The Black Laser

A letter to the coffee industry.

June 7, 2010 |

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.

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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.

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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.

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How to pick a bicycle in a world of choice with limited resources.

June 3, 2010 |

Thoughts

Wow. Yesterday’s post about how I’m a fraidy-cat and need to stop being such a wuss has brought people out of the woodwork regarding the bicycle purchase. Good to know that a) people read my blatherings and b) people are in support of the bike purchase. Thanks, everyone! Though Michael did tell me he thinks it’s a good idea I DON’T drink whiskey since it will lead to a lot more shit talking.

I responded to him by asking if there’s actually more shit to talk?

SO, now I have to decide what sort of bicycle I want to get. And I’m currently overwhelmed by the choices. Do I want to get a road bike? Charles said that they are for assholes and commuters, but I’m kind of an asshole, so maybe that’s the right choice? Do I want a touring bike? A hybrid bike? A cruiser? Do I actually want a mountain bike even though I’m pretty sure I don’t?

And what size? The table on About.com seems to indicate that I want something in the 23-24″ range since I’m 6’1″ with a 34″ inseam. But what range would be comfortable?

And then there’s the issue of money. Since I won’t be working the next few weeks at all, I don’t want to drop a whole lot of money on this thing, especially since it’s my first bike in a decade and a half. Really, it’s just for putting around town and getting some exercise, so it doesn’t need to be all crazy and shit. I don’t need the 4000 dollar carbon fiber bike that weighs like 3 pounds. I wouldn’t mind spending 150-200 dollars on the thing. It’s enough that I won’t be buying a completely thrashed piece of crap, but not so much that if it gets broken or stolen that I’ll be devastated.

I’ve been reading the Brooklyn Craig’s List classifieds, but all it’s doing is making me feel overwhelmed.

Any thoughts out there, interwebs land?

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A handful of things I am a little afraid of but want to do this summer because I am afraid of them. UPDATE: one additional thing added.

June 2, 2010 |

Thoughts

Otherwise known as, “Stop being such a fucking pussy, Joe.” This is really all a part of this whole introspection kick I’ve been on recently, so it’s not surprising to me that I feel motivated to do something with these feelings. Funny thing, I had a drink with Adam last night, who I referenced in my previous introspection post, and he answered the questions I posed at the very end of the post about what to do with all this newfound awareness. His answer? A very simple, “Have patience,” meaning to take a step back and check myself when I find myself getting all worked up about some stupid thing or worrying about nothing or whatever. I thought that was pretty good. Thanks, Adam.

Back on track, there are a few things I’d like to do this summer. In no particular order, they are:

Get a tattoo. I don’t have any, even though I’ve been thinking about getting one since I was 11. I think the main reason I don’t have any is that I’m a little scared of permanence. I’m not able to easily make long lasting decisions, and a tattoo, though mundane, is one of those decisions. I’ve never been able to decide on anything long enough that I wanted to keep it in my skin for the rest of my life. But, you know what? I think I’m just being a big pussy la la about it and just need to do it. I mean, why the fuck not? My body is already covered with reminders of past mistakes, so why not just make a choice and go for it?
My friend Charles has planned a dinosaur-themed party for his birthday in a few weeks. Part of the plan is to get dinosaur tattoos. He sent me a link to East River Tattoo which is right in our neighborhood. I particularly like shop owner Duke’s work. His pieces look like old wood prints, which is a fairly different style. I think it’s real cool.
Ride a bicycle around NY. Let’s be honest, I don’t exercise enough. I know it. You know it. Everyone god damned knows it. And, now that I live in Greenpoint, a biking hot spot to be certain, I feel like I really want to get out there and just bicycle. Problem is I haven’t really ridden in like 16 years. I’m not worried that I won’t be able to ride a bike. I am worried, however, about all the street traffic in the neighborhood. Again, this is totally just me being a complete pussy. I have zero problem driving a car all over town, and that has a whole lot more potential for fucking things up. Buying a bike is no significant financial burden. I even have a spot to put it away in the backyard of my building.
So what’s stopping me? The answer? Nothing. I’m just being a complete idiot about it. In the immortal words of Freddie Mercury….. (warning: naked girls on bikes in the video.)
Drink whiskey. I am a beer and wine man. I don’t often drink liquor mostly because I feel like I’ve fucked myself up on it so many times that my body just says, “No thanks.” Fuck you, body. Don’t get me wrong. I love beer and I love wine, but I need to stop feeling intimidated by good ol’ whiskey and just broaden my palette. I don’t want to do shots of the stuff, but I do want to develop an appreciation of it in the same way that I can appreciate a great beer or an amazing bottle of red. Stop being a pussy, Joe, and just drink the whiskey.
I mean, what would The Clancy Brothers say? Probably this:

I bet there are some other things I’m worried about doing that I just need to get over and do, but these have been at the forefront of my consciousness recently. Do any of you feel this way about things? What have you been afraid of doing that you haven’t yet done but that you think you should? I can’t be the only weirdo out there that thinks like this.

