is better than Zero, or, Where is all this money from!?

July was a successful for month for me on both pursuits for this year.

Creatively, I put another The Black Laser Reads… out into the universe and managed to finally begin the redesign of the site. I didn’t finish the redesign until we had rolled over into August so it won’t count towards July, but does count for my overall year tally of getting things did. I am pretty psyched on that. Hopefully, if I can keep this momentum up, you’ll be seeing a year end summary where I can claim to have finished more than 100% of my allotted projects. Pretty good. Gets my juices going, that does.

It is also quite nice to have finally passed 50% of my allotment, with another 8.333% in the works. It’s not yet ready to be shared, but it will be done before the month ends so look for more about that when the time comes for my August summary.

In regards to my secondary goal for the year, July was great. I was quite good at sticking to my “don’t go drinking during the week” guideline which feels good. I’m sleeping well (except for the heat), waking up easily, feeling chipper in the morning, and I’m finding money in my pocket from the beginning of the week. It just stays there! That was welcome because, for a variety of reasons, July ended up being a fairly cash-strapped month for me. Finding money that I would have previously written off as history ended up being nice little reminders that I was successfully sticking to my plan. That’s good.

I’ve also been riding my bike around a bit. I quite like it and find that I am flying around like a lunatic whenever possible. Not recklessly, of course, but enough. Though the month of constantly threatening rain has dissuaded me from taking the bike out on more than one occasion. That’s a drag, but getting caught in whipping sheets of rain in the dark with the wind blowing your contacts out as you ride through traffic is less desirable. I’ll pick my battles there.

Overall, pretty positive month for me and, aside from some weirdo mental shit on and off that has little to do with my theme, feeling pretty good about it. I feel like I am developing a healthy pattern here of work, followed by work, followed by relaxing.

I’ll check back in on this business in a month.

This lady is REAL excited by this whale’s penis.

If you’ve never seen a woman forcefully slap a sperm whale’s penis while standing ankle-deep in its gore…well, you have now. Is she too excited? Or the right amount of excited? You decide.

Apologies if you need to log in to Youtube to view the video. They’ve age restricted it because of the gaping hole in the side of the whale, I suppose. I certainly hope that’s the reason and it’s not because some spoil-sports over at Youtube find a whale’s member to be lascivious and potentially offensive. Off-putting, perhaps, but offensive no way.

Stevie B’s “Spring Love”

Oh yes. Everything about this is so tragically boring that I can’t help but love it a little bit. The racing stripes in his hair. The unbelievably shitty video production. The terrible song. His beach short shorts. Everything. All of it. Everything forever and ever and ever.

Terrible. Magnificent. I don’t even really know how to feel. I am not sure if I appreciate this for its sublime tackiness or for its dreadful earnestness. I am not even sure that I don’t completely hate it. What are all these feelings inside of me for Stevie B?! Do I empathize with his plight in this song or do I find him to be a simpering melodramatic buffoon? Oh, Stevie B, what horrible terrors you have wrought upon my fragile brain! I pray for clarity!

He reminds me a little of this guy except that I know how I feel about Farley. Spoiler alert: I love him.

LA is basically the worst place in the world for metal.

You read the headline. LA fucking sucks for good metal. Sure, it has its occasional standouts (early Fear Factory for one), but so much of what gets produced there is such filth that I want to claw my eyes out and drop a fucking bomb on the place. Worse is that there are bands from other places that emulate the LA scene and spread the cancer of shitty ass metal around the country.

Don’t believe me? Here’s an example of what LA brings to the metal scene.

What the fuck, LA. Fuck you and your bullshit. This is the worst thing ever.

Let me help you cleanse your palette a little with this gem by a band from about as far away from LA as you can get.

So much better.

My time with Spotify.

If you know me and we chat on the IMs or in meatspace, then you’ve probably heard me talk about how much I like Spotify. Likewise, if you’re from the United States and spend even a little bit of time on the old interwebs, then you’ve heard about it too. And, if you’re from Europe, you’ve probably had an account for like a hundred years so shut the fuck up and read another post, you sanctimonious bastards.

If you don’t know (oh my god, who are you???), Spotify is the coolest newest bestest streaming music service that has just landed on our shores. A Swedish company, Europe’s had it for a few years, but let’s just think that they’ve been beta testing it for that period of time in order to make sure it really shone when they finally released it to the US market. Thanks, Europe!

