...on exits

...or on entrances

you know the bastard always remembers this episode of mash in which it begins on new years eve 1951 with harry morgan dressed as father time welcoming in 1952 in the hopes that it wil be a damn sight better than 1951. at the end of the episode, we see harry morgan dressed as father time welcoming in 1953 and hoping it wil be a damn sight better than 1952. this is how the bastard feels right about this time every year. 2005 was not really good to the bastard and i think i didn't enjoy 2004 too much. in 2004 stuff started to unravel and as the year turned over i hoped that 2005 would be better. didn't quite work out so much that way. oh well, there's always next year. don't get the bastard wrong, he's in a better place than he was a short time ago but, it's always an easier job to lambast the past year. it won't fight back and it's a hell of alot easier than saying how great shit was in the previous year. besides, we live in an age in which reporting the bad news is so much more profitiable than reporting the good news. i think the last time the bastard has seen good news on the front page is when a local team wins the world series (congrats on the sox winning this year chicago jerkface, it's good to see someone new winning that grief). so here on the eve of the end of all things 2005, let's raise our glasses to the year 2006, may she be a damn sight better than the last one.

—the bastard

...on last licks

the bastard was getting ready to wind down 2005 when he noticed that left hand rob had posted a link to a column by my favorite batshit crazy new york times columnist, paul krugman, and it got me to thinking about his offer. you see rob and i are on opposite sides of the political spectrum but we have mutual agreement to not believe each other's sources. actually, it makes for a good deal. i dn't believe him and he doesn't believe me. but i also don't believe anything paul krugman says. i mean come on, he has his own crew of conservative "fans" who fact check his "lies" (and i put that in quotes because that's the fair thing to do) and report back to you on what he is or isn't telling you. anyway. rob and i are working out a deal where i am going to read a left wing blog for a week and he's going to read a right wing one and we're going to report on our mutual disbeief. we just haven't decided how to work that one out yet. anyway, until then, here's frontpage magazine's The Top 10 Stories (and Non-Stories) of 2005 to counter the krugman column. i would insert some manner of fair and balanced or we report you decide horsehit but, we should leave marketing to the marketers. enjoy. and happy new year lobster.

—the bastard

...on danger

...and how it can happen

so in retrospect, the bastard's christmas went off without a hitch. we all piled out to staten island and it was traffic free for the eve and we went our separate ways on the day. all in all, i need to hit the gym and that's what the bastard has learned about the holidays over and over again, "you ate too much, go to the gym stupid". however, it didn't start off so good for me. on the 23rd the bastard had a black cloud over himself and it came home with him and began to taunt him while he was buying crap at target. one asks oneself, how do you have a nervous breakdown while buying pants? well it comes in all shapes and sizes in this world and i was feeling some pre christmas ogita. so i decided to take matters into my own hands and called the mofo up.

you see, the mofo comes up from purgatory for two reasons. the second is to collect his christmas loot from the rents. the first is to document the yearly christmas event which is the no redeeming social value christmas show on film. i've been friends with most of this band since it's inception and for the last 16 years dean thrilla and co. have been pushing the envelope of bad taste and entertainment for the new york hardcore scene. it's been a long time since i've seen these chuckleheads in action and i believe age has made them more messed up than the time they came out in surgical costumes or the time dean came out in a tutu. anyway, i call the mofo and ask him if they've gone on yet and he says, i haven't left the house yet. he doesn't go on until midnight. so i hitch a ride and we go in.

it's funny when you you go to one of these shows because it's like going to any genre show. when the faithful come out in droves, it looks like a museum of that genre in motion. there were skinheads that dressed like it was 1981 all over again. m1 flight jackets and doc marten boots were everywhere and the effin tattoos (but more on that later). but the other funny bit is seeing folks from back in the days and having them glad to see you. that's a change of pace. i haven't been to cbgb in a real long time and i could swear that it got cleaner since the last time i was there and the roaches were teh size of horses. oh well, i guess nothing ever stays gold ponyboy. anyway, the mfo is usually the guy to take the photos and then he takes the film down to fortress purgatorio and develops it himself but, he needs to work props for this show. so the bastard gets drafted into photo duty. i take my place on this rickety tower and mayhem ensues.

now as we can see here. thrilla is wearing a dress. but actually it's his wife's favorite dress. and he was worried she'd be pissed about it so he did apologize mid show when one of the straps got torn up. oh, and beer got spilled on it. alot of beer.

no redeeming has no shortage of mascots at their shows. last time i went, our friend zsolt would sit in a lawn chair in his underwear and sing backgrounds but he went at ghetto claus and distributed cigarettes to the crowd. this guy here is the hardcore chicken. it seems that the san diego padres former mascot has taken a bit of a tumble. earlier in the evening i was introduced to mack, who would be wearing the suit that night as he IS the hardcore chicken. but the bastard was introduced to him as, "this is mack, the living legend". and apparently this is why.

all in all, the black cloud had passed in a flurry of concern over whether i was going to get knocked off of that rickety platform i was taking pictures on or not. it was a good show. it's nice to run into old friends and it ain't bad to get props from folks on the stage for showing up. apparently it ain't everyday that i show up in places. as the evening was winding down, soemone approached zsolt to praise his ghetto claus act and he came with a gigantic burrito that we immediately had to have. so the bastard must give a big shout out to the only pushcart out on the street at 2:30 in the morning. thanks to "gifts from atlantis"(seriously, that's the name of the pushcart) for the biggest burrito i ever had for breakfast.

ho

ho

ho

—the bastard

...on sevens

you know, the bastard needs to stop picking up left hand rob's gauntlets (sorry rob, as much as i'd like to call you lobster johnson i can't bring myself to change the names of the characters right in the middle of the story). anyway, the bastard will take part in this sevens thing.

