every dog has her day

so the nice lady went across the way that afternoon to give the landlord some chocolate to smooth things over. landlord agreed we could hold onto licorice (that's what we call her) until we find her a shelter or a home. he said she shouldn't have but, there is a reason why we call her the NICE lady. truth to tell is the landlord could tell us to get rid of her asap but he didn't. nice lady wants to try and convince him again later on this weekend after she spends a week of not destroying his building. we'd really like to keep this dog. she's a sweety. ergo the name.

—the bastard

hard time in the big easy

i have to take a minute to interrupt my self absorbed ramblings and talk about nawlins. i honeymooned in the french quarter in 1996. three years later the nice lady and i didn't know it but we took an extra passenger back to the quarter with us. new orleans is/was/can be a beautiful city that seems to be going the way of atlantis at the moment and i hope that we can help this culturally rich and historically important place alive. new orleans is the first city i went to that made me think that there were cities that didn't look like a variation of park slope or ridgewood or like suburban long island with a dry heat. it's special to me. it's special to alot of people. it's the birthplace of my favorite cuisine. hell i had jambalaya for dinner tonight. the bastard learned to love tabasco before all other hot sauces here. i had planned to go back one day and i'm not so sure that it will be there on that day. i hope it will be. now the bastard thinks he going to donate some cash to the red cross. yeah, it sounds a little hokey and completely unoriginal but its a good place, with good people that are in a lot of trouble. so put some in the till shiteyes.

—the bastard

weekly karaoke report

now, i'm actually not going to report on karaoke night every week because, i have kind of put the main thrust of my anger over it aside. these people are otherwise unimportant idiots that essentially seek weekly escapism from their otherwise miserable lives at the neighborhood's expense. these people are are fucking clown shoes. there is a guy that john karaoke pointed out to me during one of my more fitful evenings over this. there was this guy who looked like frikkin huggy bear from starsky and hutch named johnny. no joke, he LOOKS like huggy bear and he wouldn't shut up and when the bastard came outside in his PJ's, johnny took off like his feet were on fire, purple suit and all(yeah it was purple). john karaoke apologized as he has a deep booming voice and told me who he was and as he got in his beat up lincoln mark VII i shouted at how i know what his car looks like. pointless empty threat that night as the bastard has no designs on going to prison. in retrospect as i saw his broke ass ride parked under the boys window, i though, i MUST get his picture and share it with you. so will try.

anyway, i was playing flat out on xbox last night to numb away the noise. yes, the bastard owns an xbox as well as a mac. they get along for now but, i fear that one day the xbox will try and assimilate my iMac. anyway while i was enjoying launching people out of the front windshield of my virtual race car, i noticed that one of these idiots honked their horn and it played la cucaracha. i don't know if the driver was latin american but i have to wonder, how cheesy/inconsiderate/degrading/kitchy(but not in the ironic billyburg way) that was. i actually think it was an SUV full of soprano stunt doubles. fascinating stuff. you just can't make this crap up

—the bastard

playing both sides

or...on one sided scheiß

so the nice lady brings home a stray dog last night. nice dog. quiet dog. well behaved dog. started listening to us right off the bat. i like that in a dog. 2 weeks ago, the nice lady was at the dog run in forest park with the lowe and his dog (no the skink didn't really eat her). these kids show up with a stray and the man who runs the dog run says, i'll take care iof her. the kids want to take her home. so they do. here we are 2 weeks later and the dog is back and is stray again. so the nice lady calls up and asks if we can bring her home for the night until we figure out what to do with her.

dog comes home, and i'm digging her. very nice, doesn't bark which i'm a little leary about but she's been out on the streets, i'd keep my voice down too if i was homeless. they have a pound for humans as well and it's called fort washington. it's a kill shelter too in a fashion. a kill shelter is a place where they put dogs and if no one adopts them, they get destroyed. the lowe specifically got his dog from a kill shelter because he wanted more than a dog, he wanted to save a life. kinda noble. don't tell him i said so, i'll frikkin kill ya. so i tell the nice lady, we should keep her. she likes you and the boy will like her. turns out, he does. he spent all this morning laying on her with his stuffed black dog that the daughter of mogh gave him for christmas one year. sure, it's difficult to have a dog in an apartment but we'll manage, we could save her life too. we just have to tell the landlord.

the landlord thinks otherwise. no sooner did the nice lady tell him that his eyes got smaller and his jaw got firmer and i would imagine he put his bestest sternest stutter on and he said no. we could keep her for a few days but no, she has to go. the bastard's wife is heart broken. doesn't know why we live here anymore. i'm sad too. she would have been a nice addition to our little family. thing that gets me is, the neighbors have a cat. and yeah, i know, cat's don't wreck apartments blah blah blah. bullshit. this cat was snuck in by thing2 under the pretense that her man had left it with her and then suddenly there was no man but there was a cat. then she told the landlord about the cat weeks later. a nasty lazy hissing cat. and every summer, she makes the whole world smell like cat pee. it sucks. and it's one sided and it's unfair. now i'm upset.

—the bastard

this morning on the 6

so i'm racing this asain man to get to the escalator. i don't remember why, i think i just didn't like the cut of his jib. and we all know how much weight the bastard puts on one's jib. actually, you don't. you see the bastard really places alot on the cut of one's jib. it's a nautical term. read a frikkin book! god!

anyway this lady in in front of me on the escalator. no bag, plain clothes. doesn't exactly look like she's going to work, unless it's something less office like. either way, when you walk to catch the downtown you walk under the tracks to get to the downtown platform and you can hear the downtown pulling in. everyone picksa up pace because for a minute there you convince your self that you're gonna make it. or you pick up and decide not to bother but, you like walking brisk anyway. i was still trying to beat the asian guy to the downtown platform. you know....jib. so as we get to the top of the escalator and the plain clothes woman runs AT the closing doors. catches herself in them and forces them open with her mighty hulk strength (you wouldn't know to look at her but she had hulking strength. she just want to smash. don't nobody talk to hulk). she getin and ol number 6 pulls out leaving the bastard to slow downa dn walk to his spot. cause i have a spot. we all have that spot we go to and wait for the train everyday for whatever reason. mine is because when the 6 gets off at my stop, the doors open right in front of the exit so i can put on my angry charge face and roll straight for the exit for victorious glory...and coffee.

anyway as i saw plain clothes woman hulk open the door and body check someone to get into the car i thought to myself,"relax lady, it's not like this is the las chopper out of saigon". oh and speaking of saigon, i won the race. i have got to stop being so damn petty in the morning.

—the bastard

... on divine right part 2

..or the neighbors used to be so cool part 2

went to the zoo this morning with the nice lady and the boy. on the way out i noticed that since they re-tarred the roof. the roof that the boy can't enjoy as much as the neighbors can. i neglected to mention that they have a whole set up on the roof. lounge chairs, 2 barbecues (one for vegan i assume), a sun umbrella. i just deleted photos of that because i decided that it just doesn't pay to rat thing1 and thing2 out to the landlord for complaining to him about my son enjoying the same things they do. so instead i will give you this spectacular shot of thing2's sweaty shoes.


yes, they leave their shoes on the landing. all 30 odd pairs of them. most are in an ikea bench that hey store shoes in. that is where the illustrious awful looking red and black with chains sneakers by mark ekco are. i don't know who the awful shoe culprit is but, there are some real winners on that box. they leave their garbage on the landing as well. usually because they don't care when trash day is. i know this because thing2 told me herself that she "don't give a shit when trash day is". trash day is the day that they decide to put their crap out on the landing and wait for the restaurant to close. then if they haven't gone to bed (which means it stays in the the hallway. mmm smelly)they put it on top of the restaurant's crap and let the mafia garbage trucks come and pick them up. which i find oddly hypocritical. to my understanding, they are both vegan which would lead one to believe that the have the conscience to care for the environment. wrong again friends. the meat eating bastard across the hall actually sorts his trash the legal way not the vegan1 and vegan2.

anyway. i'm putting everything back to the way it was. yesterday as the tar was drying i noticed that some of the toys on the roof were placed on top of their and the people across the halls air conditioner. as soon as it all dried i was going to move it so the girls don't have a frikkin coronary. i mean, HOW DARE THEY PUT THESE THINGS ON OUR LITTLE FIEFDOM. WE ARE NOT AMUSED!! but lo and behold in very passive aggressive fashion there they were. tucked under our AC. complete with whatever dirt they knocked over while knocking over one of our plants all over the place. jerks.

it's funny, in all of this shit that proceeded "doorgate" (which i WILL blog on, i'm just getting warmed up), i bitch and moan to my wife about it because it is my right. but i do try to do right by these women. these single old maid gettin older, they'll need bea arthur to contribute to make it funny over there in 10 years. i try, and i swallow my meanness and save it for anonymous anonymous here. for you. screw you, for me. so that i can stay cool. so that i can stay pleasant. so that i can not flip out on everyone. doesn't always work but, i'm trying. anyway the sad/funny thing is, that one day the boy asked about this whole business of not being able to play on the roof and i tried to explain it to him in the most diplomatic way possible "sorry boy, thing1 works from home and she can't work with you and that snotty kid across the way from you on the roof. we just have to respect her wishes". the boy responded, "i wish the neighbors would move really far away. to china. to get a snack."