Basically, the idea is that Spotify is iTunes that is hosted elsewhere. That’s it. You’ve got an application that looks and behaves basically like iTunes does but none of the music is stored on your hard drive. Instead it lives in the cloud, and, as such, requires a constant internet connection which might have been a pain in the ass a few years ago, but now is basically the same as having electricity. Now, imagine that you have a friend that has some ridiculous iTunes collection on his hard of many hundreds of gigabytes. And imagine that you can share this friends iTunes library all the time. Pretty cool right? Now take a step further and imagine that your friend has more than 15 million songs in his (or her) library and that, when playing them, you are not limited to just listening, but you can create playlists, make favorites, and share with your friends. That’s what Spotify is. Pretty rad, right?

I had signed up for the beta months ago thinking, “Oh man, another thing to have an account for. Great.” But curiosity got the best of me and I gave them my e-mail address and forgot about it for a while. Then turntable.fm and grooveshark and whatever other crap came around and I thought the same thing, “Oh great, another thing to have an account for.” So I ignored them. Still am. But then my Spotify beta invite came in the e-mail and I decided to give it a chance. I signed up for a free account and installed their client software.

And I wasn’t that impressed, to be perfectly honest. Though the selection was excellent, I hated that they played ads every few minutes. Worse was that the ads were very poorly targeted. I’d be listening to some heavy ass shit (duh) and four songs in I’d get an ad for some bullshit radio country album coming out soon. What the fuck? Terrible. At least do me the service of targeting ads properly if you’re going to be shoving them down my throat. The banner ads all over the client weren’t so bad and were no more obtrusive than ads on a website, but the audio ads were the worst. I didn’t really get the appeal. I played with it a couple days, connected my Facebook to it, and then went back to my iTunes/iPod combo which has been serving me admirably for years.

Then one day I logged in again and I saw that someone had sent me an album. “Holy shit!” I thought, “you can send people music on this thing?!” I hadn’t even noticed that I had an inbox. My mind was officially blown. Moments later I was a Spotify Premium member and I haven’t regretted it even once since then. The selection is amazing, the lack of ads with a paid account is amazing (Hulu, I’m looking at you, asshole), and the ability to send my brother or friends music is fucking AWESOME. It totally eliminates the hassles of sharing via FTP or Dropbox or whatever and it means that I can discover new music and immediately share it with someone I think will enjoy it. That rules. That rules hard.

Now that I’ve praised it effusively, let me pick apart some of the things I think they can do better.

First, I’d like it to be easier to find people and friends. Sure, you can connect it to your Facebook, but I’d like some function to search for people directly. There must be people I know who are on this thing who aren’t on Facebook or who haven’t connected their two accounts. It would make sense.

Second, I wish there was a better radio functionality. Yes, I am happy as a pig in shit with my thousands and thousands of songs in various playlists and I love being able to subscribe to other people’s playlists so they can curate, but sometimes I just want to turn the streaming thingie on and let someone else make those decisions for me. It would be a nice way to discover new music I might be overlooking.

Third, I would like there to be some easy way of browsing for new music instead of relying solely on the search function. It would be nice to be able to browse by artists alphabetically or by genre, by label, by year, by whatever. You get the idea. Instead of having to think of a band and then finding it, I’d like to be able to click around and stumble on things. Sure, you can find new bands through the “Related Artists” tab on a band’s profile, but the choices are typically few.

An addendum to that point—call it 3A—I would like to be have Spotify recommend artists to me based on what I am listening to. Let’s not fool ourselves, I understand that Spotify is tracking the HELL out of what I am listening to and reporting it to labels along with my generic personal info (male, lives in New York, 29, blah blah blah et cetera), and I am fine with that. But at least make it worthwhile to me and use the information about my listening habits to help me find new tunes. It’s not much too ask and I think it would enhance the service, especially because I am paying ten bucks a month for it.

Fifth, I wish the client application allowed for more playlist view customization. I’d like to be able to list by genre and year in my playlists so that I can start my Deicide playlist and listen chronologically through their oeuvre. Unfortunately for them, this means they’d also have to go through their considerable body of music and make sure that everything has its year tagged properly, which many records currently do not.