7 favorite books or series
i'm going with a mix of both of robs's choices since i can't find 7 books that i liked in the last 20 years of walking the earth right now.

transmetropolitan by Warren Ellis & Darrick Robertson
"naked lunch" by william s. burroughs
"neuromancer" by william gibson
"do androids dream of electric sheep" by philip k. dick
"sandman" by neil gaiman
"hellboy" by mike mignolia
"the invisibles" by grant morrison

7 movies i can watch again and again

ronin (just finished it 5 minutes ago)
sid and nancy (even though it's almost complete fiction)
the professional (number 2 on the bastard's top 10 death scenes)
pollock (i'm not the phony, you're the phony)
the swimmer (burt lancaster's greatest work)
the great escape (two words, steve mcqueen. two more words, charlie bronson)
lock stock and two smoking barrels (everyone needs a good caper flick)

7 places i'd rather be

galway
the grainen of alich (i know i didn't spell it right, my irish is off alot. 20 minutes from the north irish border. the bastard go 5 minutes to himself in the middle of this stone circle on top of a burial mound older than the great pyramid. with the wind in my face, i felt i could see my grandfather again if i squinted hard enough)
new orleans
paris, at la grande hotel leveque
the woods
resting on something comfortable
anywhere but where i am now

7 things i say most often

you better shut up, stupid
shiteyes
jerkface
fucking hell
can any hell be more real or now?
who's house? run's house
who's my favorite?

7 people i'd like to rope into doing this

the mofo
dean thriller (because i've know him since i was seven and you can have a 2 hour conversation with him, and learn nothing)
jimmy 3000
robbo

ok i'm tapped more when it occurs to me

7 new dwarf names

surly
spineless
drinky
annoying
sully
fitzy
beuregard

7 things i cannot do

take back all of those things i said
get my innocence back
snap fingers with both hands (only the right hand for some reason)
take a hint
jump out of a plane
let myself off the hook
stop the ringing in my ears

7 things that attract me to people i'm with rob on this one. we're all kind of hard wired the same so here's the part that everyone knows the answer to.

eyes
smile
laugh
the way one makes me feels both at completely at ease and nervous as hell
sense of humor
passion
likes to rest their head against me while walking down the street or something silly like that

7 things to do before i die

go back to painting (at least a decent sized body of work)
maybe make something of all of this writing crap i do lately
get my head screwed on right
get a fresh start
work it all out
teach the boy something relavent
take time machine back to correct all of that stupid crap i did up until now.

—the bastard

nicholas was

neil gaiman is an author best known for creating the sandman series of comics. the bastard is currently reading a novel by him called american gods. the legend goes like this, one christmas neil gaiman got jealous of all of his artist friends from working in the field because every christmas, they would send him beautiful hand illustrated cards. so one year he wrote a 16 line short story in his christmas cards called nicholas was. it's that time of year, so hear goes:

Nicholas Was...

older than sin, and his beard could grow no whiter. He wanted to die.

The dwarfish natives of the Arctic caverns did not speak his language, but conversed in their own, twittering tongue, conducted incomprehensible rituals, when they were not actually working in the factories.

Once every year they forced him, sobbing and protesting, into Endless Night. During the journey he would stand near every child in the world, leave one of the dwarves' invisible gifts by its bedside. The children slept, frozen into time.

He envied Prometheus and Loki, Sisyphus and Judas. His punishment was harsher.

Ho.

Ho.

Ho.

the bastard has never been long on the christmas spirit and these days, he's even less long on it but i'm sure if the spirits do it all in one night, i'll have it right on time, go eat your christmas pudding shiteyes, and have a merry christmas.

—the bastard

...on mustaches

working for a gun mag surely brings weird swag into the office. this one come from ms. cin. i don't remember if she bought this online or a photographer sent it her way. either way this sure clears up the whole gun debate for the bastard. somebody arrest tom selleck or perhaps all of tom of finland's models.

