...on antichrists

...or on anarchists

well what d'ya know. the sex pistols are getting inducted into the rock and roll hall of fame. the bastard doesn't quite know how to feel about it. ahhhhhhh fuck it. i know how i feel. i never really did like the idea of the rock and roll hall of fame. since the dub IS more of a fan of it than i, at least the bastard can sleep soundly knowing that there will be debate and that's truly what's important. but i digress, i never liked the idea of putting a bunch of displays in effing ohio and calling it the place to go to see what it was all about . this rock and roll thing, this youth culture thing. god, it's in fucking cleveland. isn't that the city spinal tap was lost backstage in? hellllllllloooooooooo cleveland! look i don't care what all the little chicks with the crimson lips say about cleveland rocking, i ain't dating them, so i don't value their opinion on things. they could have at least built the damn place in detroit. but then who wants to go to detroit? ida know.

i never really like the idea of it, music is a state of mind, not a place you visit, i could go on about the exp music place in seattle too but that guy from microsoft has to spend his money on something. i have an idea. knock down the exp music project and buy me a frikkin house. nothing fancy, just something off the main drag. anyway, i am also really ambiguous about the whole nomination process, i find all things of this nature as inherently slanted usually has folks that are desperately out of touch in charge of it. i still maintain that sinead o connor should have won best female grammy for the lion and the cobra over tina turner's private dancer. the album had been out for 2 years and tina didn't even put anything out that year. and don't get me started about the whole jethro tull/metallica thing. that's a bit of a sore spot around the dinner table, you know. the other thing is, the rock and roll hall of fame may eventually get to everyone but and the bastard hates to play "moving the goal post" with them but there will always be a more relevant act than who is nominated that year. let me ask you this, do you think the bad brains would ever be nominated into the rock hall. they are quite possibly one of the greatest/underrated punk acts and they are not even a foot note. you know what the bastard's dream is? i always had this about Pil and the grammys. and i imagined that upon receiving such an award john lydon would go up on stage, beat the presenter to death with the award and then proceed to draw himself a pint out of adam curry's skull (or perhaps that corpse kurt loder) while shouting "exterminate, exterminate" at the top of his lungs. steve jones would follow up by calling downtown julie brown a "dirty fuckah". glen matlock would of course be a frikkin' ponce, as he IS a frikking ponce. anyway, that's what keeps me warm at night.

i have similar feelings about about black sabbath being nominated because their fat sound is just too big for the room. i feel that their very presence will cause the very auditorium to instantly grow great fields of wheelchair in the aisles. chuck norris will somehow be involved. don't worry it'll be good, and there will be plenty of roundhouse kicks and that dog from the black sabbath cartoon....doom doom. now go drink coffee, jerkface.

—the bastard

...on casting and biopics

...or the voight kampf test

now the bastard has gotta ask you, you know who you are. the collective you. is it just the bastard, or is it kind of creepy that john voight will be playing the pope in a 4 hour made for TV biopic?


you see, the bastard first saw john voight in midnight cowboy in which he plays a naive male prostitute who comes up from the sticks to seek his fortune and he befrieds a sickly guy named ratso played by dustin hoffman. actually, it's a great film but, it strikes the bastard funny, that's all. well good for john not getting all typecast and such.

—the bastard

...on masters

...or perhaps on commanders

last night the bastard had time to kill after dinner and monday television is a desert when you don't have cable. but then again, if i recall monday night WITH cable is a desert. or is it desssert? mmmmmmmmm. anyway, i was watching master and commander instead and i forgot how it is one of the best/most claustrophobic films ever. it also happens to be a brilliant movie about friendship. also, it made me wonder if they actually filmed the galapagos island scene on the islands themselves and if that was the case then, i have to get down there to look at monster sized tortoises. oh yeah and i'll have to sink a french frigate while i'm at it. ARR!

—the bastard

all my ghosts

...or on how maybe you can go home again

about a week or so ago, the bastard was standing on the platform staring out into space when his peripherals went off. i was standing too close to the yellow line while folks were trying to pass on a narrow span overlooking springfield blvd when what should appear to me but a ghost. sure, he looked older, still a little round in the middle, just like how i remember him when i met him 26 or so years ago when i used to shun the dub's friends or rather they shunned me and i only played with hyson and yvan. you form your own petty little fiefdoms when you're a kid and you exclude and include as your pathetic grasp of reason lets you. anyway, the bastard said, "looks like 'em, but no one's here anymore. their all gone. gone to the four winds. besides, why the hell would he acknowledge an old bastard such as myself." and the bastard resumed his staring contest with the wind, hoping like hell that it gets better.