—the bastard

So this is what it has come to

While perusing the message board on past blogs, I came across one comment from the daughter of mogh, whoever that may be. She mentioned that Anthrax was getting back together with the original line-up to tour this summer and fall. The first thought that entered my skull was that it wasn't the original lineup, Joey Belladona, who is the lead singer for this tour, was not an original member, for that matter I'm not sure lead guitarist Dan Spitz is either. Doesn't matter, because when it comes down to it, is this what we're left with, is this what it has come to for us lovers of music. Ozzy in his "farewell" with Black Sabbath, the Rolling Stones are trotting their 60 year old asses on stage, again, and there are loads of washed up 70's rock bands hitting the road. Shit, I saw Thin Lizzy two years ago with only on original member, I mean it was nice to hear "The Cowboy Song" live but come on. And it's not just rock music and tours I'm talking about.

I've been listening to hip-hop since i got my first walkman as a wee tyke in the early 80's. I was into hip-hop before the term Hip-hop was coined. i was in the thick of it working at a record store in the golden age of hip-hop in the early 90's, when the likes of Chuck D, Posdonus, and the Hit Squad would grace the floors of Tower Records and ask for help in finding Abba records to sample, (yeah, Hank, its under A for Abba). But hip hop has turned into an advertisement of jewelry and cars, the message lost and and the beats, bastardized (no offense to the bastard A.K.A. Ali Bastard and the 40 Thieves). Krunk, what the fuck, Hot-lanta, please. The last truly great hip-hop record to come out was in 1999, it's from a group called Blackstarr. You may know them better as Mos Def and Talib Kweli. It's the only record they have recorded together and it's a shame, because on their own they have released lackluster offerings. Even the Roots have disapointed me with their last few records. Wu-Tang Clan, well the only thing that is relelvant from those guys in the last few years has been RZA's work on the "Ghost Dog" and "KIll Bill" soundtracks.

Man, you don't even want to know what people are letting pass for punk rock these days. And hard-core, as far as I'm concerned there are only three bands that play true Hard Core anymore. But there are hundreds of bands using the label.

Nirvana burnt out, Soundgarden and Rage turned into probably the worst band name ever and lost their edge to boot. Pearl Jam hasn't made a truly relevant album since their first, but they keep on trying, (a note on Pearl Jam, they have written several songs over the past 15 years that rock, and throw an amazing live show, but as for a complete record, 1991 "Ten" is the only one worth owning. Bjork, got pretentious, The Queens of the Stone Age still haven't put it all together, there hasn't been a decent dance hall record to come out in ten years let alone a reggae, ska, or rock steady record, and Jesus Christmas, is there someone out there with half the saxophone of John Coltrane that can put together a decent jazz record.
A bunch of years ago I heard "Odelay" by Beck and thought we were saved, but that was short lived, then it was Sublime, but Brad wacked himself out before he had a chance to enjoy the first pressing. Pharrell Williams and his boys put together a record a couple of years ago that was the newest in new. It rocked it hopped it did it all but give you a cup of coffee and a cigarette, then NERD tried to do it it again-it was a waste of my $15. I love music, love it I say, but is there nowhere to go to find a band, artist, etc. I can listen to and not long for more?

Yeah, I still buy records, in fact I was pleasantly surprised when I bought the newest Foo Fighters a couple of months ago. I have always liked the band and always considered Dave Grohl the most talented member of Nirvana, (sorry Melissa, but it be the truth) but I had never picked up one of they're records. The thing blew me away. It was hard, fast, and it seems to mean something. It's the best rock record to come out in years. But it's one record out of a million these days.

I still buy records. I go to the local record shop, chat with the kool british lady and try to find something worth listening to. But its rough, and I don't think it should be. In a country of millions, there has to be 50- 100 musicians that can gang together that can come up with something refreshing, if not new. Something with some fucking teeth, and again I'm not just talking about rock. Mos, Talib, get back together and tell the hip hop community to get their shit together, De La Sould can't do it by themselves. There is 53 Marley kids, one of them has to to be able to rock a party. Whatever happened to Lauryn Hill. Speaking of the Marleys, get your hand off of Rohan's dick and make a call to Clef and Pras and save their careers. Hey Jay Z, take off teh suit and call the fella from Linkin Park and record something new. God knows they put it together themselves without coming off as the backstreet boys with electric guitar. The dude from the Verve reemerged with Coldplay at the Live 8 concert, hey Rich, pick up the slack over there across the pond and knock our fucking socks off. And speaking of those limeys, where the fuck is Tricky?!

Aww fuck it, I'm going to the Billy Idol show, I heard Steve Stevens is back playing with him again.

the mofo

...on divine right of kingship

you know, the neighbors used to be so cool. two girls who worked in film and television. not from here. trying to make it happened. thing1 was nice and thing2 was not so nice. eventually they became socialble and we got along. we tried to take our demands to the landlord every now and again. we talked about shit. we were friendly. then thing2 wanted to date someone in our circle. it didn't work out so good. they became uncomfortable. like alot of people i know who work in that field, they play the govt. a guy i know in the set designers union would work 6 month out of the year and collect unemployment for the other six and then go to work on a movie. it's their system. the union gave him bennies and then when others in the union needed to work he would take his hit and live off the system. i assume others do it. thing1 does it but, now she's in the home business kind of business. the kind that has you in the house all of the time. i know how this works. you stay in for your 8 to 10, then you stay in and eat dinner. then you watch some tv or listen to music and then you go to bed. after a few weeks of being indoors for a long period of time puts the zap on your brain. it's the solitude. the only dealing with people by e-mail and phone. it makes you paranoid. it makes you nasty. you become a shut in. then one day you wake up and your act like the old lady in the corner house who has the 35 cats.


"GET THE HELL OUTTA MY YARD!. "YOUR BRAT IS MAKING TOO MUCH NOISE! I WORK FROM HOME YOU SEE, AND I CAN'T BEAR TO DO IT WHILE THERE ARE KIDS OUT ON THE ROOF HAVING A GOOD TIME!"

we comply. no more kid on the roof playing. it's cool. like all things that i don't like but have to do i get used to it. the bastard has made a life out of getting used to other people's shit. but a funny thing happens in the evening. usually on fridays. sometimes on other days. but always in the evening. the 85 year old bitty that needs total silence while she "works"(collects) at home turns back into a 30 something year old hipster. we call hipsters that old "cryptsters". too old to be hip but young enough to try and get away with it. i gave up trying to be hip a long time ago. it's a job being hip and a hard job. it's a young mans game, this hipness is. and i knew when to get out. you declare victory and then walk off of the battlefield and dress like michael cain in the italian job and convince yourself that you look good. anyway, she mystically transforms back into a 30 something and cranks that deep house music right the hell up. silence my ass. jerk.

—the bastard

...on walkaboot

so the bastards's in a bad mood, right? i decide that i'm in no hurry to get home, i figure i'm gonna go down to sam flax, get me a new portfolio, go down to union square and pick up 100 bullets volume 5 from forbidden planet. maybe mope around for a little while. won't get coffee, i had my 4 for the day. i start out of the building head for the street and decide against it. you see the bastard is in a bad mood. i take the usual route and due to my bad mood i don't sleep. i'm in a bad mood so i don't read. whenever i'm pissed i can't seem to read. i can't focus because there is a rage inside me at the time that defies description. trying to concentrate only makes me more aware of how annoyed i am. so i observe, catch that crap shot of the fat menacing guy and roll out. i step out and see that one of the more interesting 99 cent stores near me has closed bu they seemd to get rid of everything save for one bamboo cane and a pigeon. hell i didn't even know you could buy pigeons.