—the bastard

...on trees

you wouldn't know it but the bastard's brother known as the mofo, is in town this week and the visit has been quite good. no one has been killed yet, and all is right in the hizouse. he came in straight out the bag and calle din his dinner order from baltimore at 2 saying he'd be in by 5 and sure as hell, the mofo shows up ready for his regulation hamburger and hot dog which has been the saturday dish in the house since the bastard was a child and the mofo was in the womb. there's something inherently insane about having the same sinner on wednesday and sunday for your entire life. i'll expound about the family diseases at another time.

but i digress, the mofo rolled in and mentioned the song that was playing on the mo-mobile en route. that song was "i am a tree" by guided by voices. now we have discussed the merits of guided by voices at length but the bastard doesn't see any reason why we can't continue to beat that horse. anyway, the point that the mofo brought up about "i am a tree" was the song begs the age old question about a tree falling in the woods. the point that the mofo brought up was (especially since gimpy asked us who gbv was) if the greatest rock and roll band exists and no one hears them, are they still the greatest rock and roll band? the bastard says yes. i don't want to know what you say.

—the bastard

throng

oh my god! the bastard is in the apple store right as we speak and it's effin crowded. also, i am convinced that the guy in front of me is channeling ray romano. i forget how regional the more brooklynee denizens of long island sound. it's almost like a cartoon of brooklyn. i wish he would shut up though. he's making my ears hurt and that makes the baby jesus cry

—the bastard

....on the strike

...and on falling

let me preface the bastard's opinion on the transit strike with a little bit about myself. the bastard works in publishing. it's not a union job. and of the few union jobs in publishing, there is NO job security like there is in a city job. the bastard will not receive a pension in 20 years of service. the bastard will also not receive an 8 percent raise this year or a 5 percent raise this year. in fact, the last time the bastard saw a 5 percent raise, it was the 90's and the stock market was good. and for a moment, the bastard felt a little bit of sympathy for the transit workers because they work hard at fixing track and junk like that. not so. you see, my father the shrink has been working for a city agency for upwards of 25 years and he knows things. things like that track work is contracted out. so what does that leave the transit workers doing aside from selling metrocards and driving trains and buses? so what the bastard is saying is, i don't see changing the retirement age for transit workers as too big a deal. if anyone's got some insight for me that doesn't sound like bullshit afl/cio unionist dogma, please enlighten me.

anyway, the bastard had it smooth today. nice and smooth. i had to bring extra cargo and i expected asses and elbows all the way to penn and it didn't happen. i had space in front of me and space next to me and as i was on the cusp of sleep, some fran drescher sounding girl decided to document her plight in her best long giland accent preventing the bastard from entering dreamland for the ride. "it was soooooo crowwwwwwdud. it's sooooooooo annoooooyyyyyging." so rather than bash fran in the skull, the bastard takes refuge inside the ipod. can't sleep but at least ray davies will catch me now, i'm falling.

—the bastard

whole hog....

...or bacon

now dig if you will this christmas display. now the bastard isn't much for christmas displays. hell, the bastard isn't much into christmas this year. but this is all sorts of pitiful. maybe it's minimalist. or more closer to the point, maybe it's half assed. it's just this light up santa who looks like he's been dieting and i just can't have that. if your going to do a display, you gotta go whole hog.

now dig if you will this painting of pope innocent the tenth painted after a painting by velasquez. now the bastard isn't trying to pull out the saturday afternoon art lesson but, i immediately thought of this painting while looking at this guys chrsitmas display and i figured it out. next christmas, the bastard will find the exact same santa claus display as this house and i will purchase two sides of beef to hang on either side of it. this way i will have the only christmas display dedicated to francis bacon in town. in fact i think i might just purchase the sides of beef and donate it to these folks. well there you go, the bastard's background in fine art comes and rips out your heart and show it to you just before you die. put that in your pipe and smoke it.

fat of the land

kids parties are a rare phenomenom for the bastard. by and large the boy's classmates hold court in class or have their little get togethers during the work week, which completely bypasses me and i'm sure gets me a shoe in for father of the year. but this week was the boy's birthday and i cut work a little early (ok alot early) to go to his class to have cupcakes and whatnot. today was his classmate's birthday. the nice lady had asked me to take the boy to this drop off party. drop off at 11 and pick up at 1. had to also keep an eye out for the guys who boot cars. no sweat. i kill time for an hour and then the stomach says, "get some food ya bastid." so i think , pizza.....sammich.....something else not good for me. then i remember this reoccuring conversation i've been having with the nice lady about food and hydrgenated oil and how it sits like a complex polymer in your veins and how it may just take my mortal soul (just kidding). anyway the bastard instead opts to make a stop and shop run. you see, the old man, who we can call the shrink", likes the staus quo. mainstreaming is good. eating the same stuff is fine so long as it doesn't have any salt in it, which really gauls the bastard. i don't do alot of salt but a little bit doesn't hurt in the right place. ida know, i think he forgets about his heart attack sometimes. he also forgets that the new way things are done in schools tends to mainstream kids and the bastard doesn't want that for his boy. he's bright kid and deserves to be challenged, not sent home with books that are far beneath his reading level. bnut i'm gettin goff message here, wanted food, thought of bad stuff, then thought better of that and went to stop and shop. lunch consisted of some watermelon, an apple and some camembert on crackers that boasted no hydrogenated oil. if i wasn't dining in the car in the parking lot, it would have felt more like a picnic but i had to settle for it reminding me of idealized versions of trips to europe i've taken with the nice lady. it was good enough give me something nice to think about while killing time in a parking lot.