tonight, the bastard decided to spend his gift certificate for the container store. apparently, i need containers. as the basement fills up with the bare necessities, i need something to put some of it into something. so i make my way to the platform bumping the unwieldly thing into people excusing myself like never before. this time i was the offending idiot and i took full responsibility. i can't find a good spot so i keep rolling down the track until i get my spot. and what should my eyes see but, there he is again. the ghost of mr. october. right there in front of me and i take in a good look. damn straight it's him. he looks like a man fulfilled. he's talking to his guys and one gets off at jamaica and seats clear off and mr. october and remaining friend sit down, i opt to join them. as i sit i ask him and before i can get past, "aren't you...", he asks, "are you the bastard?" damn, i had a laugh, face to face with this ghost from my past. this kid i used to play football on the corner with. his brother is in the service in virginia, his sister moved to san antonio and he moved around the corner. i knew his parents house was for sale but, i never in a million years thought anyone would still be in this place i spent so much of my time trying to get out of. mr. october felt that if this neighborhood was good enough to raise him, then this neighborhood is good enough for him and his wife to grow old in. made the bastard feel like it's going to be okay. because you can come home again.

—the bastard

...on sleep

...or perchance to dream

i think the bastard is going to have to start hitting himself with a mallet on sunday nights, i'm finding it impossible to get to bed on sunday nights for some reason.

...or on all tomorrow's parties

also, i keep forgetting to mention this. the bastard has noticed since his commute takes him east on 33rd street, he keeps coming across 22 east 33rd street. it is being demolished right now, no doubt to make room for more unaffordable housing in the area but it used to be andy warhol's last "factory" before he died. it makes the bastard wonder what will be left for the aliens when they come 10,000 years from now to see what kind of society existed on this rock only to find alot of duane reed drug stores and gaps.

...or on a ritual

on a sad note, left hand rob reports that pat morita has passed away. all though i actually have seen all of the karate kid movies (even the awful one with hillary swank) i will always remember him as arnold. the nice lady however might well raise a glass of tang to his memory.

—the bastard

...on a good bird

well, the bastard likes the notion of new experiences. however his body likes to take it's own damn time on these things. a long time ago back when the bastard and the nice lady were in college, the nice lady pointed out this little poem from the norton's anthology of poetry. standard issue for all college students who have to take at least 3 semesters of english. the nice lady was smarter though, she was in the honors of the western tradition track. she didn't have to take the required classes, she could take what she wanted. this is why she's so well rounded. moreso than the bastard. well, this year the nice lady and i are dining seperately for thanksgiving due to certain circumstances that i won't be going into. anyway, i have come to find "sign of the times" to be my favorite poem about the holiday however, i 'm not sure if there are other poems about thanksgiving. feel free to suggest a few. but i figured on posting it because i like it and because i'm thinking of her. i think of her alot. happy thanksgiving.

Paul Laurence Dunbar (1872-1906)
Signs of the Times

Air a-gittin' cool an' coolah,
Frost a-comin' in de night,
Hicka' nuts an' wa'nuts fallin',
Possum keepin' out o' sight.
Tu'key struttin' in de ba'nya'd,
Nary a step so proud ez his;
Keep on struttin', Mistah Tu'key,
Yo' do' know whut time it is.

Cidah press commence a-squeakin'
Eatin' apples sto'ed away,
Chillun swa'min' 'roun' lak ho'nets,
Huntin' aigs ermung de hay.
Mistah Tu'key keep on gobblin'
At de geese a-flyin' souf,
Oomph! dat bird do' know whut's comin';
Ef he did he'd shet his mouf.

Pumpkin gittin' good an' yallah
Mek me open up my eyes;
Seems lak it's a-lookin' at me
Jes' a-la'in' dah sayin' "Pies."
Tu'key gobbler gwine 'roun' blowin',
Gwine 'roun' gibbin' sass an' slack;
Keep on talkin', Mistah Tu'key,
You ain't seed no almanac.

Fa'mer walkin' th'oo de ba'nya'd
Seein' how things is comin' on,
Sees ef all de fowls is fatt'nin' --
Good times comin' sho's you bo'n.
Hyeahs dat tu'key gobbler braggin',
Den his face break in a smile --
Nebbah min', you sassy rascal,
He's gwine nab you atter while.

Choppin' suet in de kitchen,
Stonin' raisins in de hall,
Beef a-cookin' fu' de mince meat,
Spices groun' -- I smell 'em all.
Look hyeah, Tu'key, stop dat gobblin',
You ain' luned de sense ob feah,
You ol' fool, yo' naik's in dangah,
Do' you know Thanksgibbin's hyeah?

don't think me so low brow kids, we had pastor read a poem by john donne on our wedding day. how's that for remembering things? stupid old man, go stuff your face. hope your bird turned out okay mofo.