—the bastard

PS: this one is for the dub plat


can you name what high school dean rolled in this hooptie? saw it and thought of our great love of the old alma mater and our great love for robert broncatello. have a good weekend dub.

overheard on the train today

on the e,v platform at 53rd street i was standing near this guy with a mullet and his lady who looked like jet trash in what i envisioned would be the reason that tom waits coined the term. i really can't hear them and i didin't really care to. the bastard is in a lousy mood seeing as the industry had just recently broke his back. however as the wind that procedds every train starts in as the E comes down the track jet trash says to the mullet, "when you feel dah air, dats how you know dah train's comin'". no kidding? you must be the damn scientist of the group. oh no wait, batman is a scientist.

got on the v, proceeded to chill and across from me is what i assume is only jane pratt's stunt double. after soaking in enough creep factor for one day we get off the train at the appointed transfer point and grab the express (i hate being followed). on the train is this precious boy who i have seen on the train before. he rocks back and forth has a tattoo on his neck that will definately get him that job on wall street when he grows up. he rocks back and forth and is either rapping to himself or he's menacing folks to himself out loud. he had to have seen me taking the picture but i was gone and that's what's truly important, isn't it?

—the bastard

...on the grind...and petty fiefdoms

you see, the industry has just broken the bastard's back. my october/november issue was shut down to save money for the 4th quarter...bad move. it looked really good. i am disheartened. fear not, the bastard still has a job thanks to a 3 year contract between the company and the organization.

on a funny/absurd note. the art director at the organization is to the bastards reckoning, about 14 years old but she designs like a 9 year old. because the organization puts up alot of the costs to produce so every issue, they dictate content on 4 pages. the president gets one and the other 3 are industry content. for the last 2 years, the organization has been buying an ad and running a little profile of different folks in the industry that runs alongside a list of names of people that they are thanking. it reads like an anthrax albums thank you list. i even think they thanked john and mary zazula and metal blade records. either way, the bastard doesn't design it and thusly it looks like crap. i'm not saying that the bastard is in any way better than the giants of my industry but, i could maybe hang out in a corner of the same room with them and drink the kool aid with them so long as i don't make too much noise.

anyway, the ad is hideous. it doesn't work with the overall look and feel of the magazine and thus, is an eyesore. on top of that she puts it together using software that the company doesn't have so the bastard doesn't have it.

OK. QUICK SIDEBAR:

I have worked in publishing for about 11-12 years. i learned how to use a mac in college. i learned it not from a manual but from a graphic design teacher who helped me make the transistion from traditional media artist to a graphic artist. most old medium artists don't see it this way. the see graphic artists as sell outs and hacks and no talents. oddly enough, the folks at my alma mater who feel this way aren't terribly good artists of teachers (allthough one of the former heads of state there was a great painter but an awful person) and it breeds the kind of disrespect that only disgruntled students feel. anyway, i made it my business to know how to do my job well as well as know how the tools work. anyone can use the tools, not everyone wants to learn about the artsy half. they figure, "it's a corporate job, i can drive a desk, i can get by". no, you can't. i have worked with people with great design sense who can't use these machines that make it easy for untalented/good networking hacks to get into this business. and i have worked with hacks that know how to use the computer and NOTHING substitutes for having the eye. the eye that sees what is current, what is beautiful, and not that eye of the beholder shite, the instinct to have an idea of what is beautiful to a large audience, and the sense to know the difference between what is beautiful to you and what is to your audience. more important of the two is currency. not everyone stays current. i have met many like this. long story short, learning how to use quarkxpress WILL NOT MAKE YOU CREATIVE, it comes from the heart and it can be learned, and it's not in a manual. that's just my take. have at it.

meanwhile back at the ranch, so i have to rebuild the ad every issue. and i have tweaked it because the bastard believes that you CAN have too many fonts on a page and too many typeface weights on a page. call me silly but that's the case. so the 8 year old calls up scoop after we had to sit through this awful news and tells her that we've been fucking the ad up since april! first off, if this has been going on since april why do you wait until the october issue to bring this up. on top of this, upon comparison, the bastard sees that he specific complaint isn't valid. the specific complaint had to do with the weight and point size of something that is actually the same size and weight. there's just less words. how do i know this? aside from laying them side by side and seeing this, the bastard has been specking type since before she was born! ask annie, daughter of mogh, captain of the klingon hockey team who used to do the prepress with the bastard and she will tell you that i used to spec type all the time for various chuckleheads who couldn't properly supply a typeface. the bastard would spec it and replace their fonts with something that was a reasonable facsimile and the designer was none the wiser (francisco, baston, herman, you know from whom i speak daughter of mogh) so i know from what i speak. in the end it pissed me off because it's a bad year for magazines and i get some ass end in this and some jerk who hides in an office in Connecticut decided to kick the bastard when he's down. i think i'll have to kick back. and i will.

—the bastard

I'm telling Thomas

I got into my first car accident yesterday in 14 years of driving so I'm not in the mood for dilly-dally. It wasn't my car, it was the Clampetts work van, so I called the old man up at the Q.V. Mo headquarters and told him it took 40 years, but I finally got revenge for his chevy.

Anyway, the eldest continues to harp on me for my lack of union membership (I'm in a right to work state) and my left wing tendencies. First off even if the eldest could get me into the great all powerful oz, I mean, local 3, in his own words he told me he would have to push me through and some people wouldn't like it. Yeah, that the situation I'm looking for, a new job where everyone wants to thump me cause my older brother called in a favor. No thanks. I would love to to ber part of an organiztion that takes care of it's own with a fine upscale salary and good benefits, don't get me wrong, but I want to at least earn or deserve the position first. Not to mention, I work for a family company that's trying to make something of itself and over the last two years I've become vital to it's operatiopn. Can I just up and leave-"yeah, thanks, Dano, for teaching me all this shit, later for you, Lupe!" I also just crashed one of his trucks, so now I feel terrible.

As for the left thing, yeah, I sway towards the left in some situations and to the right on others. Both sides of this republic have valid things to say. I stand for common sense and what is right. Not what someone, or I think is right, but what is right, period. I'll put it this way; I wrote this passage on my way down from NYC. I stopped at the Jefferson Memorial, it was Wednesday October 1, 2003:

The Jefferson Memorial is my church. I have issues with this country, it's government and it's people. This country rich with greed, where the innocent are murdered and the guilty are deified. Where celebrity is infamy. Don't hesitate to call me a patriot, for I am, because if it is the words of Thomas Jefferson that I believe in and hope to emulate, than I am a patriot most high, and all those who wish to call me out are tyrants.

A little melodramatic maybe, but it's the double truth, Ruth. So next time I'm up around that way I'ma tel Thomas you said that about me, and he will look at you with disdain. I may be the motherfucker, but that's just short for the motherfuckin' truth.

Interesting sidenote, on the same page of my writing sketchbook is an entry from the night before, I always get a laugh from it:

College Park, M.D. 8:21 am
Wholed up in a Best Western last night. Had the late start and the lack of sleep took it's toll. Black Squirrels-in between Baltimore and D.C. They really are chocolate cities.

