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Saturday, January 23, 2010 He Thought He Could Organize Freedom  How Scandinavian of him. Labels: art, FAIL, le nuit, quicksnaps posted by Nihilist Loves Hate, Hates Everything at 1/23/2010 12:57:00 AM 0 comments Friday, January 15, 2010 FUUUUUCKKKKKKED  When you make an unexpected dentist visit at 5:30 on a Friday you know things might be a little fucked....... Labels: "Sleep With The Vulture", "Want To Feel Safe Tonight", deprarious, FAIL, fucktactics, lolgore, quicksnaps posted by Nihilist Loves Hate, Hates Everything at 1/15/2010 05:53:00 PM 1 comments 1
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Friday, October 09, 2009 Oh, Brother: Fuck All Awards Sanam: "The Nobel Peace Prize jumps the shark"  Labels: FAIL, fucktactics posted by Nihilist Loves Hate, Hates Everything at 10/09/2009 03:15:00 PM 0 comments Wednesday, October 07, 2009 One Day The Water Will Drown Us And Rats Will Overtake Everything  On the way to work today I encountered a fairly crazy flood on Second Ave starting at 57 St and heading south. Not sure exactly what happened but two right-side lanes were shut down and there were a whole lot of confused looking people milling around. Labels: FAIL, lolgore, quicksnaps posted by Nihilist Loves Hate, Hates Everything at 10/07/2009 06:03:00 PM 0 comments Tuesday, October 06, 2009 Really?  Lil' Beau' ordered a record for her beau's birthday which finally arrived today after two weeks of mailorder shenanigans. It just arrived at my office today in the hilarious packaging above. A full box for a record? Really? [ED: Red "paint" added after I was informed that I'd inadvertently risked revealing the whole surprise. Yep.] Labels: curiosities, FAIL, family, fucktactics, lolgore, quicksnaps posted by Nihilist Loves Hate, Hates Everything at 10/06/2009 02:36:00 PM 0 comments Monday, September 28, 2009 One Anecdote Testifying As To Why Bank of America (Like All Banks) Is Fucking Awful  [WARNING: This is one of those terrifyingly long Beaumont posts (tagged hereafter as "JB screeds"). And actually, it's two long stories, but well, I don't feel like separating them from one another. So, yes. Sorry?] PART I: Bank of America, I Would Like To Completely Obliterate You And Demand That You Take Reverse TARP-Funding After a wonderful and lengthy (but not long enough) visit, last week my visitor is now gone, off to see more of the world on her long, strange world tour--seriously, her voyage will last SEVENTY-SEVEN DAYS and is touching down on six countries on three continents--but I had a great weird ten days wandering around parts of the greater New York environs and amazing seeing things that I've either never seen before or saw long ago and have since taken for granted. The whole experience last week of "time off at home" was truly fantastic, EXCEPT for one financially-related blip having to do with my entire world of funding (two bank accounts and a credit card) having been frozen due to some overzealous Bank of America "fraud preventioneering". The issue was triggered on Monday Sept 14 when I headed with Lil Beaumont to go pick up a new bike from a girl in the heart of Bushwick. As she temporarily had only limited dollars, I agreed to cover her purchase temporarily. I went to the ATM to withdraw funds from my credit/debit card but accidentally added an extra digit in attempting to get money from my account (therefore going over the limit) and was rejected. I then attempted to withdraw the correct amount from my account on the same ATM but was again rejected. Trying once more (thinking perhaps i'd mistyped something) but this time even less funds, I was declined a third time. I then received an automated call from Bank of America asking me to approve three potential fraud transactions, which I did, but then I immediately called the Bank to make sure that in doing so they didn't think I'd actually withdrawn any money from the account. "Hi, thank you for calling Bank of America. I look forward to helping you today." A rep on the phone confirmed for me that nothing had been taken out and said he'd help me make sure the fraud lock is lifted if I'd just wait a second. In the meantime though I was warned by the person on the line when asked a variety of security questions that despite having opened my account at a Fleet Bank in Saratoga Springs in 2001, my account now stated that it had been opened at Rockefeller Center in some time more recently...also apparently my "user account phone password" is "customer", which I also got wrong. I'm assuming that BofA chose this for me since I have to believe that I would have never chosen such a hilariously terrible password (I would have at least gone with "password" if I was going to go the ridiculous route). Finally, after being placed on hold, I was for a second time sent to the automated fraud removal line. I groaned--and probably shouted out loud--but went through the prompts yet again and then went home without attempting to use my card again. After going Tuesday without using my card, on Wednesday, I went to work and managed to use the card three times as a credit card at a Duane Reade and to get food at a nearby eatery--seemingly without problems. I did not attempt to withdraw any cash from an ATM though.  Coney Island sign, from behind train station entrance I was under the impression at this point that everything was fine, until on Thursday Mia and I went to Coney Island. Immediately after getting there I decided to get some cash so I could show her the wonders of corn dogs and fried clams (amazing honestly, being able to give someone a first experience on that stuff). However, when I attempted to withdraw $60 from my account I was given an "external decline" message and told to contact my bank. Sure enough, within minutes I received yet ANOTHER call from the automated fraud prevention line asking me to sanction potentially fraudulent activity. I did not go through the prompts this time though, and immediately hung up and dialed customer service because I was so angry that simply attempting to withdraw reasonable amounts of money from random ATMs throughout the CITY I LIVE IN would signal the "fraud preventioneers" and wanted to talk to someone immediately to straighten things out. After getting someone on the line and explaining my situation (including the desperate plea NOT to be sent again to the automated line), I was put on hold and then... sent back to the automated line. Increasingly frantic