—the bastard

...on combinations

ok quick gastronomy lesson:

when the bastard and crew received our major award earlier this month, we went out for barbecue and the bastard got himself a big old rack of messy kansas city style (messy) ribs. to drink the bastard got himself an octoberfest brew. big mistake as it really came back to bite me on the ass later on in the day. it just didn't pair well. today, the editor took me out for lunch and we got pulled pork sammiches. the right combo was anchor steam. wonderous creation brought to us by fritz maytag. good times. well there's my thanksgiving. enjoy yours jerkface.

—the bastard

lights out

translated literally from german that's what it says. this poster comes to us courtesy of the boot czar. the czar, is our new new products guy and a damn good photographer who was the cover story that won us the folio award. also, bootsy sent me the bestest nastiest knife after we photogrpahed it for new products. spookiest thing i own. actually the spookiest knife the bastard owns is a klingon knife but bootsy's will actually be taken seriously in a bad situation. anyway the boot czar just came back from what i believe was a hunt in austria and he stopped by whatever passes for a museum dedicated to world war 2 over there. i think this poster might have been next to the poster that denied their involvement with holocaust. i couldn't say, and i wouldn't. ain't the bastard's place but from what i could tell there is a little bit of rug sweeping going on over there and why wouldn't they. i'd feel ashamedtoo if my country was involved in something that bad too. oh waitaminute...we were. anyway, it's good to see the boot czar is back on this side of the pond, ready for action.

—the bastard

...on delays

...or baby it's cold outside

so the bastard got to experience the bitch goddess side of the railroad in the form of delays and i realized something about my choice of attire. it's designed for quick movement so standing on a platform defeats the purpose of it. you see, i'm think in this technical mind set because the editor came back from a hunt in saskatchewan on monay. it was minus 7 degrees on a deerstand 2 hours north of sasketoon and he's up there questioning his own sanity (which could add up to some good reading material when he finally writes that book one day) before he finally nailed a 275 pound monster. anyway, the editor went up with all of this cold weather gear for the hunt and he realized that it is designed to keep you warm while moving, not standing still for 11 hours in a deer stand up in a tree. brrrrrrrrr. the bastard totally understands now. the bastard rocks a mackintosh trench coat with a liner and i walk briskly with a full head of steam down the block. being that i normally run warm, this gives my body heat a chance to escape while i exert myself so i don't break a sweat when i get to the train. nobody wants to see a sweaty bastard. so standing on the platform as the wind cuts through is a rough treatment to say the least. anyway long story short, bastard gets cold, bastard gets on train, bastard get's to the place and eats pasta and everyone is happy. except for you jerks who don't eat refined starches. go to hell.

—the bastard

x marks the spot

...or on how it wasn't a hoax
now the bastard doesn't want to spend too much more time on this because i had a funny bit of miscoordination with the dubble platinum elder this morning but more on that later. apparently this "x" business has grown legs and cnn is launching an internal investigation. it can be read at drudge but here it is because of the bastard's love that dare not speak it's name for cutting and pasting:

XXXXX DRUDGE REPORT XXXXX TUE NOV 22, 2005 08:25:48 ET XXXXX

**Exclusive**

CNN SENIOR MANAGEMENT LAUNCHES INVESTIGATION OF CHENEY 'X'; CONTROL ROOM STAFFER 'LAUGHED' WHEN X FLASHED

CNN management has launched an internal investigation into how a giant black 'X' mark appeared over Vice President Dick Cheney's face -- as he delivered a speech from Washington on Monday!

"We are taking this matter very, very seriously, and I can assure you no one at this network would ever deliberately place an 'X' over the vice president's face," a top CNN source, who asked not to be named at this time, said from New York.

A well-placed CNN insider claims a control room staffer "laughed" when the image appeared shortly after 11 am.

A careful review of the tape now shows a white colored 'X' was also transposed over Cheney's face during the speech, it appeared for less than 1/15 of a second, creating a startling flash effect.

CNN spokeswoman Laurie Goldberg emails: "We concluded this was a technological malfunction not an issue of operator error. A portion of the switcher experienced a momentary glitch. We obviously regret that it happened and are working on the equipment to ensure it is not repeated."

A rival network news director asks: "When has an 'X' ever aired on CNN before? Who had the graphic sitting in the key signal? Who generated the 'X'?"

The vice president himself is said to have brushed off the incident, a White House source said early Tuesday morning.