We got the funk, gotta have that funk-oww

Mofo

karaoke night

once upon a time 9 years ago the nice lady and i moved in together and started our lives together. at under one roof that is. it was quiet, despite being on a main drag. we had a balloon shop nearby. in 1999, they went belly up and now there is this italian restaurant that shall remain nameless and at this point i have to urge the dub to keep th ename out of this. i try to keep everyones name out of this to preserve some illusion of anonymity for my limited readership. i do not want this jerk (pictured here with either his sign maker or his rent boy. either way i hope he's a rent boy because his signs leave alot to be desired)to receive any manner of free publicity whatsoever. anyway i will share his name. this special asshole is named danny and he is a terribly inconsiderate man that doesn't have a clue about how to run a restaurant. we live in the last death throes of an italian neighborhood so there are 3 italian restaurants on this block alone before he showed up and what did he open up...you guessed it, romanian food (you get it right?) anyway, danny installed tin ceilings that reverberate sound off of them. doors that open to the street, so that one can hear awful caterwauling amateur pianists cover celine dion tunes...badly. on top of that danny charges alot of money for crap portions from what i understand (i won't eat there). and according to my polish neighbors accross the street, they don't know how to serve vodka. so with this brilliant formula you'd think the restaurant would do well. nah. so danny started a karaoke night to boost his sales. it essentially his most money making night of the week. it has everything that you'd ever need:



old folks who sing badly, and re-enforce bad italian stereotypes,



i reiterate old folks who sing badly



let's not forget this big fat joe bag o donuts here. he thinks he's tony soprano,



oh yeah and middle aged losers making out under the boys window. now when the boy wants to find out how babies are made i can just tell him to look out the window.



and this is the special, special asshole who brings all the thumping bass equipment for this extravaganza. sometimes he takes loose women out to his car while some silver haired guido chucklehead whose best days are behind him sings "knights in white satin" (tone deaf with your best brooklyn accent) and share some weed with her jet trash looking self (you know how much the bastard loves a mini skirt on a 60 something, ewwwwwwwwwww). nothing helps old guys get their swerve on like a little grass.

okay, the bastard's gotten used to this stuff. why did i bother with this little song and dance? it's like this. when it was 1999 the nice lady and i were expecting the boy and we thought about a house but we couldn't afford 1999 house prices. and now that we can afford 1999 house prices...well...you know. i have become accustomed to all of this racket and i have accepted it. it's a routine. the bastard never goes to bed on tuesday before 12:30 anymore and i can deal with it. but i wanted to try and capture how i felt when this started. when i was out of work and sweating out how i was going to make ends meet without a job (truth to tell, i lucked into something quickly) and feeling absolutely helpless because there was no 311 at the time (not that filing a noise complaint with them gets you any satisfaction). it was just you and the owner and the police. and the police here do NOTHING. well not entirely. one time the bastard hung his head out of the window and shamed a passing patrol car into asking them to turn it down. yes you heard it right. i had to SHAME THEM. he shook his head and begrudgedly got out of the car to do his job. anyway, i wanted to remember the helplessness the bastard used to feel which has given way to apathy unitl tonight when the boy asked me what hat racket was at 10:30 tonight. i am a very petty man when i want to be and truth to tell is that these fat old jerks are the face of many of our futures to come one day. but their escapism is my insomnia so screw them. i think the bastard has a new hobby. good night shiteyes, wherever you are

—the bastard

on belated presents

So after my stellar site seeing mission on austin street with curse word tank top wearing tweens, i moved on to dinner. dinner was steak. the bastard likes steak and he likes it rare. it's tasty that way. you don't need to season it with frikkin A1 or anything else. maybe a little salt but that's it. the meat stands on its own when its rare. kind of like when you get pizza with topping on it. if you need to add to it then the sauce on the pizza is suspect. same with steak. if you need to add sauce, then your situation, for you is suspect and can be concurrently improved by ordering the chicken heretofore. go on, do it stupid! anyway, robbo and the bird lady bought me this nice rubberband pistol (its a smith and wesson 1911!) so that i can smite my enemies. well not smite and not really enemies (set bowel disruptor to prolapse). but i did bring it to work and i did attempt to fire it while sliding my chair across the cube. i was extended over my chair when the chair was stopped by a box and i fell down. i didn't fool anyone. the bastard made a loud thud and i missed my target. i followed up by standing on my desk and fired 3 rounds into the photo editor's cubicle. good thing that the editor is out of the office this week. good times. ain't we lucky we got em.

—the bastard

life out of order

just like gabriel garcia marquez i'm going to tell my life out of order. scoop has been asking for me to do more on doorgate. dub plat has been asking about more doorgate. i will get back to doorgate but like all good tales, i must tell them when it's right. and it will no doubt be out of order. chapter one will take place 20 years into the future when the neighbors will be 60 and living together still and will have 35 cats between them still shouting about keeping kids out of their yard. james earl jones will somehow tie into this. then 3 year before now, elizabeth will be watching it rain in macondo and the thug will have beaten me up and taken my 11 dollars. but today we will give you this:



on wednesday, we went upstate to shoot guns. this is the boss with a shiny new remington. the bastard likes guns. liked em before he started working in this field. they are beautiful works of design. they make loud noises too. and the bastard likes this as well. the other thing i like about doing this for a living is getting the opportunity to make every aspect of the product i design reflect my vision for the magazine. oh yeah, that and expensed lunch.

—the bastard

out and about on a saturday night

fresh off my subway photo, i find me kicking myself for not bringing the camera with me out to dinner.

robbo and his lovely wife the bird lady of port chester came down to craptastic queens to get a little tuck on. robbo wanted to come down sooner but the bird lady's dad had open heart surgery so she's been out of town for the last few. thankfully, he's recovering fine. you gotta love modern medical science. either way, we like it when robbo and the bird lady come down, they fun.

which gets to my story. so we all go out to dinner in "town". i joke about such things because we live in a city that is balkanized into little miny principalities which the lowe finds ever so ridiculous because everyone who lives here is a citizen of new york city. then it's broken down into boroughs, which are mini cities. now people whole were born here can tell you what neighborhood they are from. it's kind of a litmus funny test sometimes (we've taught the lowe better in this case) but sometimes if you ask someone where they are from, they will say "brooklyn"(very defensively sometimes). whereas i would ask my friend super mario where he's from and he'll say "greenpoint". funny foot note on that, the lowe brought this woman out for dinner one night and we asked her where she's from. she says, "brooklyn" (defensively, strike one), with a sound that doesn't sound very brooklyn-ee. we follow up with the "where IN brooklyn are you from?". she follows up with carroll gardens. which doesn't really count as strike two but i think the only native brooklynite i know who lived there was rayne o'brian's friend paul and he left for jersey. that said, strike two. then as she loosened up she mentioned that she had to stop home to visit her parents last month and the nice lady follows up with a, "oh, where's home?" she sheepishly admits that she's from tennesee (i think memphis but i'm not sure but i don't want to pack my stories with too many lies). anyway strike 3 yer out. note to folx. it doesn't matter where you come from, you can say. we won't laugh. you don't even have to modify the accent. dan rather didn't and allthough i have no great love for that guy at least he kept it real for texans.

but i'm getting off message. we're walking down austin street and i have to dodge this mother and her two daughters. the older daughter who doesn't look a day over twelve (dressed rather hoochie like but then it IS summer) is rockin' a tanktop that say "relax, bitch". now my man rob once bought a teddy bear for his wife for valentines day that said, "bitch, you is fine" and that's funny but this wasn't so much with the funny. in fact it was more with the sad. why? i can't say. is it sad because this girl has decided to leave all sense of decent behavior to the side of the road or is it sad that her mom let her walk out the door like that? ida know. i hope we raise the boy to be better than that.

—the bastard

Censorship in the land that is bastard?

It seems that in the comment area some posts have been eliminated by a "blog administrator." Who is this "administrator" and if he or she is an outside force ruling over the Bastard (A.K.A. Unce...tice...fee times a Bastard)and myself I'd like to know who it is so I can give them a stern what-for. I mean, who does this fucker think he or she is deleting comments made by one of our many (and by many, apparently, I mean three) loyal readers. I'm interested in most (and by most I mean none) of what our readers have to say about the content of this page. I also believe that the content of any page, anywhere, whether it be in cyberspace, looseleaf paper or scribbled inside a port-a-pottie should be left untouched and unedited for the world to see and make their own judgements of...
Actually, I just want to know what the deleted comments were, I feel like I'm missing out.