in my desperation for dollars and annoyance at BofA bullshit, I dialed them back once again and this time insisted on speaking to a human who could help me. They finally transferred me to a "fraud prevention specialist" who said he could take care of things. This is where things went rapidly downhill: he asked me my security word ("customer") and my social security number, fine, but then the question of the age of my account came up. He asked if my account was older than five years. Obviously it is based on what I mentioned above, but to make sure I was clear to him I said, "Yes, it is. My account was opened at a Saratoga Springs, NY Fleet Bank location in 2001 or 2002, but I have been told that it may now say Rockefeller Center and I have no idea therefore what year you have listed." Long pause. He then asked if I have any direct deposits set-up (yes, my work). He asked me the amount it was for. Mind you, I'm standing on a boardwalk at Coney Island starving and staring at corn dogs. I have absolutely no idea what the amounts of my direct deposit are, only that each paycheck is a slightly different amount because of my health insurance deductions. Long pause. He then asked if I had any regularly scheduled monthly payments (yes, credit card and a checking-to-savings swap). Did I know the exact amounts though? No. Longest pause. Speaking slowly, he said, "I'm sorry sir, but since you have not been able to pass the security requirements I'm going to have to ask that you go in person to a Bank of America to verify the account." I couldn't believe it. I had more or less answered all of his questions and could provide exact detail on a variety of things he didn't ask. I then pleaded we him if there was anything else we could do to get the fraud prevention removed and he said no, and so I then asked for his BofA ID # so I could file a complaint against him and asked to speak to his supervisor. He then paused again and said hold on and then the line was disconnected. gahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. So after spending about 25 minutes of me being on and off hold and answering question after question, I had accomplished nothing. Or so I thought. I called back once more, resolved to get things taken care of, only to find out that my friendly Bank of America attendee had put a lock on my account so that the only way it could be reopened would be to physically go into a Bank somewhere. Thanks a lot, dude.  Coney Island Boardwalk (near "Shoot the Freak") Again, we were in Coney Island and my friend was just visiting. I think there may have been a bank somewhere nearby but I didn't want to waste Mia's time so I just decided to go to the one in Williamsburg when I got home. We spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon exploring, taking photos and counting the trash cans and crazy people (seriously, there are innumerable amounts of them both) and then headed back to the Burg around 3. We got home at 4 and I headed immediately to the BofA on Graham Ave expecting I had plenty of time, but sure enough, blammo, the office had closed at 4 and I was fucked, immediately, and for the next 17 hours. Since not just one but all of my accounts were locked, I had literally no access to funds (note to anyone: here's one good reason to use multiple banks for different accounts). This wasn't inherently the end of the world, as I could certainly borrow dollars from Mia, but the next day was Friday and we planned to be gone the entire day visiting Storm King upstate and had plans again early Saturday morning--meaning that if I wanted any funds before Monday, I would need to get into a Bank of America the next morning before heading to Storm King. Unfortunately, the lone bus to Storm King leaves each day at 10am...meaning that we needed to be there by 9:40 to ensure we would have enough time to get a ticket and make it onto the bus.... leaving us but 25 or so minutes to "make it happen" at Bank of America and then rush from the location on 44 St & 7 Av to the Port Authority bus terminal. We woke up earlyish the next morning and began getting our stuff together before finally leaving the house (late) at 8:45. We got out of the train at 42 & 7 at 9:15 and I almost ran fullspeed to Bank of America from there. Upon entering, I quickly grabbed the attention of salesperson and relayed to her my plight. "Ok, come with me Sir. I can help you," she said, leading me into an office. I walked in and "handed" my identification to her (which was admittedly more of a "forced my identification on her"). "Ok, great, I can help you," she said, repeating herself, "Just have a seat and let me get a representative on the phone to help you with your issue." Scrrrrrreeeeecchhhhh! [insert phonograph needle skating across vinyl] "Umm...," I said, "Why do you need to get someone on the phone? They told me I had to come in here so you could unlock the account and then it would be fine." "I'm sorry sir, but actually, I'm only able to verify your identity for a representative who can help you with your issue." At this precise moment I was torn between my rapidly increasing need to get out of the bank and over to Port Authority to catch our bus and my urge to pick up the now dialing telephone and throw it as hard as possible at the glass window behind me. Probably the intense confusion of feeling at this moment actually saved me, because rather than barking at the in-store attendant and causing her to stop what she was doing, I simply sat there, too stunned to move or say anything until the voice of yet another Bank of America phone operator cut the silence. "Hi, thank you for calling Bank of America. I look forward to helping you today." I then had to for the fourth time explain my situation, whereby the skeptical sounding woman then requested to speak with a BofA rep who could attest to my identity claims. I then called another attendant in, who verified I was indeed Me, and I thought it was finally over but then I heard the woman on the phone ask him for some kind of special authorization code. "Seriously?" he said, "Can't I just give my employee ID#?" No. The man left the room and was gone for a bit before finally returning a few minutes later during which time my anxiety-stricken brain began to assume that there was no way that the call wouldn't somehow be dropped and we'd have to start all over again. GAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. But instead he gave her the code, handed me back the phone and we