Developing...

now i know what your saying. "bastard, this is merely just a diversion from the real facts. that cheney is the devil and he eats babies and george bush is a dummy/evil genius. and does this ché guevara shirt make me look fat, or like an iconoclast? or perhaps a sheep for pimping the head of castro's firing squad?" i don't know kids and yes you do look fat in that shirt. but, i'll say this. this is just some fucking clownshoes for all of us to have something to talk about at the dinner table this thursday. the real issue i'd rather discusss is perhaps the content of cheney's speech. or perhaps on how i think that joe biden is a bag of shit. but in the meantime the bastard would like to drink his coffee and look at forever. get to work stupid!!!

—the bastard

the bastard puts his paranoid hat on

...or on what liberal media?

now the bastard doesn't want to get all upons considerring this is being reported on the overnights and by drudge soley but, i came across this as i was checking the news before bed.


XXXXX DRUDGE REPORT XXXXX MON NOV 21, 2005 21:25:35 ET

CNN MARKS CHENEY: NETWORK FLASHES 'X' OVER VP'S FACE DURING LIVE SPEECH

**Exclusive**

At 11:04:45 AM ET Monday CNN was airing Vice President Dick Cheney's speech live from the American Enterprise Institute in Washington -- when a large black 'X' repeatedly flashed over the vice president's face!

The 'X' over Cheney's face appeared each time less than a second, creating an odd subliminal effect.

As this DRUDGE REPORT screen capture reveals, while one 'X' flashed over Cheney's face CNN ran a headline at the bottom of its screen: "CHENEY: I DO NOT BELIEVE IT IS WRONG TO CRITICIZE."

One top White House source expressed concern about what was aired over CNN.

"Is someone in Atlanta trying to tell us something?"

A CNN spokesman did not return repeated calls late Monday night.

Developing...http://www.blogger.com/img/gl.link.gif

now i have to ask. is east annexia at war with oceaniana or is there something funny going on? i sincerely hope to wake up tomorrow morning to find that this is a hoax and i can get back to bitching about my commute because if it's true (and if it is, my cash money bet is soemone who will soon be unemployed on staff was having fun at mr cheney's expense) then it makes the bastard wonder if bernie goldberg wasn't blowing smoke up my ass. but between you and me, i hope this business isn't a hoax. it's about time the culture war was a little bit less discreet. go to bed shiteyes.

—the bastard

ottoman

so the bastard rolls into the station today and i guess something was going on because 3 or 4 trains buzzed past us. it's all good. i'm still here early. but then things that really got me to thinking was this. do long islanders feel that the train is their fucking living room? the bastard comes from a subway background. he sits down and puts his bag on his lap. i make sure that if someone needs the seat next to me, its clear.

OK QUICK SIDEBAR: i one time read this story in wired magazine about corporate air travel. i no longer have the issue in print but thanks to the wonders of the world wide webiverse i went to wired.com and found the article. for the long form go here to read "life sucks and then you fly. however if you want the bastard's shortened version. it goes like this. the article is about the hump that is corporate travel. the side bit is a few "tips and tricks" for corporate flight. you know, pretending to be asleep to avoid talking to the chatty guy on the shuttle. anyway, the quotable quote that made me think this morning was this:

"Get a window seat and build a fortress around yourself. I bring 40 CDs and 20 trade rags." - Danny Rimer, Hambrecht & Quist

i wish i had the corresponding illustration of the guy building the fort but alas, the internet only has so much. so we'll just have to rely on peter griffin to show us the way.

meanwhile back at the ranch: so i get on the train and there's this guys sitting in one of the cubes of facing seats. i find it interesting how the railroad has facing seats that resemble cubicles. anyway young grey haired guy looks up, annoyed that someone is in his cube and he's reading the times, and he doesn't know the fold, which is always a hallmark of bad commuting manners. then homes has his paper all upon his seat next to him and his busted ass briefcase and it made me think of the fort quote form this old wired article from 1999. so i take out the book and mind my business. when we pull into hollis, he has a near miss with me while doing the flap. i'll never understand how people can't seem to keep an ounces light section of paper aloft. it's not like you're reading a ten pound weight at eye level, shiteyes. anyway, we get to jamaice and seeing that no one else is getting on (odd), homes puts his feet up to do the crossword puzzle. what the hell? all of a sudden i'm wonderring why we live in a society that prevents me from pulling the steel out of my pocket and jabbing him in the leg saying, "put your foot down stupid, this isn't your living room. i am shocked at the weird sense of entitlement that these people have as if this train is theirs by divine right of kingship. maybe that's why these trian look like crap so often.

the irony of it is, as the bastard was getting off the train as we pulled into penn, and i made no hesitation of making the most irritating exit i could for home's benefit, the announcer comes on and reminds us to take our crap with us as we get off because we don't want the damn bomb squad getting all jack boot on us. but, then he thanks us for not keeping our feet on the seats. i had to laugh, then look, then laugh some more. here's to the LIRR, and to the end of irony.