Speaking of music on trains, I wonder if those two kids are still break dancing on the E train. Those kids were funky fresh, word.

mofo

ole number six

or where you at
now it's no new phenomenon that urban youth like to piss of the squares by blasting loud music in inappropriate places. i used to walk around as a youth and blast my music wherever i went. bill nunn immortalized the idea of the loud statement against the establishment in do the right thing as radio raheem. but i was young and foolish then, i feel old and foolish now. nowadays when i used to drive through the mother in laws noisy inconsiderate neighborhood to drop off the boy i would blast whatever i had at full volume because "screw you shiteyes! my mother in law doesn't want to hear your music run through bass cones at 3am!" pointless? yes. damn tasty to hear "c'mon c'mon" by the von bondies riding under an el track on liberty avenue as the sun goes down? hell yes.

anyway, the latest thing i have seen the kids do on the number 6 is they have those intercom phones from nextel/boost mobile and for ring tones the usually have some track from fiddy cent on the phone and they play it over and over in a loop because it's all their phone can hold. the speaker is tinny, it sounds bad, you're all hard core looking, so no one is gonna mess with you but, you see, the bastard has a camera.

now this special special man was about two full heads shorter than me. i jest but he was short. and he starts playing the phone. it fuzzes and squeaks and i believe that fiddy cent is broadcasting live from ice station zebra. i take notice. the girl in front of me takes notice. she puts on her head phones. i have none but i do have a camera. he looks the other way and i break it out. no flash, you don't want to scare him in his natural habitat. oh, he's waving his hands in the air. and he's waving like he just don't care. almost got it. no flash means the shutter will take too long. damn! this is what i got. better than nothing. now that i got myself a victim, like a serial killer, i want to do it again. i think i'll have to figure out how to pull more of these stunts.

—the bastard

...on spam

i'm sure this is a cross that every blogger has to bear from time to time but i'd appreciate it if those who wish to advertise their "blog" about college debt relief in my comments section somewhere else. don't get me wrong, the bastard does appreciate comments from folks other than just my friends and family but, i really don't give two craps about carrying advertising on the bastard works. i also do not need anything about some new moneymaking business idea. i am a graphice designer. i art direct a magazine for one of the largest publishing conglomerates in the united states. they pay the bastard a decent wage that let's him raise a family and have hobbies in this very expensive city. i freelance on the side and it helps pay the bills as well. one might say i'm on the 40 year plan towards independant wealth but i know guys who's 40 year plans are finding get rich quick schemes and that's fine for them but not for me. so i request that you take it somewhere else, shiteyes.

—the bastard

celebrity spotting

i was transferring from the 6 to the queens bound grief when i saw this punk rock couple. they looked oldish. i think the term for an old hipster is crypster but i wouldn't know what to call an old punk rocker...out of touch? so anyway the woman looked old enough to have a teenage daughter to steal clothes from and dressed in the stolen clothes and the man looked like angelo moore from fishbone. i looked twice. you see robbo and i went to see the replacements at the old ritz a long time ago. it was their last tour together and the ritz had not yet closed down to become webster hall. during the set somebody pushed past me...hard. i looked up and all i saw was the back of a dreadlocked mohawk and a fishbone tattoo on the skull. it was angelo! i loved that band alot once. actually i loved the replacements too. still do. same with fishbone.

anyway, the guy gets on the escalator 10 feet in front of me and he's all smiles him and his old lady were making out, he was wearing a derby, i couldn't see if the tattoo was there. well something that looked like a tattoo was on the back of his head. i got off walked past him and his lady and went home. i decided to post on it but i wanted to see if i could find a recent photo of his skull. sure wnough, it wasn't angelo. besides, why the hell would he want to take a queens bound train?

—the bastard

on the choo choo

so i'm on the train this morning, and normally it isn't too crowded at 53rd and lex. it's usually light crowded as opposed to meium to large crowded on the platform as it was this morning. it happens, it's rush hour, you don't like try another mass transit system. at least we don't need those guys like is hong kong that pry people into a train for a living. that's gotta suck. it's like trying to fit 10 pounds into a 5 pound bag. anyway tha bastard deftly works his way down the platform to find a spot where there is room to stand without being all upons with the people an old numba six comes sliding in. good old numba six. good for nothing. i get one, it's crowded and i take my spot next to this woman who is rocking her super hero shades. she was also wearing her super track suit with it's super velour powers. then some guy presses into me. the bag is full ithink to myself but, this little guy is pushing his way in standard operating procedure, we as new yorkers tend to hang out in the doorway. it's wrong, can be frustrating for some but the bastard does it too. i'm on this cattle car for two stops. door opens on the same side as i got in, why the hell am i gonna trench my way in only to have to kick my way out. to be fair when the situation arises, the bastard trenches in. i only have so much patience for the guy i periodically run into who shall be known forevermore as asian guy who wields his book or copy od the economist like a weapon so i'll step in. anyway little man says, "can you step in theirs room next to you", to velour woman. she replies "can't, the woman (old bitty with head phones) next to me won't move". little guy asks, "could you ask her to move in, she has room?" velour responds with, "i axed her already, she won't move". so much for the power of velour. a valiant effort on the part of velour woman, trying to do the right thing. anyway, i suddenly realize that old bitty is listening to abba. the song is dancing queen. old bitty's powers of 70 pop music have now invade my head, i can't make it stop. we pull into 42nd street. old bitty moves. velour makes a crack about how she moves "after" it's no longer crowded. we chuckle, the abba doesn't stop. it takes hold of me

You can dance, you can jive, having the time of your life
See that girl, watch that scene, dig in the dancing queen

you'll pay old bitty! the bastard will make you pay for this awful song in my head! dammit, i can't get it out of may head. aaaaaagggggggghhhhhhh!

—the bastard

doorgate chapter 1

it begins

in retrospect, i wish that i had saved every email that went into this one. we live in this storefront apartment and we have these neighbors. when we first moved in one was friendly one wasn't so much. then we kindof greeted each other in passing and now we are duking it out over the front door. you see, our building is definitely a pre war building and being so, it is old as hell. it is sinking in the middle and every winter i have to shovel the roof to keep the roof from leaking. there is no insulation in the ceiling so when the heat rises, it literally melts the snow and then when the heat goes off, the snow re-freezes. repeat process several times and i get a water damaged bedroom.

anyway, i'm getting off message. my building also has a problem in which every summer, the humidity warps the door frame. this warping makes the door not close entirely on its own. this has been the case for the last nine years that he nice lady and i have lived in this place. for nine years every summer the door won't close on it's own. for nine years we have lived across the hall from the same neighbors who have oddly enough before this little row had started left the door unlocked on their own. you see, neighbor1 and neighbor2 both work in film and television. they work odd hours. so during the span of our time here, when i would hear one of them leave for work at 3:30 or 4:30 in the morning and when i leave for work at my usual workaday time, i would sometimes find the door unlocked. i'd lock it and move on with my day. sometimes i would hear them come home from from work at 12am or later and when i leave for work at my usual workaday time, i would sometimes find the door unlocked. i'd lock it and move on with my day. ergo, we could say that i didn't get bent out of shape when i would find this happening. it was no big deal.

we live in a nice neighborhood. you see, i'm paranoid. very paranoid. the most paranoid person i know. ask anyone who knows the bastard and they will tell you that ,"the bastard worries too much about useless nonsense, he's paranoid". so with that as a baseline, i am paranoid enough to know if the neighborhood was bad. i grew in a neighborhood that was nice-ish. when i was a teenager, you could walk down to the other side of the tracks and you'd find crack viles crunching under your feet like autumn leaves. i went to high school in jamaica queens. every winter roving bands of hooligans would chase us down and pelt us with snow balls. not so bad? well one year it snowed so bad that hey closed the school and sent us home. then i had to walk down to the bus on hillside avenue and i got jumped, nay walked on, literally by 20 black kids. that shit hurts. there was a yearly race riot in the neighborhood every spring in which roving bands of kids full of hormones would run around and beat the shit out of the white kids who were in the wrong place at the wrong time. you know when that stopped? one year when the mofo was in the school across the street from mine (in the same neighborhood as myself and the dub went to school. i should gone to st francis prep) someone walked into the lobby and splattered someone's brains across the lobby. then it stopped and i could enjoy my senior year free of beat downs. i was held at gun point on more than one occasion (one of which i may post on sometime). so what i'm saying is, if my neighborhood was bad, i would know it. i took enough sociology to know how a neighborhood decays and we're not decaying (we're a few pawn shops and dirty book stores away from that). my son goes to a good school, we live in a middle class neighborhood. there are plenty of kids and the one big downside for me is, it's noisy. i have struggled long and hard with my frustration over the noise in my neighborhood and i have gotten into a decent place with it. what do i want? i live on a main drag. drunks happen at 2 in the morning. assholes who think loud pipes save lives start their bikes up at 3 in the morning, what can you do? it's out of my hands, i try not to let it bother me.

more in part two, i'm getting off message here

—the bastard

panic on the streets of richmond.....