—the bastard

the unbearable crassness of marketing

...or the bastard takes the machine and looks under the hood

you know, one of the trade off the bastard made here was whether to get broadband or to get cable tv. i chose broadband. sure, i'll miss the january season of the retooled (and self appointed best show on television by the show itself) "naked people reenacting battlestar galactica" on sci fi channel but, i figure i don't really watch that much television. that is to say, i don't follow that many shows. i was displeased to miss "the holiday cake off" on the food channel but if the bastard feels that compelled to watch the food channel's food porn contests, i'll go and download it. or i'll just go down to jacques torres' shop in dumbo and buy something decadent.

anyway, my mother, "gimpy", watches alot of network tv. i mean ALOT OF NETWORK TV. the bastard finds it fascinating how watching that much television turns into a job. one lunchtime, chicago jerkface and left hand rob were hashing it out with me trying to talk me into/out of netflix and how you have to make sure you blow throw your monthly minimum quickly so that you can in a sense "get over" on netflix. lefty, remarked on how it was a job to do that too. but i digress...

...one of gimpy's favorite shows comes from the csi franchise in which impossible scientific things help beautiful and handsome looking crime scene investigators solve crimes. the thing i find fascinating is that so many csi departments have such good looking people in each crew to cater to their core audience. that's marketing. i also find it interesting that the actual coroner is always some likable old curmudgeon who says many glib things to make us like him. that's marketing. so you got, every demographic is covered. are you middle aged? well gary sinise is easy on the eyes. so is that cat from manhunter who plays grissam in the vegas version. and don't get me started on that david caruso, he's a real lady killer.

either way, the bastard didn't start out here to comment on the obvious marketing behind the franchise and how they cater to all comers who browse past some version of the show (i can't wait for CSI tuscaloosa or perhaps CSI walla walla, who knows). what struck me funny is the crass product placement. it used to be, you'd find the occasional coke can lying around in a scene but i noticed a number of weeks ago, one of our protagonists gets called by his "girlfriend" to the tune of some new coldplay song. he actually says the name of the song. at the end of the episode they give you a number that you text message so that you can download that ringtone for 50 bucks. they did it again in this weeks episode. our guy from the last episode is locked in a panic room so he obviously can't pimp out his verizon phone so a hot looking locksmith's "girlfriend" called up as he was walking out of the scene and our female lead who looks like a poor womans sarah jessica parker, asks him if that's his phone going off. he stops....turns...smiles...and says, "yeah, me an mah gurlfren downloaded the same ringtone". he smiles again and i believe i saw his teeth sparkle right before i threw up on the living room floor. i had to leave before i passed out in a pool of my own sick. it was awful. at the end of the day (and this IS pretty much) the bastard feels bad not just for the mess i left on the floor to come down here and type about it but, i feel bad for society because the beast that is marketing isn't even trying to get slick about it. it's so in your face that you can't even watch it on tivo. i better get some lysol.

—the bastard

ditch

so the bastard has been getting out every now and again mostly due to his unfortunate production foibles once in a great while, i'm there in the cube and someone goes, "hey bastard, we're going to blah blah blah, wanna come out for a drink". or there is the occasional, "i have to do this and that but i don't want to." which is followed by "so don't, let's go out for a drink" or "let's get a bite to eat", and then errands to crashing down to the wayside. this particular event came at the suggestion of ms. cin. cin works the pitchers over at the magazine and she had a function to go to and asked if i'd like to come along. cin's friend, agent wilcox was in town so i got on board. we met up with agent wilcox at his hotel and then upon the suggestion of getting a little starter he points out the dive, divier and diviest bar choices for a drink. we all of course choose divier because, you want to give the dive experience the benefit of the doubt and possibly get a clean glass as well.

after this we head downtown to the knitting factory where said event was, we met up with cin's friend from the upper west. westie used to work for the other bullet book across the way from our bullet book. so we met some people, some guy named john who was gushing about his prized possession, a fold up bike that he has to "sneak" into one of his collegiate assignments lest security give him the grief. i so wish i took a picture of the bike when he left but, it didn't occur to me to take pictures until the after party (after party you say? read on jerkface) which is what we see here. anyway, we tuck in and i mostly chat with whomever cin and westie are talking to because the only photographers the bastard talks with are the people i do business with. i don't meet alot of photographers. why the hell am i explaining this crap to you. don't you have something better to do? anyway at some point later on in the event, cin asks me to hold her drink, she has to use the facilities. sure says bastard and i lean up on the bar and watch special agaent wilcox do a combination dance that consists of networking and macking, very fun to watch. i ended up speaking to some of the more senior members of the aspp (that's the people who threw the party) and eventually westie rescued me from them when we found that cin had gone missing. we sent westie to the bathroom just in case she fell in and agent wilcox took the coat check. cin had flown the coop and was about 10 minutes gone when we were looking for her. i was a little surprised but westie was not. so we did what any self respecting person would do in that situation...go to the after party.