proceeded. "Ok, Sir," the woman said, "Now I can begin to help you with your issue." Duh-what????? "We're all set now, right?" I asked hurriedly, adding, "I'm late for a bus and need to get going." "Sir, I need in order to assist you with this fraud-related issue I need to ask you a few security questions about your account." Stunned silence from me, followed by, "... Uh. [sigh] Ok." "First can you please verify the following transaction..." and she proceeded to ask me about the Coney Island ATM withdrawal which I'd already verified twice to the automated teller, twice to a human on the phone, and once to the in-store bank attendant. Umm. O. ... K. ... "Ok. Now can you please tell me what were the last three purchases made on the card and the exact amounts they were for." .... !!!! ... !!!! There do not exist words or punctuation to describe my feeling at that very moment. Only the knowledge that I could potentially drop the call and have to start all over again prevented me from slamming the phone repeatedly onto the table and my own face. I drew a deep breath and spoke slowly: "Ma'am. Wow. I honestly have NO IDEA what my last three purchases were on this card, and I definitely have no idea what the amounts were. The account has been locked for over 24 hours now and moreover, I'm not sitting in front of a computer screen where I might be able to review this information and share it with you***. In fact, I'm currently in an actual Bank of America where I was told I could come in and show my identification to prove that I am who I say I am and get this all taken care of. I'm pretty sure that I made two purchases at Duane Reade, for amounts totaling less than $20 in each purchase. But I couldn't tell you what the dollar figures were, or what the third transaction was. Please, please, stop asking me questions and let me get my money so I can go try and catch a bus that your bank seems hellbent on making me miss." Pause. "Sir, I'm sorry, but I need you to answer these questions in order to remove the fraud security lock from your account. Can you please tell me the amounts of these purchases?" At this point I shouted "Hold on, one second" and then raced out of the room to the attendant standing in the hallway. "Please, dear god," I said, "Tell this woman on the phone that I am who I say I am. I have no idea what my recent transactions were. I only know that I have done everything that should be necessary to prove my identity and that I am on the verge of missing a bus that will ruin one day out of my friend and I's vacation. Please, please help me." The attendant then followed me into the office and put the receiver on speakerphone. "Ma'am, this is [name], [title] of the Times Square Bank of America branch again. Mr. Beaumont has provided enough evidence to remove the fraud lock from his account. Let's please wrap this up." It's 9:48am. "Ok, I am just making sure that we have answered all the necessary questions. We are all set now and you may use your account immediate--- [CLICK]" I threw the phone back on the receiver and dashed out the door, grabbing Mia by the shoulder and saying, "Run!" She handed me a cigarette she'd rolled for me and we raced off toward Port Authority, whispering, "I have donuts and a New York Times" in my ear. Ten Morals Of The Story (WITH CONVENIENT BOOKEND POINTS): 1) Fuck you Bank of America. 2) CONSIDER USING A BANK OTHER THAN BANK OF AMERICA 3) I am deprariously lackadaisical when it comes to doing things promptly or carefully, and could have easily avoided a lot of this absurdity by being on top of my shit a little more. 4) We are near the endpoint in our civilization when humans serve no purpose but to annoy each other and make babies. 5) There is already almost no way to avoid these kind of braincrushing commercial interactions. 6) For every action, there is an opposite and actual reaction. 7) Coney Island is more fun to take a visitor in the fall on a weekend when all the action is open. 8) Banks are destined to grow more and more powerful. 9) If my skin were made out of money, I could avoid these kinds of issues by shaving dead layers off into people's hands in the form of currency. 10) FUCK YOU BANK OF AMERICA. THANKS. PART II: Storm King, After I Found You, You Provided Me With Rich Excitement And Assuaged My Feelings Of Weltschmerz Epilogue: After arriving at Port Authority, we tore up the stairs frantically looking for the ticket booth, and upon finding it, I attempted to bribe the woman in front of the line with a fiver to cut her (she demurred and let us pass gratis). We bought our tickets (the ticketeer had no smiles to give) and rushed over to the departure gate. When we got there the gate attendent was gone already and so we burst through the exit, just to see the bus closing its doors. I ran to the bus and banged once before the driver opened and let us on. Exhale--until two seconds later my heart dropped as I saw that every seat on the bus was taken except for two singles in the back; for a moment it suddenly occurred to me that after all this malarkey we'd have to spend a 90 minute bus ride sitting apart from each other. These fears were almost immediately allayed, however, as Mia quickly offered gummi bears (gummibärchen!) to one of the singles in exchange for his seat. Phew. Yes. Of course.  Bus booths, Newburgh Bus Terminal parking lot Fairly Tangential Epi-epilogue: After all of this craziness Mia and I were so relieved that we rather depariously somehow failed to exit the bus when it reached Storm King. Despite seeing a location that looked very much like what I had imagined Storm King to be, we didn't hear the driver announce anything [he was apparently using his throat and vocal cords rather than amplified microphone to broadcast his voice??] and so we didn't get off until about 15 minutes later Mia said, "Umm.... did we miss the Storm King?" We had, in fact, missed it (I'd thought since it only went there once a day that Storm King was actually the end of the line and that we wouldn't be able to miss it). The driver let us off at the Newburgh Bus Terminal, which my iPhone told me was 8.9 miles away from Storm King, and found out almost immediately from a near-laughing ticketeer that there was no "next bus to Storm King". I burst into maniacal laughter and wandered outside for a cigarette, wondering how much a cab driver would gouge me to take us there, and how I might go about finding one. I crossed my fingers it would be less than $50. But much to my delight, upon exiting, I heard two middle-aged women on a nearby bench talking say the words "Storm" and "Museum". I wandered over to them and asked if they were by chance going to Storm King. To our luck, they were. Meaning... !!!!!! (this did not in reality merit four exclamation points). They immediately asked if I wanted to split the cab and I pumped my fist unnecessarily and sat down to enjoy my cigarette. 