—the bastard

...on lemmings

...or more dispatches from the LIRR

dear long island commuters,

lemmings, lemmings, lemmings! you're all a bunch of frikkin LEMMINGS! and now the bastard is one too. maybe the orderly fashion of the subway has spoiled the bastard but this i cannot take. you all stand around like lemmings waiting for a direction to walk in and it's ridiculous.

love always,

the bastard

anyway, so the bastard goes out to dinner tonight with old school. i've known old school about 20 years. she used to help me with my homework in high school. you see, the bastard was always a smart ass but he wasn't always driven to take care of things. just ask cuzzin aces about the leather vest that he asked me to paint a king diamond album cover on and the 2 year period it took me to finish it. took so long that when aces got it back, it didn't fit him. now he has to pay to see the vest when he goes to see dean thrilla's band play on the offset chance that he'll wear it. needless to say, that might be a factor in why thrilla never gave me any work from his band which actualy puts out albums. not everyone can say that they know someone who puts out music. waitaminute, so does the mad russian. okay to clarify, not everyone knows someone who puts out their own music and has it add up to sales so BACK OFF! anyway, in sophomore year, the bastard discovered heavy metal and alcohol so he couldn't be bothered to do his homework. too cool for school so to speak. anyway, i believe i met old school the day that i asked her if i could copy her homework before an electronics class i was taking and she said yes and a friendship was born.

so, tonight we had dinner with some of her coworkers to celebrate old school's birthday adn i went uptown for it. little lesson that the bastard had learned. it is best to order bottom shelf liquor in the upper west side because the bastard didn't get nearly as drunk as could have for $22.50. besides the gin tasted bottom shelf so i'm inclined to think i was drinking bottom shelf. oh well you learn.

so on the way home i head down to penn and i am greeted by this familiar sight. the lemmings. because the LIRR doesn't know what track a train that's leaving in more than 10 minutes is going to be, they make you stand around taking up space, staring at a frikkin screen waiting to find out what track it's going to be on. ANNOYING. and they are transfixed like zombies.

so the bastard knows he's early, so he gets a cup of coffee and dessert. after they shoo the homeless person out of the store i grab some chair and enjoy my overpriced repast. then these two ladies sit down within ear shot. very nasal like old biddies they proceed to go on about the price of nuts, the kind of nuts they eat and how you can but them at fucking trader joes as opposed to costco, what kind of dogs they like, what kind of dogs they have, what kind of dogs they neighbor from down the street has, what kind of dog some lady they know in forest hill has and the kind of nuts she eats. and oh i can't drink the coffee here so i drink the cappuccino because i can't drink the coffee it's too strong aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh shaddup. there's nothing more like the ninth concentric circle of hell than two old biddies (and they aren't even old) yakking about the inanities of their unadventurous lives, i want to kill myself. isn't their anything relavent for you to talk about. seen any good movies? how bout those knicks? ida know. maybe my small talk sounds annoying to others as well. never thought about it. but then again, i'm betting not.

—the bastard

a return

Went to go see the dirty stay out this past weekend. She was a friend of the ex who moved down to the East Coast ofd purgatory recently. She had called me to let me know that life sucked just as much on the other coast and we should meet up and comiserate. So across Rt. 80 I went and it might as well been I 80 for all the empty plains I saw I may way around Lake Okeechobee, that's that hole in the middle of Florida you see on the map. Anyway, we had a blast the stay-out has always been one of those people you hang out with that makes you wonder why you even bother hanging out with other people. Alas, Sunday came and it was back to my cage. It sucks I have to drive 2 and a half hours to find some people, (her brother was also cool, both from NYC) that are worth hanging with down here. It makes me think what the fuck I'm doing here. But that's a question to ask after, when can I actually get some money saved, until then all I can say is, sigh.

mofo

...on the line

so the bastard went to visit his mother this evening. she had her hip replaced and the bastard sees how these are the trappings of gettin gold and i find that said but to see her in good spirits and rolling about made me feel better about it. one can't spend the whole day pontificating on how we as adults are inherently unhappy with being grown up for a minute. but that's another discussion for another time. after heading back to the car with the wind in my face and enjoying it i turn the key and cued up in the player was "i hung my head" by johnny cash. the recording in question was from his last which was the when the man comes around sessions and i thought hard on the man in black. the song was beautiful in it's simplicity. all of his songs were. the crying shame these days of mass marketed crap is that something like johnny cash may never happen again. sure there will be singers. but, will they be found underneath all of the bull? the bastard don't know. i wish i was dead. i hung my head. i hung my head. god dammit, that man haunts me.