panic on the streets of birmingham

—smiths

robbo asked me to throw down on this one ("you need to comment on this in your blog- you need to!!!!"). robbo is funny. one of my favorite ideas guys. he has more great story ideas than you can shake a stick at but i don't think he wants to be a writer. instead he manages dead peoples money. less grief that way (come on! their dead for god's sake, can't i buy myself a bentley, their DEAD!!!). robbo is the bastard's second oldest friend so we've been at this crap since we were 6.

anyway, so this apple store in richmond virginia is giving away old iBooks for fifty bucks and a stampede starts over it. what can you say? well for starters, what the hell? where the hell is my fifty dollar laptop. oh waitaminute, jimmy3000 sold me one a ways back and it still runs 3k. either way, i think the quotable quote here comes from one brandine alexander what the hell kind of name is brandine? who the hell names their kid brandine? the barrister who is also an old friend of the bastards one time told me a strory about some time he spent in ROTC in louisiana a while back and he spent time at this shall we say, poor and urban hospital. some of the more well to do volunteers were working in the maternity wing recommending names like "si-fi-lus" and "gahnoria" to these poor uneducated women who were being cared for there. but i digress, "I've never been in something like that before, and I never again will," said BRANDINE, who brought her 14-year-old twin boys to the complex at 4:30 a.m. to wait in line. "No matter what the kids want, I already told them I'm not doing that again." look chuckles, i hate to be the bearer of bad news but if you are going to get up at 4:30 in the morning in the stinking hot heat of the south (stinking hot heat. go back and read abouth the road trip shiteyes) to buy broke ass computers, your gonna do it again when the next bargain comes along. now i'm sure this is one of those situations in which a couple of bad apples started a miniature LA riots over second hand laptops but come on be civil you frikkin jerks. all i hear out of the lowe is how "new york is so rude" and "everyone is so much more well behaved" not in new york. now to be fair, the lowe isn't the only person who tells me these things but at the end of the day, maybe the rest of the country isn't much better when it comes down to it. i could write more but i need a drinky and i have to get up early to take pictures of guns upstate in the morning so back off!

—the bastard

overheard on the subway

on these frikkin' humid days i can never seem to get any relief. even when the temperature is down, the humidity is always there like some idiot you've been on a chain gang with who won't stop talking to you about his girl ginny lou all damn day. and even if you escape the chain gang, there stupid humidity is, stuck to your leg making shit hard on you. thank god there is a number 6 train though, it's a big ole refrigerator for the commuter ready to put you on ice and ship you up to some alien landing strip in the bronx so that you can take part in some recipe from the to serve man cookbook (what the hell are you doing on new years day besides watching the twilight zone marathon, jerkface?)fortunately, the bastard avoids certain delicious alien doom by getting off at 53rd and lex.

but i digress. i was on the number 6 train and these two young ladies i will called "anguished" and "english" were in the car with me. anguished is dismayed because, "damn i gawta go tah brooklun tomorrow". and english replied that, "while you were hit-en the bitch you shoulda stolt her shit". anguished later brings up a mutual friend of hers named lynn. english puts forth the poignant query, "where am lynn be at?" now call me an elitist bastard (go on, call me one) but, i have to wonder if the teachers are doing their job. but it transcends that. how did language arrive at this destination in the rougher parts of town? i'm curious. is this a result of forced idiotic talk to buck the system? ida know. i was just astounded that someone so young obviously had to appear in court in brooklyn tomorrow for assaulting someone and her friend told her she should have robbed her while she was at it. it's just sad. sad because for one reason or another, these two chucklehads may or may not have willed them selves towards a life that will always be less than what it could have been.

—the bastard

ps: this was one of the few times i felt the need to use the spell check. maybe i'm none the better, or am i?

More on Monster

I recently told the story of the first time I heard Metallica to some folks down here that fawning over the "Black" album. The Bastard (A.K.A Some kind of Bastard) brought home a tape dubbed for him by a friend in school, (I want to say it was Rafi but The Bastard (A.K.A The Great American Bastard) can check my facts), it contained "kill 'Em All" and "Ride the Lightning." While listening to the tape, I can remember saying to myself that I had never heard something so fierce in my life. It blew anything I had been listening to at the time out of the tape deck. They were pissed, drunk and ready to crack skulls and it rang true. I remember a Sunday evening driving home from the big house in Strongs Neck listening to Metal Shop on WBAB and learning that Cliff Burton had died in a bus accident while on tour in Europe. That news was as shocking aas learning John Lennon was shot or that Marvin Gaye was murdered by his father, in each instance I knew at that very moment that I would never anything of their like again. Growing up the youngest I was exposed to the Beatles by the folks and my brothers, and I always wondered if they would ever find a way to get back together, that ended when Lennon died. Eating breakfast before school one morning, after just recently being exposed to the greatness that is Marvin Gaye, I found out that a domestic dispute between his farther and him ended with a bullet in his chest. Brother, brother, brother I hardly knew ya'. When Cliff died so did the soul of Metallica. While my brothers and i discussed at the time whether or not the band could go on, I think we all knew it was over no matter what came next for them. My last great memory of Metallica was at my very first concert, the Monsters of Rock at Giants Stadium in 1986. The Bastard (A.K.A C.E.O. of Bastards R Us) and I ventured to within 20 feet or so from the stage, this was before the tradgedy of floor seating. As we waited through a painful set from Kingdom Come, the crowd around us began to grow to almost an uncomfortable level and I won't lie, at the age of 13 at my first show I began to shit my pants. Metallica was next and the crowd around us sweeled with anticipation. As the band ripped into "Creeping Death" a large mosh pit opened up around us, I grabbed the bottom of my brother's denim vest and hung on for 45 minutes of Metallica's requiem, they would never be the same after that day. We come to find out later in life that Lars Ullrich is really an asshole on wheels, and James Hettfield became so enamored with the alcohol that had fueled him for so long that he had to give it up, and Kirk Hammett was the poor sould that had to be the go-between for a cat fight that would last for the next 15 years. Their music after Cliff's death became at best contrived and retread (e.g. Re-Load). Even Jason Newstead, Burton's replacement, got the picture and walked out on the boys a couple of years back. I enjoyed watching "Some Kind of Monster" simply because it offered answers to why Metallica watered themselves down. That and for the sheer anticipation that Dave Mustaine would stick a boot in Ullrich's ass. It seems the real friends of this mayhem were Hettfield and Mustaine but Ullrich found away to come between them. But more than that it was a comment that one of the bands representatives had said upon hearing tracks from their latest opus, "St. Anger." To paraphrase, he told the band that he hadn't heard that kind of energy since Cliff died. And there you have it, something I had been saying since I hear "And Justice For All." Now "St. Anger" is a a far cry from "Ride The Lightning," (my personal favorite from the Cliff days), but at least they seemed to get the point. It's a shame that it took 20 years to figure it out. You guys would never be the smae without Cliff and you shoud have hung it up the moment that teenage girls held up a lighter when you played "One." R.I.P fellas, "puss, fag, sluts!"

mofo

...on some kind of monsters

so i finally get around to watching some kind of monster, the metallica documentary and i have to go with the nice lady on this one. what a bunch of pantywaists. these chuckleheads were the standard bearers of my youth, half the reason i grew my hair long (allthough california apparently wanted to talk to me about that, they like the bastard bald), the other half was to see what it looked like. but man, these guys were giants. they are still wealthy but, but, they needed to hang it up..a long time ago. i remember my man miller. he sings for a hardcore band. he used to be mystified by the bands he listened to. was in awe of these bands and felt privileged to be invited to play with them. to tour with them. but, then something happened, the mystery an dawe was gone. sure he has these new friendships with these great guys that were once his idols but they aren't his idols anymore. the magic was gone. it's like a magaician revealed the secret of his tricks ro you and now it isn't so special. that part of my life is a little less special tonight. but lars ulrich did make a pretty decent buck off of his art collection. the bastards

—the bastard

creepy subway things

i'm way too lazy to take off my sunglasses on the subway. besides if the ladies who wear their oversized hedda nussbaum super hero shades can do it, then why not me. i am SUPER BASTARD or perhaps just the baba yaga ( i will commute to work in a walking house with chicken legs). anyway, there was this lady on the train and she had her digicam corder sticking out of the top of her bag and the lens is pointed in my general direction. maybe not at me but in my direction. i don't know why. my bastard sense is tingling so i set shades to scowl and i leave them there until she very UNslickly shuts it off an puts it back in her bag....defeated. i'm on to you camera lady and the bastard will use his powers of scowl on you if you don't cut that shit out. between her and homeless veteran pickpocket, i am acquiring quite the stable of enemies. what do you see to the east little wooden boy? to the bastard mobile?

