Category: Angst

An interview with a laser

Almost fourteen years ago, in the summer of a quieter and cooler world, I seized upon a social media post from my old friend John suggesting that a musician who lived in my city might want to play his game Lady Blackbird. I can run Lady Blackbird, I typed into a vanished website. Okay, a stranger responded. In this now-antique fashion I gained a new friend, whose nom de loi is Laser, and whose work I have followed with joy and admiration ever since.

Because Laser, despite gaining world-trotting fame and keeping very cool company, will still return my text messages, I thought I would press my luck and send him some questions to officially (?) make this series something that I do maybe (??). The following has been edited for tk tk tk come up with joke later. Hyperlinks are my own; photos are not.


Laser with a guitar in front of a dressing room mirror

I’m maybe trying out this thing on my blog where I interview people about their tastes without ever actually using the word “masculinity” but just dance around it instead and then trust that both of my readers will get bored and close the tab before they realize that I’m trying this hard to be oblique and clever. So I guess my first question is, how come when you wear a black vest over a black shirt with a contrast tie you look like you might be in Superchunk, and when I do it I look like a wedding DJ who plays all the novelty songs back to back?

A lot of it is swagger, unfortunately.

Laser with Charlie James wearing a black shirt and vest with a contrast tie, and also 'swagger'

Bless you for the succinctness of this answer. I feel as if I have been struck apart by a katana so razor-sharp that I will not topple into two cleanly separated halves for an unknown length of time. While I await my doom… your new podcast, Not Real Men, has recently covered a couple of important topics: perseverance in the face of abrupt sociopolitical trauma overload by finding a niche to make a difference, and also Chad, the imaginary testosterone dude who lives in your brain and tries to seize the steering wheel of your libido. Who’s the most boinkable actor in your personal history of cinema, and would they post bad takes on the internet? Has this answer changed over time?

Laser next to Captain Phasma (I think?) with the caption Not Real Men: The Podcast

most boinkable? oh wow. I mean, colin firth is top always. I like to believe he would be wildly strong while also checking in constantly. He stays away from the internet, fortunately. this hasn’t really changed over time, I think because it’s easier to gain an imaginary crush, like music taste, when you are 14 and your brain is soft and nothing is real.

Speaking of movies, which I did because I wanted to ask this question, what kind of film nerd have you turned into? Like, we originally met because we both wanted to play a tabletop RPG that was more or less Firefly fanfic, which is in turn Star Wars fanfic, which is in turn kind of Kurosawa fanfic; these days I myself enjoy spending attention on Kurosawa more than I do on Star Wars. Meanwhile you live in LA, travel the world doing original shows, and probably hang out with a lot more working filmmakers than I do. What kind of work from the past do you like to study? What’s a movie or show you’re looking forward to in the future?

I do not really watch a lot of movies because sitting down to watch something is hard (ADHD) and exploring new stories is stressful (autism). But I do hang out with filmmakers, and when they make something that is really, really, personal, I like it. My favorite movie is Ghostbusters: Answer the Call because it shows the most realistic funny women I’ve seen (eating pizza) and all the men are stupid, which is a huge relief to me. I saw Wicked twice in theaters. I’m looking forward to Wicked part 2. I like it when people sing in theaters.

Speaking of tabletop RPGs, which I did because I wanted to ask this question, what secret ideas do you have in the back of your mind for an actual play series? What system would you want to use for it, and what tiny pet peeve of yours about the existing landscape of gameplay media would it fix?

I am not the target audience for Actual Play. Possibly I am spoiled because I have plenty of people to play games with, but honestly I don’t need to watch Actual Play – if I wanted to sit quietly while other people take their turns playing a game, I would just invite 4-5 people over to my home. SORRY.

I do enjoy improv because I love being bewildered by the act of creation, so when people play Fiasco or other rules-light games, I’m very, very in. I did produce an all-trans actual play series a couple years ago called Strumpets and Flagons, and that was a delight. That fixed the problem of non-trans people talking. I’ve really enjoyed watching Dimension 20 — primarily because it is edited. I guess my dream actual-play show would be a season of Dimension 20 with an all-transmasc cast aggressively flirting with Brennan Lee Mulligan. Like Dungeons and Drag Queens for boys.