10-15 minutes later a yellow minivan pulls up with reggaeton BLASTING out the windows. I attempt four times to open the side door before the driver finally reaches over and throws it open. Mia and I quickly climbed into the back and the cabbie looked at the two women as the entered and barked, "Hola. Que tal? Donde vamos?" Seriously. He also had not turned the music down, so they looked at each other and then began shouting in English to him. "Que Uds dicen?" he asked$. I began to see steam coming out of their ears and began attempting to communicate in pidgin Spanish, which was enough to get the car moving (but not the music lowered). For whatever reason, after everything that had happened, this situation seemed not remotely annoying but instead entirely hilarious. The driver then began speaking muy rápidamente into his radio, asking for directions and saying something to the effect of "What the fuck is Storm King and where the fuck is it?" The women in front of us began alternating between feelings anger over the loud volume of the music and concern over the fact that the driver appeared to have absolutely no idea where he was going. After turning around for the second time, I busted out my iPhone and pulled up directions from its Google Maps GPS%%%. I then started shouting directions while simultaneously assuring the ladies that everything would be fine and we'd be there shortly. When we finally got there--which honestly was only about 10-15 minutes later--we got out of the car and the driver said, "Ok sí, $10, gracias." We all looked at each other in disbelief--$10! For a nine mile trip! In NYC that would have cost a minimum of $25, and I was just expecting it would be more here. Nope. Topping it off, the women stunned me by then speaking in Spanish with the driver to arrange for him to pick them up again in the same spot at 5pm. And then I looked ahead, and there we were, finally: Storm King. And the rest is history.  Andrew Goldsworthy Wall, Storm King Art Center Cut Copy - "Autobahn Music", from Bright Like Neon Love NOTES: ***-- Ok, ok. Yes, Mom, to be fair, if I balanced my checkbook like old people do, I probably could have pulled it out of my briefcase and recited the figures back to her and avoided a lot of these troubles. But it's 2009, and I feel like I don't want that to be the lesson of this whole thing. I guess I would hope it wouldn't have to come to that by now. And anyway, sheesh. $$$--Or something like that. Paraphrasing, obviously, because I don't remember and I don't really speak Spanish. %%%--Aside: yes, a world without cell phones would be great, but also, really: fuck that, right? Bring on the future! Labels: BEAUMONT, deprarious, FAIL, fucktactics, JB screeds, lolgore, mp3, OLD PEOPLE MAKE IT HARD NOT TO SIGH SOMETIMES, thoughts posted by Nihilist Loves Hate, Hates Everything at 9/28/2009 11:54:00 PM 2 comments 2
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Friday, September 25, 2009 Too Often I Wonder Why It Is That I Still Work In An Office  It's moments like these that make me yearn for straitjackets and barbiturates. File absolutely under D, DEPRARIOUS. Labels: curiosities, deprarious, FAIL, fucktactics, lolgore, quicksnaps posted by Nihilist Loves Hate, Hates Everything at 9/25/2009 01:54:00 PM 0 comments Tuesday, September 22, 2009 No, Mocha Doesn't Actually Mean "Chocolate"  This was NOT my beverage. While at the airport this morning to see my departing visitor off to San Francisco, we stopped to grab a coffee and for a last-drink-and-a-cigarette moment. Mia ordered, as always, a cappuccino, and I ordered a mocha, a drink I've gotten maybe twice in my life. I tend to stick to straight cheap drip coffee when drinking caffeinated beverages, but today I was feeling in need of something a little sweeter. However: Upon ordering the mocha, the barista making our drinks to the left of the cashier looked up and asked me, "Do you want whip cream on your hot chocolate". I looked her in the eye for a moment and then, narrowing mine, said, "Oh... sorry. I ordered a mocha." She then glanced at me with a look that I thought was comprehension, and then after it seemed like she'd begun making my drink asked, "Well, would you like whip cream on your mocha?" "Sure," I said, smiling. In another minute after that she handed me my drink. Hot chocolate. Labels: FAIL, fucktactics, lolgore posted by Nihilist Loves Hate, Hates Everything at 9/22/2009 12:12:00 PM 0 comments Monday, September 21, 2009 Too Much Dimsum  Word of advice: "turnip cake" and "pumpkin cake" are unnecessary additions to a dimsum meal selection. Labels: FAIL, iphone camera snapz, quicksnaps posted by Nihilist Loves Hate, Hates Everything at 9/21/2009 12:19:00 AM 0 comments Wednesday, September 02, 2009 I Feel Like By 2009, Our Scientific Achievements Should Have Taken Us Farther Than This, No?  Last night the new Rawlings "safer" helmet debuted. WOW. These guys sum it up a little better than I can. Poor David Wright looks like the one 9 year old on a little league team who hasn't started growing yet. Deprarious. Labels: baseball, deprarious, FAIL, fucktactics, lolgore posted by Nihilist Loves Hate, Hates Everything at 9/02/2009 05:35:00 PM 0 comments Thursday, August 27, 2009 Slow News Day, Or Are We Totally Fucked?  