after party was at the puck building. it was another photo organization and the place was huge. i mean huge for a space in lower manhattan. the bastard really went because i wanted to see the place and it was technically crashing the party as we weren't on the guest list and i haven't crashed a party since well i guess halloween but that doesn't really count. westie's buddy at the major newspaper she was freelancing at said just put you name on a sticker, stick it on your shirt and walk in. why would he lie? he was wearing a fur hat and you know what that means? right, that he's toasty, fucking warm. anyway, sure as schieß, fuzzy hat was right, we scooted right in, nice and smooth. truth to tell, i was only there an hour. the bastard was tired and needed to get up for work and make that magical window to the lirr to get back to frikkin shangra la. on the way home i felt kind of miffed about getting ditched. even moreso because it ran like, "hold my drink, i'l be right back". no joke, i held her drink and didn't take a bloody sip of it until i heard ms. cin had split. it was a little embarrassing. ok, it was alot embarrasing but, i got over it.

next morning, scoop asked me how it went and all the bastard said was, "real interesting." i settled with ms. cin later when she came in. funny thing for me was that she forgot that whole part which made me laugh my ass off. good show.

—the bastard

platform

...or on the fine art of intimidating

this morning the bastard had the foresight to check the weather and the weather said, "it's cold, sucka!" actually the bastard's ipod which i have lovingly names bastard pod needed charged so i to leave the machine on which leaves the gentle humming of the machine to lull me to sleep. reminds me of when i used to work prepress. one day back when graphic designers used to work in paste up, which added up to many designers losing more fingers than someone who really pissed off the yakuza, the bastard worked in a service bureau running the paste up paper for other designers. first job out of college. anyway at the end of the week, we'd shut these mammoth atecs machines off and then there was silence. the really uncomfortable kind. i slept with the opposite of this last night. wasn't so bad. but i digress. it was bloody cold this morning.

with a looming transit strike, i am preparing to have to share the platform with alot of other folks in the next few days. i'm not looking forward to it. not at all. so far the only satisfaction i've gotten out of the commute was to make the beast from ottoman have to break up his little fort this morning on the train. it does a bastard good to hop on the train to see his new hobby and lean in, summon up the gravel in his voice and say, "excuse me, could you take down fort apache so i can sit, shiteyes?" i am so glad that i sound like something to fear in this voice rather than sounding like lauren bacall. one never thinks they'll be thankful for some aspect of living in a 3 pack a day household for 25 years but, i'll always be thankful for my mean voice and that my father, "the shrink" finally quit. cheers.

—the bastard

the bastard wants to cry...

...or the bastard wants to make love

i came home in the mood for "she makes me wanna die" by tricky and unfortunately my copy of pre millenium tension is home and i am not. so i went for a looksy on the interweb and came away with it and his cover of xtc's "dear god". my god, so sensual and beautiful and gritty.

now i got christian sands on...or a devil in helsinki.

—the bastard

rome

one time a long short time ago the bastard was talking to uncle joey. uncle joey gets to keep his name because you don't know him so you won't meet him. anyway, uj is well travelled so we're talking about travel, and driving in cities, i think we were ramping up to the big trip to ireland and we were angsting over the whole driving on the left hand side of the road. anyway uj says that's no sweat, "try driving in rome, then you can drive anywhere." uj describes to us that the secret to driving in rome is to point your car at another car and floor it, and pray to god that the guy moves and then when you get to where you need to go in traffic...repeat. travelling home has increasingly become this way as the holiday grows closer. run at someone at full tilt and hope that they aren't there when you get there.

flash forward: bastard finds a seat and he's gotta learn that he needs to sit further away from the door because no matter how menacing i look on my worst days (and this wasn't one of them), someone is going to sit right there. i don't love it, i get back into american gods. when last we left our man, he has just discovered that he's working for odin and thor and kali seem to be along for the ride and what is that annoying banter? great there's two, no waitaminute one of them has a rathr large male friend, he sits down even though he couldn't possibly fit. dammit.

so race bannon is rubbing knees with me and the sisters inane won't stop jibber jabbing. so, i do what any other sane bastard would do, put on music. worked for a while too. then for some reason, the cold and the tired and the bad place i started the day in came on in the form of "fake plastic trees" by radioheadhttp://www.blogger.com/img/gl.link.gif. just in time, i get off the train, chuckleheads a distant memory but then johnny cash singing "hurt" comes up. i love the man in black but, this was neither the time nor the place so i hit the button and i was once again saved by cornershop. wogs will walk got me through the door. nice and smooth but, that's another toon.

—the bastard

QUICK POSTSCRIPT: you know, the bastard would have ended it here but i was thinking about the holidays and how i'm having a hard time getting into it. i was reminded of how i need to get the spirit when i was was talking with ms. cin on the way down 33rd last night and she said that she's starting to get it. i thought, i gotta get on board otherwise this christmas is going to be a total bust. but, it came on tonight while buying something for the boy. his birthday is this week, he shares it with rayne o'brian. i went and picked up his birthday present but when i was in target looking for gimpy i was looking at something that might register special to the boy it came on and the cold, and the tired and the bad place seemed to melt away. it's like catching a damn cold but, better. hear those sleigh bells ringeling, jing jing jingeling, jerkface.