Laser smiling next to Brennan Lee Mulligan

I remembered that you once had a Fiasco podcast, which is what inspired this question, but despite my best efforts to follow your work I did not know about Strumpets and Flagons! I really like how you phrased being bewildered by the act of creation. Do you ever feel bewilderment in retrospect when you revisit your old songs or other creative work? Alternatively: can you give me any advice on how to develop taste without also cultivating chagrin toward one’s younger self?

Haha – I mean I am impressed with the young version of myself. He wrote over one hundred songs. What a talented, hard-working freak! I do need to take a couple years at least to look back on my art and enjoy it… but the further away I am, the more I am truly impressed.

I think there was a wonderful advantage that younger me had, lacking the self-censorship that comes from being rejected by gatekeepers, from being around people who are judgy about other people’s art, from having a lot of negative youtube comments thrown at him. He just made stuff that made him happy and it was so much easier for him than for me.

Laser smiling in a very classy rugby shirt

A lack of self-judgment is a huge gift. You have to make a lot of “bad” things to make good things… but also… some simple things are good. So why don’t you just make things and watch the puzzle fall into place? HUH? BRENDAN?!!! And don’t forget that you need to listen to the people who are encouraging you. When you don’t believe in yourself, you’re calling them liars. Don’t do that to people who love you!

Well, on that note, many years ago you had me moderate a panel for your band at Stumptown Comic Con, and I was so delighted and proud to even have been asked. Then you continued to be a musician for many years without requesting that I represent you in any way ever again, which was undoubtedly wise. Can you think of other areas of taste you have developed by learning from mistakes?

Hahaha I love you Brendan, you are incredible, and I am sure I only didn’t ask you again because I wasn’t given the chance to pick my own moderator. Also I got very tired of doing panels. Because of you. And how much asking you to moderate was a huge mistake. Wait…

I’ll be honest, I don’t spend a lot of time dwelling on “mistakes,” I like to think of them as “lessons.” Living a life with regret as an option just makes decisions harder to make—and when I was a full-time self-employed artist, everything is always a difficult decision with high stakes. But I have learned many things. Be nice to the sound guy, even when he is clearly a sexist prick. Make a schedule that leaves lots of time for flexibility. Give yourself a little treat when things go wrong. Don’t write songs just because you think other people will like them.

Laser standing in the sea with a shark fin behind him, with a trans flag and a caption reading "A Shark Ate My Penis"

The more specific you are when you write, even to the point of being specific only to yourself — the more relatable it will be, and the more other people relating to it will mean to you. If like 30%+ of your fans are trans, you are too, actually. And also 20% more of them are closeted trans people. Figure out ways to collaborate that don’t involve you bankrupting yourself (this is not a thing I am good at). Keep all of your emails and documents somewhere searchable. Live, laugh, love.


Laser in a windowpane suit, grinning with a microphone on a stage

Laser showing off tattoos with a denim shirt and a dragon jacket

Three Lasers superimposed on each other with a microphone in front of a red velvet curtain

Laser wearing a crown

Laser with his boyfriend Maddox and a dog in a sweater of unknown provenance

Laser with Charlie James at standup microphones on stage

Laser doing social media poses with Amy Vorpahl and a Tyrannosaur

Laser with blurry rope lights and a cigar in the black-on-black outfit, looking more like Groucho than a member of Superchunk

Laser in a black shirt and black vest with a contrast tie

“When you’re young, you think there are probably not that many people privately beating themselves up, but actually, there are tons of us. We walk every kind of life path, united by the sheer brutality of our self-deprecation. The most confident-seeming people are often screaming at themselves inside their own heads! This might be you. Or maybe you’re a lobster. Lobsters are so zen.”

Figure traced in light

I’m so sad to learn that Dr. David Bordwell died at the end of February. Kristin Thompson’s posts to the blog they both maintained had made it clear that his health was in decline, but without knowing the specifics I admit to holding out some hope for his recovery. I didn’t know Bordwell personally myself, and was a relative latecomer to his work; both he and Thompson have been held in high regard by scholars and lovers of film for decades. But even in these few years since coming to it, their work has come to mean a lot to me.