About to close up shop for on this Thursday here at work and happened to check out WSJ.com to see if there was anything I needed to know before heading home. Umm.... apparently not. I know it's still technically summer and everyone downtown wants to get a 24 hour head start on the Hamptons' weekend traffic and all, but seriously, WHAT THE FUCK? COUNTING CROWS?!?! I know that Rupert Murdoch is hellbent on slowly mainstreaming the Journal from insular bizpaper to everyman freedom rag, but SERIOUSLY?? A COUNTING CROWS LIVE IN-SESSION ON THE WSJ FRONTPAGE?? I am beyond stunned. Try to imagine for a single minute the New York Times, the Washington Post, the Financial Times, CNBC.com, or FoxNews.com shilling news-less crap like this in the lead web-article slot. Even the NY Post reserves this slot for items theoretically construable as news. I can imagine that maybe ABC.com might run a piece like this, but it would at least be an interview with quasi-culturally relevant entities like Bono or the Jonas Brothers (I'm not joking). What the fuck, dudes? Counting Crows?!? Weird. Labels: FAIL, fucktactics, lolgore, OLD PEOPLE MAKE IT HARD NOT TO SIGH SOMETIMES, videos posted by Nihilist Loves Hate, Hates Everything at 8/27/2009 06:45:00 PM 0 comments Monday, August 10, 2009 My 2 Cents Vs Yr 5 Cents  I walked past this strange celebration one night last week while journeying through Cobble Hill. There are many reasons why this banner is odd and I shouldn't have to explain them, but at least a few include: a) ... they are celebrating a five year anniversary for this place? b) a five year anniversary is celebrated through a sale taking place for over a month? c) the dates of that sale aren't even, but are the 5th of month to the 6th of the next? d) black and white copies are 5 cents? do people even still make copies? I definitely assumed that the current non-sale price for b&w copy anywhere was 5 cents e) that sign itself is just aaamaaazing. Labels: FAIL posted by Nihilist Loves Hate, Hates Everything at 8/10/2009 01:17:00 AM 0 comments Sunday, August 09, 2009 Cider Donut Delivery Fail  Word of caution: as good as cider donuts may be, they do not travel well. Especially not when acquired on a Friday and delivered after two long in-the-bag periods on a Sunday. Labels: FAIL posted by Nihilist Loves Hate, Hates Everything at 8/09/2009 11:28:00 PM 0 comments Wednesday, August 05, 2009 Shack Attack  Apparently RadioShack have decided to rebrand themselves with the curiously abbreviated moniker "The Shack". I cannot for the life of me understand who thought this might be a good idea, as the visuals that immediately come to mind when I think of a "shack" are not images I connect with places I can go to buy fancy technological devices. I can understand that the word "radio" is somewhat antiquated in these modern times, but it's also the lone word (out of two) in the title that is remotely germane to the wares the store peddles. JeffreyBeaumont: did you read that RadioShack is renaming themselves "The Shack"? CabbieM: AHAHHA CabbieM: hahAHHAHA CabbieM: no CabbieM: HAHAHAHA CabbieM: they are so much more relevant now! CabbieM: actually, it sounds like we could get burgers there LizC: reminds me of shaquille o'neal. shaq attack. Shake Shack. Shaq attack. Shake Shaq Attack? This is all made especially strange given the announcement last week by Lance Armstrong's people that RadioShack, erm, The Shack, will be his new crew's main sponsor next season. Making them ... Team Shack? Really? I certainly hope at least that Shaq considers using all of this as tie-in cross-promotion for his new reality show --- "Shaq Vs. The Shack" (or "Team Shaq vs. Team Shack"). Magnifique. Labels: FAIL, fucktactics, IMs, lolgore posted by Nihilist Loves Hate, Hates Everything at 8/05/2009 10:54:00 AM 0 comments Tuesday, August 04, 2009 Spitting Ions In The Ether  from here I just had the misfortune of viewing the entirety of the 1985 film St. Elmo's Fire (umm, thanks Netflix InstantView :-/), and I now want 100 minutes of my life back. At one point I could probably have relied on knowing that a sizable portion of any under 40s I spoke to would have seen St. Elmo's Fire already and therefore I would need to explain nothing, but I guess it's a good thing for you all that we're far enough removed from 1985 now that its mediocre b-movies can sleep silently in peace. It's not really worth an explanation, but the short of it is that St. Elmo's Fire is a movie that almost astonished me in its terribleness. I expected it to be a bit hokey and solipsistec like many what-should-the-white-folk-do?! 80s films, but the petty, self-interested depravity of every single one of the characters made me wanna vomit all over my TV. The thing that felt strange about St. Elmo's is the deprarious degree to which the film seemed to be lacking in self-awareness. Were this film to have been made in the past ten years, it would have been a dark comedy where everyone's in on the joke and they'd all laugh mirthlessly as each new "tragedy" befell another member of Team I; or perhaps a straight-up Todd Solondz film culminating in a scene where Emilio Estevez, in climactic stalker wing-spreading is either arrested or killed in a car crash and Rob Lowe finally seduces lowly "Wendy" into boning him and he gives her AIDS. Instead we have a picture that is utterly unable to imagine the realistic viewpoint in which all of these people are actually just fucked. In watching, I could hardly contain myself--with each passing frame, I found it harder and harder to control myself from shouting at the assholes in front of me and their bullshit perceptions of a life they haven't begun to live. And don't even get me started on the poor women in this film, some of whom represented the few arguably not terrible humans, all of whom allowed themselves to be treated like garbage by the self-centered twats they were surrounded by. Grow some balls! Stand up! Dear god. But most significantly, this film served as a reminder to me that, culturally speaking, the 80s were not in fact the beginning of the Forward-Looking Future Generation, but instead a quaint last gasp ode to the limited-thinking/dreaming dogmatism of the 50s; and, dare I say it, a period where Americans were worse even: people of the 50s at least bought into McCarthyism because it was new and they didn't know much else, but in the 80s we looked back despite knowing the dark side because we thought we might rather choose death over an uncertain future so desperately feared. The long and the short: do us all a favor and keep on living righteously. Let yourself get bent out of shape when you witness awfulness, and be prepared to catch a sunbeam if it crosses your path. LISTEN: Brian Eno - "St. Elmo's Fire" from Another Green World Uilab (Stereolab and Ui) - "St. Elmo's Fire" from Fires Labels: deprarious, FAIL, fucktactics, la cine, mp3 posted by Nihilist Loves Hate, Hates Everything at 8/04/2009 01:44:00 AM 0 comments Thursday, July 30, 2009 More Airing Of Grievances  David Ortiz was outed today as one more of those who secretly tested positive for steroids in 2003. I've already said everything I want to say about these fucks. But thanks again, bros, for hoodwinking all the people who loved you more than you deserved. As Patrick Stickles