—the bastard

never talk to strangers

so the bastard goes to the park with the boy for some play time and the boy finds some kids to run around with leaving me to watch the scooter. it's all good, goves the bastard time to think and some much needed fresh air. anyway, the boy is playing with this kid and the kid starts chatting to me as if he was gavin from kids in the hall. we talk and then the boy asks him his name to which he responds, "nobody". so the boy starts after him and evertime he wants his attention, he says, "hey nobody". can't make this stuff up.

—the bastard

maybe the bastard IS getting old....

...but i think i saw drugs going down at the park while i was watching my kid play. no sir...didn't like it. at an earlier park, i saw (and i so wish i had my camera) a shopping bag full of fosters oil cans in a garbage can. the bastard is so glad that the youth's are drinking efficiently and that they have moved up from the colt 45 the bastard was weened on. every time.

—the bastard

dispatches from the railroad

...or on descending into the inferno
well i believe the bastard is starting to take on the grey pallor of his fellow travellers. and i don't mena those fellow travellers that have sought to overthrow the government since the sixties. well maybe some of these people i ride with were once. but, then they grew up, stopped taking LSD, got married, got jobs that they didn't want because a philosophy and a buck fifty will just get you a crappy cup of coffee, had kids, moved out to the island, and somewhere along the way, the lights went out. probably on the morning that they realized that they had become exactly like their parents. then something just died inside of them. my only saving grace is that i don't think i've turned into what they seem to be. i've noticed that i'm seeing the same hapburgs every morning now.

maybe the whole weblog thing is what's keeping me off of the deep end of the pool. or maybe it's because i haven't bought "the swimmer" on dvd yet. damn that's a great movie. burt lancaster's finest hour as an actor.

or maybe it's that i still have some fire left in my belly. or maybe it was that magic burrito i had for lunch. hmmmmmm, who knows. maybe it's just simply that i still get outraged when some fucking fat lady passes wind next to me on the train and pretends like it didn't happen but i can still smell 20 years of bad eating habits offending my nostrils when i know for shit sure that it wasn't the well pressed arab gentleman sitting across from me who looks like he's in shape. can't be him.

all in all the bastard feels weirdest because you truly can't go home again because when you get back there you find out that anything that you liked has long since gone from here. i think that there's a drink for me in the near future. cheers and get on with your weekend shiteyes.

—the bastard

...on the future past

..or book report on all tomorrow's parties

so the bastard hasn't actually finished the book but i came across a fascinating observation about the future of popular culture as we know it. the quote goes as follows:

>>alternate subcultures. they were a crucial aspect of industrial civilization in the previous two centuries. they were where the industrial civilization went to dream. A sort of unconscious R & D, exploring alternate societal strategies.<<

>>but they became extinct<<

>>we started picking them before they could ripen. a certain crucial growing period was lost, as marketing evolved and the mechanisms of recommodification became quicker, more rapacious. Authentic subcultures required backwaters and, there are no more backwaters<<

that is to say, the bastard spent a bit of time looking at the marketing of subcultures. this is just one of a series of observations the bastard has found in his reading about the fact that there are no original ideas anymore and apparently marketing has done its fair share to help this along into the entropy. you see, everything and i mean everything is marketable and don't you even try to think otherwise. it's just a fact of life. unless you plan on getting off of the grid, there's no getting around it. accept it. be aware of it and pick when you're going to fight it on your terms. sure one could argue that starbucks is evil corporate shilling but they make a decent cup of coffee and their everywhere. sure you could go to the diner but that coffee sucks. you could go out of your way to avoid name brands but at the end of the day, we all compromise on something on some level. wait the bastard is getting off message. pop culture dying. murderred by marketing. pass the coffee please.

—the bastard

the LIRR is sucking the life out of the bastard

these last few days, the bastard has benn taking the long island railroad to work and i gotta tell ya, the bastard has never seen a more dour lot. i have never seen so many people whose eyes have had the lights gone out on them. it's all cranky looking men looking sloppy and snapping the paper and women with bad haircuts scowling with faces that only the fucking hapsburgs could love. on the contrary the young upwardly mobile african americans on the train look so upbeat, so well dressed, so well put together, so much happier to be alive. it's such a fascinating 180 degree turn from these grey faced hardened suburbanites who bump you without so much as an excuse me. by the by, you there with the big hair who i just tried to trip on track 15 tonight? you know who you are. that wasn't an accident shiteyes. just because you can afford to live in the suburbs doesn't mean that it makes you classy. cause it don't.