I think that’s everything. Overall my list is comprised of niggles and nothing at all that would destroy the user experience. If Spotify came through and added all those things, they wouldn’t be fixing something broken; they’d be enhancing something that is already totally awesome.

There you have it. 1200 words on why I like Spotify and why I think you would too. Interested in following me on Spotify and listening to my awesome playlists? Of course you are. Click the link below.

Follow me on Spotify

There you go. Come listen to Black Metal with me

Welcome to The Black Laser Version 2!

And lo many good things were let loose upon the land!

Finally, after two and half years of life, The Black Laser has received a much needed redesign. It took me ages of hemming and hawing to finally get around to it, but it’s done(ish) and ready to be unveiled. So, what’s new in the land of The Black Laser?

  • New Logo! It’s almost as black metal as I wanted.
  • Sans-serif font! Geometric!
  • Disqus commenting system! Just because!
  • A modern theme! Doesn’t affect you!
  • Uh, some other stuff!

Mostly I want to give the old bat a new coat of paint. It needed it. Of course, I am sure there are things I am going to want to change over the next few days of living with the new design, so don’t mind any annoying downtime here and there while I fiddle.

Stick around, test it out, and let me know if I messed something up. Enjoy!

Dangerously bored.

I have been walking a mental knife edge recently. Everything has been stressing me out. Work stresses me out. Not working stresses me out. Friends stress me out. Being alone stresses me out. Eating stresses me out. Not eating stresses me out. My body stresses me out. My brain stresses me out. I’m flipping my shit (quietly on the inside) over all sorts of totally trivial bullshit things. Oh, I have to make changes? STRESS. Oh, I’m waiting around not making changes? STRESS. I need to do the dishes? STRESS. I am waiting for someone to call me back? STRESS. I am supposed to meet up with someone? STRESS. I have to pick up my laundry? STRESS. I have to wake up? STRESS. I have to go to sleep? STRESS. Everything. Anything. So much stress over absolutely nothing. It’s all nothing. SO much nothing that I am stressed out about. Get cbd oil body lotion that is a natural remedy and doesn’t give you any side effects, look for products made for organic grown cannabis, here you can find the best cbd oil at dmagazine for your needs. It won’t get you high and will reduce your stress levels a lot.

For example, I am supposed to spend 8 days with my friend JJ in Spain in September which should be an exciting thing. We’re going to a wedding and then we’re going to cruise around northern Spain eating ham and drinking red wine. I’ve spent a lot of the last few weeks trying to convince myself that it is exciting when what I actually feel about it is dread. I am worried about the cost, I am worried about the time spent not earning, I am worried about this little thing and that little thing. Am I not going to go? Of course not. I’ll go. But I am going to spend every moment until then worrying about it.

I started writing something for this site today that is heartfelt and reveals something about me and I felt pretty good about until I spent three seconds away from it and now I am worried that it’s self-indulgent tripe. What the fuck, Joe. It’s my blog, and I can write whatever I want at whatever quality I find acceptable. I’ve put some real trash on this site before and I will in the future. It’s my prerogative.

And that goes for my other writing too. People ask me, “Man, why haven’t you been writing?” and I like to say, “You know, it’s just not coming to me right now. There will be time for it,” which is partially true but I am neglecting to mention that I am always worrying that everything I do is fucking stupid, that all the time I spend working on this craft which is important to me is wasted. That all of everything I create is trash.

I even do the same thing at work when cutting a job. I worry that every rough cut I do is garbage that people are going to hate my work and I don’t sleep and I get paralyzed into inaction and force myself through the process—one which I quite enjoy and find truly rewarding—because I am worried. Stress stress stress. And have I ever EVER had a client see what I’ve done and say, “Holy shit, this is the worst fucking crap ever, you’re an idiot”? No. Not once. In fact, I’ve never had clients be anything but positive about my work. Clearly, real life experience has no affect on whether or not I am going to worry about something.

And then there’s the social anxiety. What’s that about? I am an outgoing person, but I am constantly worried about my relationships with people. Over nothing. I’ve not done anything wrong, but I imagine horrible things I might have done and start to get all stressy pants about nothing. Foolishness. I wake up worried and I go to bed worried. The only way I can sleep is to be so tired I literally cannot keep my eyes open. If I am not periodically losing consciousness, I am not yet tired enough to go to sleep.