By all accounts Bordwell was as generous with his time, attention, and goodwill as he was with his writing and knowledge. I consider the aforementioned blog the gold standard for this medium, and whenever one of his books went out of print he’d just upload a copy to his site and offer it up for free. He didn’t write to critique or pass judgment on his subject matter. Instead, he clarified, contextualized, reverse-engineered, and recommended, all out of love for the work and in pursuit of sharing it with others.

I could read Bordwell’s writing forever, and it’s a sorrowful thing to know that I won’t see him post anything new again. But there are thousands of pages in his back catalog I can still look forward to reading and learning from. I think I’ll feel grateful that he left that work to this world for the rest of my life.

And not falling down

Walking my bike through the fine sand to meet friends on the beach, Tuesday night, in an interlude of heat between storms, I found my eyes lingering on the beautiful bodies of the men and the women and everyone else around me. It made me think about one of the early entries I posted to this blog, nineteen years ago: a little scanned photo of two famous musicians, and a “joke” about having a crush on each of them. (It was also the post where I announced that I had successfully added permalinks to my homebrew software. Most of those very first entries are among the ones I have since set to private.)

I had been making those kinds of jokes since I was a teenager, attempting to forestall criticism and mockery of my own uncertain masculinity by beating my peers to the punch. As with so many things in my youth, I did not pause to consider that in my self-protective spin moves I was just enacting another form of homophobia, or what effect that might have on other people around me.

But I’m not a youth anymore. I know a little more in general than I did then, and a lot more about myself. So I thought about that old reflex, and how many gentle people have helped me move away from it, and I thought about the sweat and skin and bodies of the people at the beach, and I thought: I can call this feeling what it is, without justification or apology. The name of the feeling is attraction. I’m a forty-one-year-old man, and I’m attracted to some women, and some men, and certainly some other people too.

Here I am, a different person than I was nineteen years ago, and the same person I have always been. Happy June.

“This is not about appropriation: this is about the problems of setting in fiction that trouble us all because we live in the same empired-haunted world, ruined by colony and postcolony alike, this tainted, unstable ground. There is no true and authentic fixed thing, and no one can, or should wish to, lay claim to it. Imagine the horror, if there were such a thing that you could hold in your hands, that you could never put down or toss away, how it would burn and cut.”

“I can’t help but wonder how rich our lives could be if we focused a little more on creating conditions that enable all humans to exercise their creativity as much as we would like robots to be able to.”

This is a content warning.

Last year I wrote about an Ars Technica article that appealed to technical experts for help perfecting every last possible system involved in emulating the Super Nintendo. I think it’s clear from that post that I felt a certain envy of the sense of purpose conveyed by its author, byuu, who also went by Near and by Dave. But I remember thinking, too, that their saying “I’m getting older, and I won’t be around forever” was a little surprising to read from someone deeply invested in a video game system from the 1990s. I’m getting older too, but not quite to the point of hurrying to put a capstone on my legacy yet.

Near was indeed not much older than me, but they meant what they said. This week, after years of organized and escalating cruelty directed at them and at their loved ones, they took their own life.

The purpose of a system is what it does. The purpose of the internet is in part to publish and distribute a unique and valuable life’s work. The purpose of the internet is also, in part, to torture people until they die. Sometimes it works.

Everybody I talked to in the course of reporting this story said some variation on “I hope Isabel is okay.” And she is. Sort of. In the months I’ve spent emailing Isabel Fall, she’s revealed herself to be witty and thoughtful and sardonic and wounded and angry and maybe a little paranoid. But who wouldn’t be all of those things? Yet I’m emailing with a ghost who exists only in this one email chain. The person who might have been Isabel has given up on actually building a life and career as Isabel Fall. And that is a kind of death.

Emily VanDerWerff, whose writing I have long enjoyed, has a piece of extraordinary nuance, precision and grace there. I’m grateful that Kat nudged me to read it. If you haven’t read it already, I would take it as a personal favor if you do.