—zoopah baztid

Just a taste of the useless knowledge

It seems some readers are having trouble catching my references, (See the nine, yes 9 comments attached to my last blog). Will Ferrell plays Ron Burgandy in the film "Anchorman." In the film he says among other great lines "Great Odin's Raven," and I decided to use that line in m,y last blog, who cares why it was four days ago, let's move on. What's really killing me is that these comments are fixated on the sheaves fracas. Now I still couldn't tell you what sheave is, but I can tell you Burl Ives has recorded a version of it. I can also tell you that on the 70's-80's long running drama "Little House on the Prairie" everytime the Ingals were in church, the congregation would always sing "Bringing in the Sheaves", like that was the only hymn they knew. Merlin Olsen ex-NFLer and broadcaster was also an actor, among other great roles like the butler in "Mitchel" Olsen potrayed Father Murphy, late in the shows run, long after the sheaves had been brought in wherever they are brought. The character Father Murphy would be spun off into his own series, wait for it, --"Father Murphy." The show failed, and so did Olsen's career as a TV star.

For the record, "and I loot..." is from the Desmond Dekkar classic "007 (Shanty Town). Apparently some of readers haven't gotten there yet, they're still rocking out to the new Motorhead. By the way, when is the new Big Chief record coming out?

Mofo on the corner...Mofo!

cb's stays here for now...

...or on turning our backs



well hilly dodges eviction but i wonder. in a new york city where there is a gap on every corner and several pottery barns do we deserve to keep our cultural institutions? do we go to the museum to look at art to do we go to be seen by others? do we forsake our cultural institutions? maybe we don't deserve a cbgbs. make no mistake kids, those yuppies down in the bowery who want to build a gentrified paradise are going to be real pissed when their kids move to vegas to start a punk band.

—the bastard

trixies, wizards, and stews...oh my

so finally i can finish up the travel blog with the flight home. the bastard and son were given two tickects outta dodge via phoenix. we were in tucson but it was cheaper to fly out of phoenix and besides we get more roadtrip out of it. so it's fun, in theory but i always get ansty when the nice lady and i go our separate ways and i was absolutely awful to everyone due to my crabbiness. but the nice lady still gave me a kiss at the airport lucky bastard that i am (and i am). sky harbor airport is very laid back and security was much more lax than new york has been. you still have to take off your shoes (thank you richard reid) but, the staff is much nicer about it, almost playful. it's not like kennedy where low paid nazis yell at you to leave as you are putting your luggage in the car to get into your parents car to go home (message to security, the 35 year old with the 5 year old doesn't have the bomb and for that matter the shit will not, i repeat WILL NOT go down in the drop off/pick up area. the guy with the bomb is on the plane already because you chuckleheads can't profile anyone so you hassle folks that don't fit the profile so the politically correct don't sue your already underpaid ass).



anyway, we get to the airport and get on the plane. the boy an di get into the first row. you see, southwest does seating on a first come first serve way and i have a child with me so i make pre boarding fun. the boy is a little ticked that i grabbed the front row because he wanted a tray to rest his big boy drink on so he can act all adult like. i apologized thinking that i want off of this thing as soon as we touch down at the transfer in chi-town. i heard their airport is big and i don't want to have to play running man with a five year old. trip goes off like clock work. we land in chicago and our gate is right across the street from where we are totally sweet! we settle in and get some macdonalds. then we had to return to macdonalds because i forgot to pick up our drinks. time was growing short and i discovered that the boy likes people movers because he likes to stand still on them and watch the world move. i wasn't ready for this so i had to adjust to not rushing across a people mover.



things were much more interesting at midway. the second city has a species called trixies here. now jerkface told me about the lincoln park trixies (he's from illinois) a while back but i had never seen them in the wild. i didn't know it was one of them until trixie one started going on about how she cried so much during season six of sex in the city and then i knew. i knew i had finallly spotted one of these creatures in their natural habitat. quickly i scrambled to write this little incident down because i forget things all of the time in the short term. anyway, i've always found the sex in the city fan fascinating but them again they are kind of lke the seinfeld fan. they reference the show all the time. not that i don't quote TV swhows, the nice lady will tell you that (simpsons, family guy, put show or movie title here). but they not only reference the show, they kind of live by it which for my friends who are dating find unendurable. new york has become this dating landscape of folks channeling bloody sarah jessica parker (you ever notice how much she looks like a drag queen?). they live by the show, kind of like trekkies? hmmm maybe theirs something there. only sex in the city fans would rather wear manolo blaniks than wear the red shirt.



as we're waiting for the flight to board the boy is asking me questions about air travel and as i answer him i notice that this woman is sitting down with her laptop and i scowling at my son every time he opens his mouth. eventually she bangs up the volume on her dvd to drown out our voices and i think, "what a jerk, it's not like the boy is shouting, we're just chatting, hey waitaminute, isn't she watching a harry potter movie on her iBook?" then it struck me ironic, this woman who cleary is scorning my child is watching a childrens movie. it reminded me of this time i was in an ice cream shop with the nice lady and the male couple in front of us on line were complaining (really really meanly) about the children IN AN ICE CREAM SHOPPE. maybe they weren't ready for children....oop...maybe they didn't have a uterus. and i thought maybe this woman was barren (yeah, i said that) or just not ready for muggle children that don't school themselves at hogwarts. asshole.



ok, this s sttarting to run long. long story short, the flight from chicago had a blown engine header, we had to move a different plane. the bastard left his glasses on the old plane and boy and i had to airport chase scene over to the old terminal to get the glasses and the plane had already pulled out. the kind and very chicagoesque staff (ditka!) at ATA helped get my glasses back by passing them into the cockpit of the plane we were on. all praise to the ATA people. they know all about customer service because i would have told me to go to hell. anyway, landed at laguardia on 3 wheels which is the standard operating procedure there (landing there is spooky) and the rents took me home where i worked to jet lag.

—the bastard

conversations on the subway

warning, i'm gonna curse alot now. so hide the kids.


so i head out of work to get on the old number 6 which i like to call the fridge because i can't wait to get on it during this time of year it's so cold and a homeless man gets on. i've seen this guy before but i've never been close to him before. the speech runs as follows:

"good evening, i'd like to take some of your time (focus on take) tonight to talk with you. you see, i am homeless, and a veteran, and the only benefits i receive are from you kind people (which is red flag number one for me, all vets have some benefits of some sort no matter how much they suck). so if you have any food or cigarettes to help me get through the day it would be much apprecated. thank you and god bless you (they always reel the christians in with that one).

so as a matter of principal i tend to over analyze said homeless person's story and pass on donating. i generally don't donate to random homeless folks ever (at least monetarily) since the one guy the nice lady and i offered a slice of pizza to and he declined because he wanted a beer (so i got him a beer. what can i say, i was in a good mood that night. the nice lady brings that out in me). but as he brushed by me he said clearly near me, "you know it's a good thing that i don't pick pockets anymore because you leave your shit wide open, alot of you do".

now cue answer brain had but did not use to avoid public violence:

"why don't you go to hell you frikkin' skell. I'm lucky? I"M LUCKY? no no no shiteyes, it is you that is lucky that we live in a rational society that keeps me from acting on the urge to stab you in the fucking neck and breaking the blade off. it isn't my fault that instead of trying to make something of yourself, you crawled into a bottle, or a crack pipe or both. maybe you did lose your job, don't you have friends to help you out? were you too damn proud to take that job at macdonalds to get by at the time. when i was out of work my wife was ready to take a damn night shift job at the home depot until we got back on our feet and fortunately we did in quick stead. but everyone's not always that lucky. sometimes we have to do shit that we don't want to and maybe you should have. oh and so sorry about the whole bleeding neck, could somebody call a doctor?"

just trying to blow off some steam. i really do feel (felt) for the homeless but, since that night when the guy wanted beer instead of a leg up (or a pizza up) i have had mixed feelings about it. i know from friends that are in the program that addiction is a very real thing but, the ownness id on you to pull yourself out. ida know, shut up.