...on bear skins and stone knives

you know,

technology is a wonderful thing.

it get's you out of bed on time.

makes you your morning coffee.

cleans up after you.

makes your job easier.

sometimes it don't. and now the bastard is tired. had to switch to a new way of doing things and in an ocean of things that caused the machine to break down, technology broke down as well. damn. now the bastard feels broken down. this is not how i wanted to go christmas shopping tonight. now i might just scrap it and go to bed. stupid technology, be more technological.

—the bastard

...on the quote of the year

the bastard used to think that this was the quote of the year but, here at the end of all things 2005, chicago jerkface brings out a good one to compete for the "line of the year 2005".

"people don't read just to get information"

i'm kind of hoping for a few more before we go to end of year. i think i heard a good one about a co worker wanting his dignity back but, that line isn't for here.

—the bastard

...on the process

...or long day's a coming for the bastard

"hi bastard this is the the plant"

"good morning plant, please tell me that you have good news"

"i'm sorry but it's all bad. well the good news is we're going to work really fast to get you your 13 lores files for placement but the bad news is that they didn't start doing it until this morning"

"oh is that all, i thought you were going to tell me that there was a fire over the weekend and that the magazine won't get printed at all"

well the bastard is glad he has a comfy chair, because his ass is going to be sitting in it for a long time today. oh well, at least there will be people to talk to.

—the bastard

And another one gone...

So Richard Pryor is the next to go. I know its been years since he made any sort of public appearance, and years before that since he did something worth laughing at, but there goes one of the funniest men ever to walk the planet. Anyone who can make you laugh as he describes himself freebasing and then burning himself half to death gets my vote of funniest man ever, even Carlin didn't go there for a laugh.

It seems I have only been commenting about death lately, I guess this is the winter of my discontent. Funny thing is, I'm in a pretty good mood. Maybe it's the crossroads I'm approaching.

mofo

beleaguered

believe it or not, the bastard burns the midnight oil. i think the industry just took another chunk out of the bastard. only this time it might pay off. the right people are pissed at the right people. someone's gonna get shanked in the prison yard. the bastard curls a smile and licks his wounds. good night, jerkface.

—the bastard

an anniversery

It's been 25 years since John Lennon was shot, I can remember listening to Scott Muni cry on WNEW with my brothers. I miss Lennon, not for his music, but what he would say over the last 25 years. No one ever listened to Ringo, George never really said anything, and Paul was too pretty to really say anything all that important. John would have said it all. He was our last great philosopher. Up yours, Chapman, you can rot.

It's been weeks since my last blog, I apologize, I just haven't been inspired.

mofo

my evil is strong

My funny valentine, I don't find you funny
Seaside is sunny, the fame, the money
Who am I to say
So you don't even wanna be
a... No, I can't say it, my mouth is like a...
Bitter sweet and twisted
deceitful like Im gifted
Even got God scared, even got God scared
Men and the things we did
Making children strong enough to take a life
But are you strong enough to take care of one?
I'm a pray on it, stay in it, stay on it
I'm a work on it, pray on it, stay in it
I'm a work on it, pray on it ( stay in it )

—tricky

left hand rob was getting a good laugh about full head when we started hashing out the magic that is penn station at this time of year. the station bulks up. with people from out of town. with people here on business with suitcases. with people just wearing bulky jackets. it's just harder to do the dance that is dodging people. rob spoke of a man he wished ill on who when wishing hard enough came to pass. the bastard followed up with his desire to full on take some poor suburbanite down to the gorund and put the boot to him. upon much discussion the bastard concluded that this would add up to jail time and rob just retorted, "enjoy your last few days of freedom bastard"

i'm a work on it, pray on it stay in it.

—the bastard...even got god scared

full head of steam

chugga chugga chugga
"we don't have a roadmap yet? she had all day. she promised us a map this morning. now i have a train to catch" the bastard goes and hits the ground running. 10 minutes before an elevator brings me down to earth.

chugga chugga chugga
"dammit, i'm going to get shin splints from doing this. the front of the bastard's shin scream out as he motors away.

chugga chugga chugga
if that chucklehead with the heat miser hairdo in front of the strip club sticks another flyer in my face and calls me "big guy" one more time, i swear to christ i'm going to pull out the steel, fish hook him in the mouth, and drag him down to penn with me.

chugga chugga chugga
damn! the station's crowded i have 4 minutes. time to play pinball, god i hate this place. it's so full of road blocks and idiots. "hey you! you! the one who keeps trying to nudge me on his way to the platform going to speonk! if you EVER get near me again, if i ever SEE you again, i will kick you to the curb and make you wish you never left your mother's womb!" trust me the bastard will be looking for him tonight.

chugga chugga chugga
BING BONG "there has been a track change. the hempstead train will be platforming at track 21. there has been a track change. the train to hempstead will be platforming at track 21." what seems like 5000 angry people on track 13 phalanx their way onto the stairs. the bastard sees someone lose their cool with a middle aged lady or did she lose her cool with him? just breathe old man, just fucking breathe."