would say, "YOUR LIFE IS OVER" LISTEN: Titus Andronicus - "Titus Andronicus" from The Airing of Greivances Labels: baseball, empty promises, FAIL, heroes posted by Nihilist Loves Hate, Hates Everything at 7/30/2009 02:48:00 PM 0 comments Wednesday, July 08, 2009 I Have No Idea How The Fuck He Got Up There, But I Hope He Never Comes Down  I took this photo a few weeks ago in front of my house on the way to the Hell's Kitchen Men's Photo Club Day. Unfortunately, the new and cheaper place I went to get my film processed and scanned did a terrible job either processing or scanning the roll (or, gulp, both), but it doesn't change the awesomeness on display. I've seen tall bikes before, but this is seriously something else. Kudos to the crazy bro captain for his efforts, and I hope he avoids hospital before birthing a litter of crazy children and starting a small army of mad . Labels: FAIL, photography, quicksnaps, VICTORY posted by Nihilist Loves Hate, Hates Everything at 7/08/2009 04:55:00 PM 0 comments Wednesday, June 24, 2009 Be Still, Your Beating Heart "I still want to have a family, but first the wounds must heal. However, I still want to have a few little Dirks running around later. But it won't be easy to win my heart." --Dirk Nowitzki, on beginning the recovery process after the end of his strange and apparently farcical relationship with a serial criminal. Labels: basketball, Dirk, disappointment, FAIL, quickthoughts posted by Nihilist Loves Hate, Hates Everything at 6/24/2009 02:02:00 PM 0 comments Monday, June 22, 2009 Seriously Dude, If You're Going To Do Something Stupid, At Least Do It Right Been waiting for a few days to put this one up, but I photographed this Bro at Charles De Gaulle Airport in Paris while I was waiting for my flight home last week:  Wow. Yes. Seriously dude, wow. You have a PC laptop... but either wish you had a Macbook... or you hate Macbooks... and wanted to make a funny... and so you thought you might accomplish that by... putting an Apple logo sticker over your Dell sticker... upside down.... yes. Right. Got it. Labels: curiosities, deprarious, FAIL, fucktactics, lolgore, quicksnaps posted by Nihilist Loves Hate, Hates Everything at 6/22/2009 10:30:00 AM 0 comments Monday, June 01, 2009 WANTED: Life-Coordination Team I am fairly sure that if I were to hire a consultant to evaluate my life from a business perspective, he or she would recommend that my only hope for success would be to lay off the entire staff--save the creative director--and bring on a new team with, most importantly, a new Chief Operating Officer. (Clearly, dude running the show right now is adrift at sea and needs to be let go before he loses me in the Bermuda Triangle of lost souls.) Labels: BEAUMONT, case studies, empty promises, FAIL, fucktactics, junkjunk posted by Nihilist Loves Hate, Hates Everything at 6/01/2009 06:13:00 PM 1 comments 1
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Friday, May 08, 2009 On Manny Being Banny ....Or, FUCK YOU. "Dam manny ramirez, come on man Agggggggggh, agggggggh,agggggh" --THE_REAL_SHAQ, about 12 hours ago from TwitterBerry ------------------------------------  Boo, Manny. Boo. You fucking asshole. The Ken Caminitis and Matt Lawtons of the world sadden me, but at least I can understand--and in some twisted way, emphasize with them; in a tough game, where every tiny bit counts, they just want to keep a footing for themselves in the only world in which they've learned how to live. But Manny, you of the golden swing, you are a greedy coward. You make me want to scream. You, and Barry Bonds, and Alex Rodriguez, and Roger Clemens--it was never enough that you were among the best in the game. You would not stop until there was no question. Some might admire this thirst to rise above, but I am sickened by it, by you. Barry, Roger, I believe at least that the two of you played many seasons in the 80s and early 90s before getting into steroids--and over these points you won four MVP awards and three Cy Youngs. What the fuck? That was not enough for you? The worst part, again, is the mass culpability. Our mass culpability. To LeBron James' onslaught and devastation of the NBA, we are all witnesses--and to accepting the lies, thievery, and bullshit of major league cheaters, we are ALL guilty. All of us except the kids of the 90s who were just happy that you jerks had quit your petty squabbling enough to play a fucking World Series again. Those poor kids, who fell in love with Sammy Sosa, or Mark McGwire, or Jeff Bagwell (yeah, said it), Juan Gonzalez, a million others. Brady Anderson, you cheat, you inspired a million kids who wanted someone to root for besides the superstars. And you fucked them. Who's next? Chipper Jones? (god, please... please, no) John Smoltz? Ken Griffey, Jr.?*** Randy Johnson? Pedro? Really, at this point, it just doesn't matter who did and didn't do steroids. We all did. Bud Selig, who, like a Washington politician ruling lobbyists and yet living in fear of them, did nothing but cast a blind eye as muscles bulked and heads (and pimples) popped. DUDE YOU RUN THE MOST TALKATIVE YET SECRETIVE SPORTS LEAGUE IN THE COUNTRY. OF COURSE YOU KNEW WHAT WAS GOING ON. What kills me most is the lying triumvirate of atheletes, executives and sports writers, all collectively lying or refusing to believe what they knew was really going on for the sake of their next home run, their next dollar, their next tight lede. Fuck all of you dicks. And then, fuck all of us for LOVING IT. We loved the longball. We loved 11-7 scores. We loved the 9Ks per 9 ratios. We loved the storylines!! Matt Williams and Griffey in '94, Brady Anderson, the quad-headed Rockies in '96/'97, McGwire and Sosa in '98. We loved it all. The Mariners won 116 games in 2001, even more than the fabled Yankees in '98, but does anyone seem to remember it? Partially because they didn't win the World Series but also partially because it was the first season in ten years without Randy J, Griffey, or ARod. No pumped up stars--other than new freak of Japan, Ichiro--and therefore few memories. We loved it all despite seeing thin men big, big men huge, and even some thin men huge. We saw what we wanted to believe. The world, honestly, is not filled with surprises. Things happen by chance, yes, but most of that chance has a percentage of possibility attached to it based on the cold principles of natural reality. David Eckstein does not, as a rule, hit 30 home runs in a season. He just can't, because he is who he is. We knew this was true about Brady Anderson too, but we turned away. Also, old people, as a rule, do not outplay the post-kid vets. And yet there was Barry Bonds at age 36 hitting 73 HRs, 24 more than he'd ever hit before. And middling no-pop vets do not suddenly become middle-of-the-order threats after they turn 30. 