—the bastard

running the gauntlet 4

you know, it just figures. the boy has been asking to come to work with the bastard for months (at least ever since i brought him out to out old job for a visit) and wouldn't you know it, during lunch the police close off 32nd street due to concern over an abandoned black bag. gotta love it.

—the bastard

back in the saddle

back in the office. i have to write a lengthy diatribe about my trip home and i might do that tonight because misadventures were had, lincoln park trixies were made fun of, and child haters were abound. in the mean time the boy and i are in the office, it's stinking hot here. i mean AZ was hot but, it's sticky here. the mofo knows from sticky so he know how the bastard feels. more to come

—the bastard

And I loot and I shoot and I will...

So I've been off the grid for the last few days. My cousin/roomate had her friends from Tampa down. They're lesbians and I do believe I've had enough of Melissa Etheridge and Ani DiFranco for a lifetime. I'm not quite sure I understand the idea of a committed lesbian relationship. It has always been my observation that no two women can get along for more than six months at a time. I mean, great Odin's raven, (thanks for the line Will), there was enough drama in my house to rival that of Henry V! To top it off I offered up my services to help move my aunt's family's multitude of shit into there new house with one other dude only to be welcomed back to my humble abode by a rousing chorus of "Come to My Window". No thanks.

Anyway, my newest port of call for Surfside Electric is Immokolee, FL. It's about 50 some odd miles south of my area. Immokolee's previous claim to fame was Edgerrin James, running back for the Indianiapolis Colts, he went to high school there before moving on to the University of Miami and so on. Now it is known for the Seminole Casino, yet another house of gambling run by and self contained on so-called "Native American land." Don't get me wrong, I have no problem with the natives of the Americas pulling themselves up by the boot straps and becoming economically healthy again by opening casinos, especially when it would be their land anyway had we not raped, pillaged and infested them with European disease. However, it seems to me that the people actually running these casinos have less to do with plight of the indigenous people of the Americas than Chief Knockahoma. But that is a subject for another time. As I drove into Immokolee I couldn't help but notice I was driving into a shanty town, I was half waiting for Desmond Dekkar and Jimmy Cliff to jump out of alley and ask fe me cash, mon. Florida get's more government aid than New York and California with hardly the population to back it up, so how is it that its schools rank close to the bottom in the entire nation and I can end up in a scene from the "Harder They Come"?

Happy birthday to the mother of the Bastard (aka Agent 00Bastard) and the motherfucker. She is niether a bastard or mofo, she's just mommy! Love ya'!

the mofo.

endgame...i'll take the high road...

...and you'll take the low
and i'll be in scotland afore ye

that's right kiddies, the bastard is flying home from sunny arizona where i have been staying at the fortress of solitude of mr. and mrs. the fist of kung fu. you see the bastard's brother in law is a real live sensei. not too many people can actually say that, so shut the hell up, you ain't a sensei, jerkface!!! actually i do tease the fist and he is quite tolerant of my humorous barbs, which leads me to two conclusions: he actually finds the bastard amusing or he's got the patience of the triads and he'll take me out later on in life when i have the most to lose. come on, didn't anyone see the yakuza with james caan? either way, fair is fair.

anyway, i would like to thank the fist of kung and his lovely wife for putting us up at their lovely house (and it is lovely, you gotta see this thing, wait, i'll show you, crazy digital cameras).



nice new construction



vaulted ceilings



nice back yard



with a view of the desert. what's not to love

tomorrow morning, the boy and i are heading out on the first auto gyro out of phoenix (no you didn't doze, i'm in tucson, nothing is easy, is it?) and we will be settling in to the lovely stylings of frikkin jet lag. good thing i don't go back to the salt mines until tuesday. till then....

—the bastard

sheaves revealed

dear elder, i will let you off the hook. and i'm only doing it because jimmy3000 was asking too. the sheaves that the mofo refers to are in reference to the song bringing in the sheaves. when i used to pick up the nice lady on the way to school when we went to college i used to get her while her mom was getting ready for work. now the mother in law is born again. at the time before she discovered the easy on the eyes stylings of carmen, she used to listen to family radio and this 2 tape set of christian favorites. one tape featured burl ives (of rudolph the red nosed reindeer fame), singing bringing in the sheaves. she listened to the tape so frequently, that i was dropping by 4 out of 5 days of the school week and hearing it twice a week. sometimes (and to be honest rarely but it must have happened at least twice for me to remember this stuff) i would hear it every morning.



one night the mofo and i were drinking and hashing out things after he got back from work at tower records and i made mention of this to him. he found it to be funny as hell. that is the mofo's gift. he remembers minutia that was once funny to me and then brings that beat back.



case in point. we have this dentist that looks alot like peter sellers. i'm at the dentist and he asks me if i had seen the mofo lately, that he owes him a visit. i go home and he's chillin' out, smoking a camel and i tell him that the dentist was asking where he was and mofo responds (without missing a beat), "next time you see him, you tell him i'm in his fridge waiting for him."

—not now bastard, ahm trying to use the phen

...on sonic

when the bastard travels, his goals are usually less touristy. his goals are more gastronomical. when i went to paris, i wanted steak frites and french onion soup. when i go to arizona i want mexican. we're close to the border and it's as close as i'm going to get to the real thing until they clean up ciudad de juarez. however, i have recently taken up a quest to come up with my favorite hamburgers. i already have a top 5 death scenes in movies and a top 5 list of steaks i've had, so i figure why not a top 5 burgers. i started off with a bunch of places in nyc that i likes a lot.

but once upon a time there was a sonic in suffolk county and then it was gone, denying me my sonic experience. but, the nice lady told me that there wereplenty to be had on the road so i became jazzed. i later found out that quite like grade 8 bolts the lowe complained that he can't find slushies in ny (the lowe's disdain for nyc's lack of oscure things that you can only find at a farm and fleet knows no bounds). so upon acheiving that goal at dairy queen we picked up the boy and the mom in law at the studio of kung fu and went straight to sonic. now susie kansas (big sonic fan from wichita) told me what i should order but i decided to order otherwise. got a bacon chee with chee fries and a big ass grape slushy. it was good. maybe top 5 good, but , it was good and i feel better having experienced sonic.

—bastard burger with a side of fries

bastard went over the mountain...part deux

so the day after we arrive, the mother in law opts to take the boy to a karate class at the fist of kung fu's studio. we opt to go up onto the mountian. mount lemmon. you know, we didn't find jack lemmon's body up there or actual lemons (mmmmmm lemony) but, we'll keep looking. mount lemmon is much taller than the other hills i have been up and down on the east coast and there was even a prison up here. but the thing i enjoyed was the change in terrain. starts off with cactus and when you get up top, pine.


there was a great deal of rock formations that i found downright interesting but then again what the hell else are you gonna do out there in the desert...die of thirst. it's funny, we brought some drinky supplies and while we were climbing up in the scout, the bastard was trying to keep hydrated which is no easy feat considerring how my esteemed brother has spoken earlier about my ability to throw back liquids on any given day. since it is monsoon season there were remnants of water up on the mountain which was funny to me momentarly because we were in the desert (mmmmmmmm dessert).



now the funny thing for me was as i was returning from photographing augustus gloomp's wet dream here, i started to feel dizzy and all the other symptoms that go with heat stress so i bum rushed back to the scout to chug a gatorade. my senses returned and shortly there after so did the nice andy and the lowe who were taking photos with cameras more advanced than the space shuttle's. then again, i'm beginning to think that one of those airplanes that run on rubberband power are more advanced than the shuttle but, that's a different rant.


got about seven thousand feet up when we started to lose interest and we stopped. i got a picture of this burnt out pine. about 2 years ago, half of this mountain was on fire and toasted half of the coronado national forest. i put vladimir up on a tree so that we have proof that communist can make it up a mountain in an international scout



finished, we headed back down, took some more pix on the way down. the lowe did his best not to careen his way down. pretty stable box he drives. follwed up with a trip to sonic

—bas

bastards head west 4...

...or the sheaves have arrived.


we actually came in yesterday about 6ish but i didn't get to post until now. i have retro-dated some posts to keep the travelog feel but there all based on entrys made on the bastards phone. i'd like to thank the mofo for holding up his end (thanks shiteyes). i'm going to go take some pitchers so i can post them when i get home.

-the biz-zastard