now here's the bastard's other problem with the lirr, no art. every platform looks kind of like the opening 10 minutes of eternal sunshine of the spotless mind when jim carrey runs for the montauk line

as we can see here, craptastic queens has art under the ground. granted i don't necessarily like it but, it breaks up the mundane.

i mean, hell, the M train goes through parts of brooklyn so shity that the bastard never saw a single beggar on the train in the time he was taking it. i'm sure that the mad russian could tell me otherwise but i saw none of it. still and all the last stop in brooklyn at marcy avenue has this beautiful stained glass. every morning for a month, i thought about the monk who came up with the idea of stained glass. he said he wanted to create a divine space so that churchgoers could feel closer to god. maybe stained glass makes one feel closer to oneself as well. i don't know.

you know, this evening as i was getting off the train i was clsoing my jacket to step out into the wind and a young black girl smiled at me. it made me think that there's some hope out there for this little gray space i'm commuting on. now go eat your dinner, jerkface.

—the bastard

the bastard SO did not see this one coming

this just in. someone got murdered at the new 50 cent movie, "get rich or die trying". at the concession stand. the bastard...is....shocked!


for that matter what kind of world do we live in where our completely irrelavent entertainers waste bandwidth calling for our president's impeachment. i am so out of touch. and he's beside himself too. but, that's because the bastard needs to lose a couple pounds.

—the bastard

the value of being a bastard

got this one from the snow man. snow man is the prince of all gear here at the magazine and one of the few edit people i dropped the url on. he in turn sent me this little gem. apparently, even though i come up first on google for the phrase search "being a bastard", and number 4 for the phrase search for "shiteyes" (which might be more than warren ellis has used it but who's to tell) my blog address is only worth $1,693.62. you know what, i think the bastard is gonna hold out for something better, shiteyes. whoops i might be number 3 now.

—the bastard

the bastard has a song for jean-marie

the bastard first became very aware of the the rest of the world when he discovered he could read something other than the new york times online. at that, he became interested in foreign politics. at that, the bastard discovered a man named jean-marie le pen. le pen, was france's conservative leader who ran against chirac in the last election that led parisians to go out and trump rural france to make sure this man didn't become prime minister of france.

you see conservatives over there are more like the kind of conservative the bastard likes, all the tight purse strings with none of the religion in the politics. anyway, le pen was demonized for his politics because he wanted to fix the growing immigration problem that has come home to roost in recent weeks. he was called a nazi and any other name in the book to equate him with hitler. it was easy and he lost. as a quick side note the bastard remembered another european conservative that was hard to demonize mostly because he was gay was pim fortuyn. now two years after his murder, the netherlands has deportation centers and they are addressing their illegal problem. that really gained speed after theo van gogh got murdered on the street.

anyway, le pen was out there recently saying that this is only the start of things. this coming from a man that said that the EU would eventually fail saying that there is no way the rich old cultures of old europe couldn't possibly unite under one flag. either way, it's easy to armchair quarterback it when you ain't in charge, the bastard has been doing it for years. but if jean-marie turns out to be right on the first point, well then he's right. i think he's right. but if he's right about the other point, well then he's should be made king of all armchair quarterbacks and he should replace al michaels on monday night foosball. foosball IS the devil you know.

—le bastard

he got himself a homemade special

you know the bastard will cross his leg and swear on his glass eye that tom waits is a recipe for catharsis. the bastard hasn't been running on all 8 for a bit now and now here in the dark he puts on ruby's arms and it all comes out. you know that when you're at the end of your rope and you can't take no mo' (that's right i got it so bad i can't even spell out the whole word) tom'll be there to tell you, "buddy, don't worry bout it, it gets worse". hell, even jesus wanted just a little bit more time. change your shorts, change your life, change into a nine year old hindu boy, get ridda your wife. ahh, it don't get any worse.

—the bastard

the bastard wonders...

one time in an interview, johnny depp had remarked that he was "shocked by the gun violence in American schools" and feels it is far "safer raising a family in France". given the current climate entering it's 12 th night, i wonder where he's crashing right about now. then left hand rob told the bastard that there has only been one fatality which led the bastard to believe that johnny depp has nothing to worry about and he should stay put. that said i will sleep off the rest of my afternoon.

—the bastard

it's a major award

so the bastard peeled himself out of bed to go to work and the first thing he noticed was that all of the cubicles seemed to have moved 3 feet away from where they were when i was last there. i assume that i was just too damn tired. or maybe it just seemed like a big space compared to where i'm laying my head these days. anyway, the bastard rolls in and puts the coffee ready and got the eyes open. i stroll into the editors office and ask to see the leg lamp. the major award. you know the leg lamp marked fra-geel-lay from a christmas story. the editor chuckles and we talk about how this little bit makes the bad quarter seem less bad because we're behind the eight ball a bit. this makes us all feel a little bit better and like i said it also makes the bastard feel like not every contest is as slanted as a figure skating match. now go have yer weekend, shiteyes.