90 years of baseball told us that this was true and yet there was Jay Bell, Steve Finley, and Luis Gonzalez, telling us otherwise. So fuck it. We saw what we wanted to believe. C'est la fucking vie. Because this is America. WE LIKE CHEATERS. We actually LOVE THEM. Or rather, we like cheaters who succeed in cheating. What we do not like are cheaters who fail, cheaters for whom the game is up. We loved the cheaters on Wall Street and in the real estate markets in the late 90s and early 00s when they were making dollars because we loved their fly action and dreamt of having some of our own someday too. Those systems didn't collapse because some great diligence and intolerance of cheating finally brought down the bad guys; they just collapsed because the cheaters stopped cheating well. And then when it collapsed, we swarmed upon the cheaters like locusts, in hopes that a swifter move on our own behalf condemning their wrongs might save us from the real judgements of god soon to come. Our own guilt pulsed like a great heart beating louder and louder as the head-filling sound of crime began to subside; and lest we hear it too deeply and freeze in our tracks, we acted, pouncing on the public record of guilt to rape it loudly enough until we were satisfied that it was distracting enough for us to go on ignoring everything else that was still wrong, that is still wrong. This is NOT a tale of bleakness and woe. It's just an observation on who we are and who we are afraid to be. The steroids story is so much the same story as the housing market story that it floors me. As Americans, our hunger for more, bigger, and better--which brings us both good and terrible achievement--is such that we blind ourselves from seeing not just that which is immediately in front of us, but everything that lies ahead. This is how we as Americans live, and I don't know if there's anything we can or should do it about it. But understand that the toll is heavy, and that one day, as a nation, we will pay the price. The day will come when our blindness finally becomes so overpowering that we will not be able to see that we have walked into a room of hungry bandits, and we are not only too frail to hold them off from plundering our resources, but too blind to even know that we need to. And then, new powers will be born, and we sink to the bottom (quickly or slowly) while they rise above. Or something like that.  NOTES/LOVAGE: *** - Literally the only home run hitter I'm sure never took steroids is Fred McGriff, my beloved Crime Dog, who it seemed had the tragedy (or perhaps, in hindsight, good fortune) of peaking right before the "development of the extended power game" in baseball. Fred who in 1989 and 1992 led his league in HRs with 36 and 35 over the fence. When was the last time someone led either league with no more than 35 HR? Yep. I stand by you, Fred, forever and always, and I will never forget the Blue Jays, your torrential Summer '93, the Summer '94 that was taken from you, or you holding our Braves down in '95 when they finally put it all together for the Series. And most of all, I will never forget having the opportunity to see you hit that final home run for Tampa Bay in San Diego in June 2004. You will always be my classy, understated hero. Labels: basketball, deprarious, empty promises, FAIL, fucktactics, thoughts posted by Nihilist Loves Hate, Hates Everything at 5/08/2009 12:41:00 AM 0 comments Wednesday, April 29, 2009 On My Continuingly Strange Relationship With Physical Possessions  Two delightfully deprarious Beaumont Life news bits to share from yesterday: 1) So after last week having a third light stolen off my bike (my fault, sure, but yeah awesome!!!), I had the real cake last night when, after getting to my bike at 7:40pm, I noticed that someone had stolen my motherfucking SEAT POST CLAMP. What is a seat post clamp even, you ask? Well it's this and the image above. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Thankfully they hadn't actually stolen my seat since I am now in the habit of bringing both that and the front wheel into my office, but it never even occurred to me that someone might consider stealing a seemingly innocent $6 item like a seatpost clamp. Hell, I didn't even realize that mine could be removed from the bike! But beyond the general annoyingness of having to shell out $6 more on bike products, what it also meant was that I had to make yet ANOTHER trip from 50 St & 6 Av to 12 St & Av C to get to the only bike shop I know of open at 7:55pm on a weeknight, Continuum Cycles [they are awesome, FYI. I bought my bike there are you should love them if you can]. Thankfully I squeaked in as they were literally locking the door to the shop and got the requisite clamp so I could do a little sitting down on the rest of my journey. This shit is just getting to be straight fucking deprarious. If a bike is not safe in midtown Manhattan during a weekday in broad daylight, where the fuck might it be safe? Ahh yes, in my office where I'm not allowed to store it. But yeah, let's not forget about...  Our car, in better days 2) No joke, but I got a call from a police officer that, somehow, my mom's stolen car has been found and re-appeared in south Williamsburg sans stereo (have fun without the faceplate, fuckers). I haven't seen the car yet, but apparently it's still in drivable shape and is being held by a tow company to be returned to the insurance company who are now its owners. What the fuck, right? Life is fucking strange these days. Labels: BEAUMONT, case studies, curiosities, deprarious, disappointment, FAIL, junkjunk, memories posted by Nihilist Loves Hate, Hates Everything at 4/29/2009 11:38:00 AM 1 comments 1