This all plays into my theme this year of slowing my roll. I think the reason I get stressed out (har har) about my drinking is that I know somewhere deep down that what I am doing is not in the name of good times or blowing off steam, but in the interest of hiding from these insane anxious feelings boiling around in my head and chest. I hit the bar wracked on the inside with needless worries, but after a few drinks I start to feel better, and then after a few more even better and I hardly remember that I was stressed as fuck over minutiae when I walked in. Then I wake up after a night of heavy drinking and I feel like a fucking asshole, worse than before, and I start getting stressed out about imagined slights against other people, about bridges I’ve burnt, about shadows in my memory haunting me. I still cannot spend much time around Thompson street and West 3rd, and those ghosts are ancient.

I like to fantasize that I will just ditch everything I own and disappear into the mists and that everything will be ok. While this is a seductive fantasy, I know that it won’t help. No matter where I go, there I am, with the same stupid fucking brain stressing me out about everything. Sometimes I want to punch a wall. Sometimes I want to curl up and hide. Sometimes I want to run away, others I want to stay. I don’t know what the right thing to do is and I don’t know how to address it. I feel crazy and it’s not new. I’ve written about it before and I am sure I will write about it again.

Where can I go to take a vacation from myself? What the hell is going on? Why do I feel this way? I do I still feel this way? Am I just bored and desperately in need of change? What the hell would I do differently? Where would I go? How would I fill my time? So many questions and so few answers. What respite is there? Some suggest taking a trip (which I am going to do) but that’s just running away for a minute and not addressing the issue, whatever it might be. Do you people ever feel like this? What do you do? Where do you find tranquility? How do you calm the storm? See, look, I’m even stressed out about how fucking banal this post is.

Get Drunk Tonight – The Turkey’s Nest

The Turkey’s Nest – Williamsburg, Brooklyn (N 12th St & Bedford Ave)

Have you ever been to North Brooklyn? Do you have a friend there? Have you ever passed through? Have you spent even ten minutes in McCarren Park? Then you’ve probably passed The Turkey’s Nest. You might have even been inside to order a conveniently styrofoam-cupped beer or margarita (get the one with absinth) for quenching your thirst in the nearby park. But have you ever actually hung out there? I mean, like, have you ever actually gone to The Turkey’s Nest to tie one on and remind yourself that while life is fleeting, sometimes it’s best not to remember parts of it for your own longterm psychological well-being? I bet you haven’t.

In stark contrast to newer Williamsburg’s hip bars with their bullshit dim lights and fancy drinks and bartenders who will actually talk to you, The Turkey’s Nest is a grim, unwelcoming reminder of the neighborhood’s past and I love it. I don’t like it at all, but I love it. If you’re looking for a place to sit with the lights on, drinking yourself into oblivion, not talking to anyone, and maybe watching sports, this place is your place. If you want to play pool with an aggressive dude and his weird mute girlfriend on what might be the neighborhood’s shittiest, smallest, most fucked up pool table, this is your place. If you want to get your drink on without the slightest bit of pretense that what you’re doing is anything but slow suicide (come on, we’ve all been there), this is your place.

You’ll never take a date to The Turkey’s Nest. You might go there with a girl—or guy if that’s your thing—and you might have been on a date beforehand, but crossing the threshold into the darkened world that is The Turkey’s Nest is the termination of your date. You might not even talk to each other again. That’s the sort of place The Turkey’s Nest is. It’s a destroyer of dreams, a breaker of homes, a shatterer of lives. You want a Super Big Gulp sized Budweiser? Sure you do. You want 3 shots of Jäger in a plastic cup? You can have that too. You want a fancy drink and a smile? Get the fuck out, asshole. Go to some trendy bitch bar.

I love The Turkey’s Nest and I hate The Turkey’s Nest. It is varsity level drinking at its worst and it serves a valuable role in an increasingly safe and boring neighborhood. When you are looking for a place where you will receive absolutely no bullshit, this is your place. Welcome, but you aren’t my friend. Get a drink and shut the fuck up.

If you are moved by this post to visit The Turkey’s Nest, please call 1-800-273-TALK (8255). Thanks.

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