Sssssssssssssssssss
finally a seat, the bastard goes into full crumple and, "hey man do you really have to sit down across from me and crunch your potato chips? yeah you, legs akimbo with the bulky coat. close your legs pal. what do you keep a bloody grapefruit in there, come on. if i can sit like a reasonable human, you can." at least if the 25 girls from suburbia sat next to me all i'd have to put up with is constant chattering instead of this jerk chewing his tater chips like it's so much cud. i know i shouldn't get back into the book, it's too damn depressing, the protagonist just came from his wife's funeral and found out she dies while cheating on him while he was in prison. i gotta do something to keep from having to look at cud boy here. oh wait, the dead wife comes to visit him, they talk, he says good bye, she leave a trail of dirt on her way out of the hotel room. the protagonist and his one eyed boss are in chicago now. oh shit, i think our hero is working for odin, some old friend of his just called him wotan. finally, all of that norse mythology has paid off. oh, trains finally moving. it's nice to finally make some progress.

—the bastard

...in which we find the bastard finds people disgusting

hey guy, you know who you are. you're that guy who is SO desperate to get out of the restroom that you turn the water on to get your hands wet for the faux handwashing and then shut the water off as fast as you turned it on. you're not fooling anyone you disgusting pig from i would guess the circulation department. what's the hurry? your desk on fire or are you in a race to get out of the bathroom beforre the bald guy next to you is. hmmmmm competitive. maybe you work for GOLF. i think a more thorough job is in order here. maybe next time. maybe not. maybe you need some flu or to see someone else do it right before you head off to lunch. ok, i'm done

love always,

—the bastard

the trenchcoat marches east...

...across 33rd street, shiteyes

7th avenue:
dear mta, thanks for taking the urine smell out of my exit. for a change i did NOT throw up in my mouth a little.

5th avenue:
to the lady in starbucks who ordered the vente triple skim no foam gumma se gam with an extra shot of some crap. do you actually think that you need to order something that verbose. shut the hell up! besides, i know that they rerun sex in the city on tuesday and wednesday nights on tbs and all but could you just dial down the kim cattrall routine a bit? men in media only found her sexy because she was the only one having sex on the show not because that look was actually working. could you be more pretensious? i know it's been done to death how people in this country can't just drink coffee but, why can't people just drink coffee. it works for old europe and don't all new yorkers want to be like them. otherwise we wouldn't order calamari as "gadda mahd" and say crap like "quassaunt". oh and could it kill you to hold the door? my hands are full.

park avenue:
tall guy, do you really need to stop in the middle of traffic? you're a big guy and now you're in the way. pause...pause...pause...and go. plan your route shiteyes, i did. go drink coffee now. coffee with milk and two sugars....jerk

—the bastard

quick addendum: 9:09AM to the jackass who gave me my coffee this morning. as much as i "love" a quarter inch of grinds at the bottom of the cup....i don't. just because the shit is free because it bought a pound doesn't mean that you need to pour me a cup of shit. mother of twelve bastards, i hope that you mother 12 bastards in your time. and i hope they all break your heart. jerk.

...on covers

...or pressure put the drop on you

so the bastard has finally unwound from the 52 espresso cookies that the photo editor brought in and all he's got left to show for it is the incredible feeling of collapse that one feels at the end of a race across town and a song in my head. the song of choice was originally izzy stradlin's version of jimmy cliff's pressure drop (or was it toots and the maytails). either way, it kept evolving in my head between the original and the cover, the clash's cover of it and then back to izzy. it was an exquisite cacaphony of musical time travel. the bastard went back to the place and procedded to play them all presumably until all of the songs left my head. instead, i found a copy of the specials doing it too. now it stays. when it comes your gonna feel it pressure put the drop on you. the bastard had the same problem with police and thieves (clash/junior murvin) last week. go to bed stupid.

—the bastard

party at cthulhu's and you're not invited

...or how the bastard did not go mad with the knowledge of horrible evil

...or swimming with squid

so the mad russian held his record release party on friday and it was good times for all. brief history lesson: the mad russian works in a bank. he doesn't particularly like working in a bank. he took several electives in college and has a knack with doling out the catchy rhythms. so he makes his own music to keep his head screwed on right. his brother, the mad lawyer write his own movie scripts. oh and he plays alot of keyboards for the mad russian seeing as he will not form a band. he's entitled, trent reznor only forms one to tour. anyway, he has no desire to sell records and get famous. he just wants to make music and be happy. there you go, in a nutshell.