—the bastard

hot time in the old town tonight

this


should not


be happening kids

notmuch else to say. clearly quite like how bin laden thought afghanistan would have been a repeat of somalia, i think the organized goons here feel that what happened in algiers will keep the french in the fetal position. but the bastard fears that one day chirac is gonna put on the brown shirt and do the kind of house cleaning that hasn't been seen in old europe in a long time. my big fear is that the current climate will lead the rest of the free world to turn a blind eye to this repeat of history. unless chirac's got something else in mind.

—the bastard

this is precisely what the bastard feared would happen one day

...or on the chickens coming home

once upon a time, the bastard was watching a show on the history of terrorism and it focussed with mostly in context to the rise of islamic terror. apparently the algerian liberation front inflicted much terror upon de gaulle's france until they said uncle and algeria was liberated from french rule. as a side note yasser arafat briefly moved to algeria before starting the plo but, that's neither here nor there at the moment. my main point was to go with a recommended course of action from robbo which was to query as to how is it that chi chi france has riots over two dead youth who were electrocuted fleeing a soccer game to avoid police (why they are avoiding police is the question the bastard begs) while chicago had nary an incident over winning the world series. but upon closer examination, i figured that there wasn't too much humor in that sort of comparison. so, i'm going with a quick glean over the problem.

you see, france, particularly paris has an immigration problem. over the last 50 years parisians have had an influx of north african muslims before and since the liberation of algeria because quite like another country i live in, they didn't want to do the dirtier jobs thenselves. and that's ok if you want to run your country that way but the twist comes here. these people weren't being assimilated into french society. they were moving into the suburbs and forgotten. the suburbs have turned into virtual mini islamic republics complete with some area totally following the code of sharia. i don't know how accurate this is since all i do is read this stuff off the wire. but either way, a large immigrant population that doesn't get heavily regulated suddenly rises up in an organized fashion gives me the feeling that they should have addressed this problem before it became 15 million people nationwide. then again this might be a problem that can be addressed in other places that i live that have several million people living illegally. but then again, i think we try that here. but what the hell does the bastard know, it's 1:30 in the morning and i can't get to sleep because i actually had caffeine for the first time since getting sick. stupid caffeine be less wakey. i think i'll read that second little prince book in which he dies at the end to fall asleep to. no wait, he died in the first book. so silly. i think a little bit of me just died. ouchie

—the bastard

the quicker it hits ya

...or the bastard redeclares his great love of alt rock, and how he won...for a change

so the bastard is tucking into his research for his yearly re-inventing of the wheel, i tunes on the randomizer and "closer you are" comes on. now we've been down this road before but the bastard has to declare yet again that rock may well have died after guided by voices broke up.

on a better note scoop called me up in my sick bed yesterday morning to inform me that we won the gold medal for the folio magazine award for recreation/sports magazines in the B2B category. you wanna find out what magazine that is, get off your ass and do the research yourself shiteyes. anyway i thought she was kidding me. you see scoop, is the kind of co-worker who likes the low key joke. she sends you an e-mail and the bastard responds with his usual vitriol for the production whatchamacallit who screwed up and then she runs over to tell me i hit reply all to gauge my reaction. ahhhhh kids. anyway, she wasn't kidding. so now the bastard can move off the grid with his head held high knowing that not only can my skills win an award but not every magazine contest is as dishonest as figure skating. sleep soundly kids. the world ain't all that dishonest and the bastard shed a tear for it. recognition at last. whod've thought the bastard was that needy? later for that jerkface.

—the bastard

PS: now spectral mornings by cornershop is playing. most underrated band of hindu rockers ever.

the bastard is sooooooooo sick

...or on swallowing ground up glass

the bastard hasn't had it in him to write lately, and one could figure it's the mental place he's in but i disagree. it's the physical state he's in. on sunday night the bastard felt what felt like a cold with all of the trappings of tonsilitis. took some nyquil. on monday night he had the shakes. not just any shakes, heroin junky uncontrollable shakes. so i took the nyquil. well apparently the Q wore off early and i woke up every hour on the hour from 3am on. on tuesday he did the same and Q wore off at 1 am and he tossed and turned until he had to make the sick call. turns out that bastard has strep. can you belive that? i haven't had strep since the fifth grade, how irritating. so now here the bastard is, enjoying this magical feeling for the next few days. oh well. i better spray the keyboard with lysol before someone else gets the magic.

—the bastard