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Friday, April 17, 2009 Fuck You, Time Warner  Thanks, Time Warner, for going from shitty to unbearable with your web services. As always, you are working hard to make me a proud, happy customer. Labels: disappointment, FAIL posted by Nihilist Loves Hate, Hates Everything at 4/17/2009 12:06:00 PM 0 comments Thursday, April 16, 2009 HELP ME DEAR GOD Can anyone please instruct me how to stop getting annoying gibberish HTML-generated characters when i post? ie, "Â" DRIVING ME CRAZY!!!!!!!!!!!!! They appear to just be creating themselves on their own but I have no idea why or how. Help/direction greatly desired. franks, Jeffrey Labels: FAIL, fucktactics posted by Nihilist Loves Hate, Hates Everything at 4/16/2009 12:48:00 AM 0 comments Wednesday, April 15, 2009 Double End of Workday Fail So it's 7:30 and I'm still at the office, working inefficiently while I try to tie up a great many loose ends before heading to Berlin on Friday. Obviously though, I'm struggling, as I've just experienced a sad double fail. Fail #1: My contacts were getting dry from being in all day and I used some drops, but I forgot to wipe the excess contact solution off my face; hence, silly red "tear streaks":  Fail #2: I went into the bathroom to attempt to wash the tear streaks off, and I reached for some toilet paper only to watch the entire dispenser collapse onto the floor. I have had this happen on shitty dispensers at home but never from an industrial version before.  One of those kind of weeks at the office... Labels: FAIL, fucktactics, junkjunk, lolgore posted by Nihilist Loves Hate, Hates Everything at 4/15/2009 07:33:00 PM 0 comments Monday, April 06, 2009 Spring Time, Sunburns, Jeri Curls  The years may change, but one thing always stays the same: I am a fair-ass motherfucker with constant farmer's tan. It's 3 am and of course I'm still awake because I took a THREE HOUR nap this evening, as a result of biking 62 miles and getting a wicked sunburn (see above). I can't remember the last time I took a three hour nap, but just last night I was telling somehow who claimed to nap "an hour every other day" that I probably nap 5-10 times per year. Though, in my case right now I am not helped by the fact that my forearms feel like they are literally on fire right now. On the other hand, my thighs are too sore to move all that much so I'm sure i'll fall asleep eventually. YAY SPRING! LOVE Jeffrey Labels: FAIL, fucktactics, lolgore, quickthoughts, VICTORY posted by Nihilist Loves Hate, Hates Everything at 4/06/2009 02:57:00 AM 1 comments 1
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Thursday, April 02, 2009 UPDATE: Viewer FAIL  I was going to call this a "Carson FAIL" but frankly, I'm the idiot who stayed up til 2:30 am last night watching his show only to NOT see the Pains. Alex Doorknobs, where were you with an update on that one, bro? Instead I dozed in and out of sleep from 1:30-2:30am while, I believe, Carson stood at a skate park (???!) somewhere and Cold War Kids played in the background. Weird. He also seemed a little skinnier than the last time I remember watching the show in June 2004 (which I watched, oddly enough, because my friend from high school--now a Rockette--was one of his dancers back then). UPDATE: The Carson Daly show featuring the Pains will air on Friday. Further info here. Labels: FAIL, fucktactics, lolgore, Pains posted by Nihilist Loves Hate, Hates Everything at 4/02/2009 10:43:00 AM 1 comments 1
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Wednesday, March 04, 2009 When The "Drugs" Don't Work I am giving the new Black Lips another shot now and am again confronted with two immediate thoughts: 1) The sequencing of the beginning of the album is weirdly terrible 2) "Drugs", track 2, is absolutely AWFUL, a strange Clash coke-parody Labels: disappointment, FAIL, music, quickthoughts posted by Nihilist Loves Hate, Hates Everything at 3/04/2009 10:47:00 AM 0 comments Sunday, March 01, 2009 "You've Been Served" (By The City of New York) So after making it twenty-six and a half years without much trouble from the police--including no non-driving tickets, summons, or arrests--in the past few months I seem to have trouble avoiding them. Yesterday I received my SECOND court summons in the past month, this time for... "Operate Bike On Sidewalk". Weird times.   Labels: FAIL, fucktactics posted by Nihilist Loves Hate, Hates Everything at 3/01/2009 08:52:00 PM 0 comments Friday, February 20, 2009 ...Or Maybe It's The Age Of Universal Stab-Myself-In-The-Eye  I have probably had worse luck with automobiles than just about anybody alive. Today, I discovered that my mom's car--which I was watching while she visited friends in Florida for the week--has been stolen. Awesome, and depressingly hilarious given that I don't even have a car of my own any more (returned home after too many parking tickets and break-in debacles). A HISTORY OF CAR OWNERSHIP BY JEFFREY BEAUMONT From the ages of 16-21, I owned FIVE cars: 1) '91 Toyota Corolla wagon, light blue Owned: August 1998-October 2000 From: old car from parents Issue 1: girl at party backed into my car and then drove away Issue 2: Car died, October 2000 Reason for loss: Ran the engine dry--my own stupidity 2) '89 Plymouth Sundance, maroon Owned: November 2000-April 2001 From: grandparents to replace Corolla Issue 1: only ran on three of four cylinders and had a giant leak in oil tank Issue 2: Car died, April 2001 Reason for loss: Old age. No fault. 3) '90 Plymouth Sundance V6, white Owned: May 2001-February 2002 From: Purchased from local car garage for $1700 Issue 1: Unnecessary V6 guzzled hilarious amounts of gas for a tiny car Reason for loss: found better car to replace; sold for $1500 4) '89 Honda Accord, navy blue Owned: February 2002-February 2004 From: Purchased from local car garage for $2000 Issue 1: I loved this fucking car, and basically got it for an extra $500 Issue 2: Was 13 years old and 173,000 miles upon purchase and had already had engine replaced Issue 3: Overheated constantly Reason for loss: Old age. No fault. 5) 2001 Saturn, beige Owned: May 2004-December 2004 From: Given to me as college graduation present Issue 1: I also loved this fucking car, and drove it on five-week cross-country road trip. Driven approximately 17,000 miles throughout ownership Issue 2: Did not need a car after moving to NYC in October 2004 Issue 3: Dad did not want to continue paying insurance and I didn't want to pay either Reason for loss: Not needed in New York, or to sit in a garage upstate, so sold (for more than originally purchased). Seriously--that's fucking ridiculous, right?? I guess I am pretty much done with cars. Labels: cockblocking, FAIL, fucktactics, HATEFUL posted by Nihilist Loves Hate, Hates Everything at 2/20/2009 11:11:00 AM 1 comments 1
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GET BEHIND ME DEAD MAN
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