so the bastard got to throw a few back enjoy some empinadas thanks to the wonder twins and missus o'brian and chat about junk. i got to have the quarterly discussion about the biz with the twins and the bastard somehow avoided discussing politics which seemed oddly refreshing. as i mentioned before, bobby sherman was there and he's rediscovering his friends so he cornered me and asked me to throw the paint down. i told him i hadn't put paint to canvas in quite some time. bobby leans in and says to me, "well bastard, it's about time you got back on the horse. no time like the present". he was right and i went to town. arguably, this is NOT by ANY stretch my best work. the bastard couldn't call it his worst work because that lofty crown belongs to one out of the three paintings i banged out the night before my abstract painting crit at the end of the semester in 1992 while watching shaft in africa and, shaft's big score which had one of the coolest opening chase sequences while john shaft chase a pair of miscreants who are trying to steal his hubcaps while he's jogging through central park. this always begged the question of, "how the hell did john shaft get parking by central park and where the hell does he go around having a maserati on a gumshoe's salary? he must be one baaaaaad mutha...". well you get the idea. actually i should beg the question of why the was i watching blaxploitation films instead of just going to class? anyway, halfway through the "work" (and i use that term loosely), bobby sherman asks me, what does it mean, what are you trying to say with this painting and i don't remember what i said because the inner voice always has the best answer. i though of photos protopapas. photos gets to keep his name for two reasons. one because he's the greatest painter i have ever had the pleasure to have known and secondly, because he had the stones to chuck it and move back home to cyprus, which i didn't understand back then but now, i respect enormously. i used to pick his brain all of the time not for meaning to his work. it was non representational abstract (say that 3 times fast), it means whatever you want it to mean most of the time. i used to ask him about technique and just to sit on the floor of his studio and watch him work. whenever someone would ask him what he was doing and what it meant, he would cock his head and in his thick cyprussian accent would say,"ahhhhh, i just paint", because it's what he did and i wish i was channeling photos on friday night to remember that great line but, i was just glad to be channeling the bastard that made me the bastard i am today. go back to work, shiteyes.

—the bastard

dear mta....

just a quick heads up. i think that the city needs to switch from it's urine scented cleaning products at penn station to something a little bit different smelling. it seems that the actual urine that homeless folks are leaving about is mixing in with the urine scented cleaning products and we are getting something far worse. gagworthy i would argue. so maybe..........ida know......some.....febreze? something more lemon scented (nah that's how we got here), i have it, something that smells like roses. i know, i know, you want to make the long island people gag and pay for the priveledge and all, and i know that it's very 70's retro to have the station smell like pee but, let's get our collective pine sol on. thanks, i love you too.

—the bastard

...on target

...or when the hell am i ever gonna talk about target again and use this headline?

you know, suburbia fascinates the hell out of the bastard. now to be fair, i don't see alot of suburban neighborhoods outside of my own city but long island, (and yes smart guy, i know that queens is part of long island so please go to hell right about.......now) is damn fascinating. yesterday, the bastard had to replace his painted on pants yesterday and he had to return a pair. you know....fat ass and all that. i also agree to pick up a few things for the mother who i will refer to as "gimpy" for a little bit. i pick up a few odds and ends and the whole vibe of target has changed. it seemed like a novel little big box store and all that but the effect has sort of worn off and now i want to hit someone in the mouth when they jokingly say "tar-jay" in their worst french ever. OH GOD, you should make ironic jokes about having to live in nassau county shiteyes, not because you're in a big box store that the boy from the mailroom who came here from missouri to live in williamsburg wants to be ironic! please just shut up and buy your fare, quietly, and go home you jerk. you're wasting air as it is. please do it elsewhere so i forget that you live on this rock with me.

anyway, i'm on line with gimpy's stuff and there is this family in fron of me and the daughters are complaining about something in their rocawear brand jackets and mom says,"you think elementary school is tough...pause...pause...well you ain't seen nothing yet". you poor dear, you must be so tired or your kids have really sucked the life out of you. you need a whiskey sour. as "sucked out" is bagging her stuff, a mother behind me concedes to her daughter's wish for a soda out of the cold case even though they have soda at home. mind you, they have a starbucks in the place now and i wanted a cup of coffee and i went home and made one. kudos to me. oh, no kudos to me? then you go to hell. you go to hell and you die! anyway, this whole thing happens in the expanse of a minute from the beginning of this paragraph until now (actual time elapse) and drink lady pipes up with, "is there a problem here?" and walks off line. the receipt pops out and the cashier hands it to the lady in front of me with the light gone out in her eyes. i look at gladys (cashier, she gets to have her name. being a cashier is a demoralizing job) and gladys looks at me and we both smirk the smirk of absurdity and i say, "yes there's a problem, you're ass is on fire." had you going there for a minute, didn't i?

—the bastard

worth the price of admission

the bastard will talk on this a lot more later but, back at the rents looking at the paint on his pants and his shirt that he really liked but doesn't care too much that it has paint all over it. there you go, shiteyes, i got my paint on at the urging of bobby sherman. bobby said, "bastard i don't care what you paint but it will be great" so i banged away. i banged away until i left my body for a brief instant and by no means was it the gin. i haven't put paint to canvas in a great while and this was by no means the bastards best work but, it felt good to leave my body. it didn't hurt that the mad russian's friend the teacher came up midway to ask about it. no one asks the bastard what he's doing these days. to be truthful, i kind of like not having a tether when i work in print or moreso when i work on canvas but, it was nice to come back into my body for a minute to talk to someone about it for a second. makes me feel a little bit more alive. for that matter, the bastard is really glad to be out playing with kids his age. go to bed, i'm starting to feel it, jerkface.

—the bastard

to the gentleman sitting next to me this morning

if you don't move over, i'm going to stab you in the neck. have a nice day.

—the bastard