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Hello, Invisible Oranges readers!

June 1, 2010 |

About Music and Music

If you’re reading this, you’ve clicked the link on the post about me winning the Ryan Lipynsky Guitar World cover contest. Pretty sweet.

Here’s the winning entry for those of you who don’t read Invisible Oranges but have come here on your own.

I think my favorite part of the whole thing was picking the songs to be tabs. Regular readers will also recognize the claw I used as a bullet as the same from The Black Laser’s Seal of Approval. It’s my hand throwing what I call the metal claw, but which Cosmo Lee at Invisible Oranges called invisible oranges. Get it? I know you do.

Anyway, it was fun and I’m psyched to have won the record. The more metal, the better, I think.

And because harmonized growls WILL fuck your shit up, here’s an example of one of my favorites.

You’ll notice, too, that the tab for this song is included in my issue of Guitar World.

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Introspection, is it for the birds?

June 1, 2010 |

Thoughts

With all this newly found free time I have, I’ve come to realize a few things about myself. Typically introspection is not my game. I prefer instead to blindly run through life without a clue about why I do things or why I am the way I am. I think it provides a more comfortable background for being the sort of absurd bastard that I am. Nevertheless, in the quiet moments, I have learned some things.

First, I am essentially an anxious person. If I have nothing to worry about—and often I don’t—I will manufacture something to be stressed out about, something the make me lose sleep. It’s like anxiety is the fuel for the engine of my life. It’s funny because I’s always thought of myself as sort of an easy going person, but the evidence does not lie. You’ll find plenty of examples of me bitching about being stressed out on this site. They’re everywhere.

Next, I am horrible at being alone. I spent a lot of time in my past relationship desperately seeking alone time, but now that all I have is alone time I don’t want it. I don’t want to go back to the intensely togetherness of living with someone, but I wish I had someone to play with basically all the time. If you’re reading this and in New York, you’ve gotten a call or text from me beseeching you to come and while away an afternoon with me. For example, I’ve been trying to get my friend Adam to hang out for weeks, but he is constantly scheduled and busy. I’ve been trying all sorts of peer pressure tactics—both vinegar and honey—but to no avail. If you’ve turned me down, I’m not mad.

Next, I am terrible at saying “no” to things. This ties in with the last bit of revelatory self awareness. If a friend calls me and asks me to go out and I’ve been out every night for three weeks and desperately need sleep and have work early the next day, I will say “yes” every time. The thought of saying “no” makes me anxious (see?) enough that I just don’t do it. Life is too short for “no”s and “later”s. Have fun and enjoy it. But once in a while, you probably need to sleep too. This is a lesson I am learning. Then again, as Stephin Merritt once sang, “There’ll be time enough for sleeping when we’re dead. You can have a velvet pillow for your head. But tonight I think I’d rather just go dancing.”

The real question is what to do with all this knowledge? What does a man do with awareness of self? Change? Understand? Regret? Enlighten? Do my motivations change by being understood? Or do I keep spinning the same wheel, a hamster perpetually running but making no process?

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The Onion: “Dept. Of Evil: ‘All Of You Must Die'”

May 27, 2010 |

About Writing, Thoughts and Writing

I feel like The Onion wrote this article just for me. I think this passage will illustrate what I’m mean.

Although the Department of Evil has not yet announced the exact timetable for the death of all, it recommends citizens make their peace with doomed relatives and spouses immediately, as the hour of their ending draws ever nigh and will be upon them as soon as the necessary funding has been authorized by the House Appropriations Committee.

“This budget approval is merely a pitiful, niggling formality, for soon we’ll be free to swarm across the land draining the life-pus out of all you quivering mortal worms,” Reynolds said. “Doubt us not: Come the wintertide, you all shall die, and die you will. Sorry, I meant ‘must.’ Die you must!”

Really though, you should just head on over to The Onion and read the damn article. Then come back and tell me what you think. It’s easily the funniest thing I’ve read on The Onion all day.

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