riddle me this

Yeah, it's an orange, nothing unusual about an orange in a Florida supermarket, unless said orange is from South Africa. The art being as it is, from my camera phone, one can't read the writing on the green sticker which state that it is a product of the Boerish.

First off, if you don't know what a boer is go to you're local library and get your Euro-African history on. Secondly, I always thought of South Africa as a place that was good for nothing more than racism, reebok plants, diamonds, and bad heavywieght boxers. Seems the old boers figured out how to grow oranges.

Thirdly, what is a South African orange doing in a South Florida supermarket? For those of you unfamiliar with the southern portion of the peninsula, grab an atlas. I've driven state road 80 from Ft. Myers to West Palm beach, roughly 130 miles. About 100 of those miles are covered with tomatoes, sugar cane (there is a United States Sugar Company factory outside of Glades, it's got to be a CIA spot), and wait for it--oranges. Oranges for as far as the eye can see straight down, especially on the western half of the state to Everglades City. Now I ask again, what is an orange from South Africa doing in a supermarket located in the heart of orange grove central?

Maybe it's time to up the old tarifs. It's seems that the more we make trade fair, the less fair it becomes.

mo

dial 3 for elk

so left hand rob catches me putting my leftover coffee in to the microwave and he tells me, "hey bastard, did you hear, there's gonna be a tasting?"

"why i didn't know this. what are we tasting?"

"i dunno, but there's gonna be a tasting"

you see that's the great thing about working for killing stuff monthly, there's always some kind of weird thing to eat here. today the velvet hammer brought out a plate of elk and a plate of pheasant. the velvet hammer tells us "i cooked it myself. i just put it in the microwave and pressed 3. hmm. press 3 for elk. you see, the velvet hammer is a tried and true new york city editor and she makes no bones about her very city centric lifestyle. i respect that. people should feel comfortable with who they are in environments like a hunting magazine or anywhere else for that matter. either way, this triggered my internal list of things i wanted to try eating. i've never had either pheasant or elk.

QUICK SIDEBAR: the bastard likes to try new things once in a while. it tends to run mostly in gastronomic circles but, i also tried rock climbing, kayaking and i'm still kicking myself in the ass for not trying hang gliding. anyway, i have a short list of creatures i would be interested in trying. the list goes as follows now in order of how interested i am in trying such creature.

caribou

squab (don't know if it's spelled that way)

grouse

moose

rattlesnake

i'm sure there's more but i can't think of them right now. but if you ask me nicely, i can tell you what i have tried over time.

turns out that the elk was very tender and had an almost tenderloin like consistency to it and a really good flavor. the sauce it cam in was very reminiscent of a beef stew or something to that effect. it was good. the pheasant was like a sweet tasting chicken, also with a nice consistency. i'd try either again. now i have a list of other things i have to get to. it's a busy life and we never get nearly enough time with it.

—the bastard

...on linking

...and truths

now the bastard isn't one for linking to other peoples blogs but this morning, the bouncer had this to say about today's "nightclub summit" that our city council is throwing today to address the deaths of two girls over the summer while they were out enjoying "nightlife" in our fare town. it's strong reading.

—the bastard

...on sublets

...or on the high cost of living

the bastard realized something. nay, he remembered something. i got off the train with the cool breeze in my face and i felt good. went about my business and called the artist on my walk home and asked him if he'd like to get some chow. i know he would have been painting all day so i figure he could use some grub. on the way home we were talking about how his almost roommate whom we could call, the dope, who wanted to live in lower manhattan rather than bushwick is probably still there. and the artist tells me,

"dude, williamsburg is a shitty neighborhood. this is so much nicer"

"well it's more suburban looking than williamsburg, i'll give it that. we just lack an elevated train line"

"dude, that place totally sucks. and i would've been living in a fucking closet. now i have twice as much space for the money in a neighborhood i like."

then it hit me. despite how much i complain about the little things around here. the bastard loves living forest hills. granted i give up quiet once a week and one of my neighbors keeps vacuuming at 12:30 at night but, i love this place. i enjoy my walk home. i have a park around the corner. i have this really kick ass thai place accross the street. all things considered, it's a pretty good life. so i thought of a new plan to save a little extra bread.

i'm going to sublet both of my bedrooms. that's right. willy dub passed a tent my way from killing stuff monthly's tent review and i am going to make it my home. hell, it's cozy. just like both of my bedrooms. and if i need a second room, i can set up my family sized tent. all i need to do now is run an electrical cord up to the roof and a piece of coaxial for the internet and cable tv. solid! i don't know why i didn't think of this sooner. so here's how the ads going to read:

2 ROOMS TO SUBLET IN FOREST HILLS: two rooms 12' x 12' each. fully furnished. you don't have to move anything in but your clothes. quiet 6 days a week. close to mass transit. if you have sex in my son's bed i will kill you. $1200 a month.

i mean, how could i go wrong. i'll tell ya how, i could actually be fool enough to do it. cause i would have to throw someone a beating for bringing someone into the boy's bed. get a room, shiteyes!

—the bastard

...on disasters

...or on avoiding them

i get on the 6 train and i am greeted by the wrong end of some poor womans high heel shoe. you see it's the style of the time for women by and large to cross their leg when htey are wearing a skirt and so one tends to catch a shoe or two in their travels. except this lady is plowed. and so her toothless boyfriend. okay, so he has teeth. okay, he's only really missing one tooth but, it's in the right place to make fun. second thing i notice after drunk is that they are making out (snogging for our overseas crowd)...alot. that's cool. but it isn't cool with the woman sitting next to them and when she gets up, she gives them the eye roll. bad move.

"hay. why tha fuhg aw you rollin' yo ayes ad me?"

"hay. why tha fuhg izzz shhe rollin' hur ayes ad me?"

"shhe shuddum be rollin' hur fuggin' ayes ad me."

"that shid is fuhgd ub. nah loog. she won't heefen agknowludge me"

"fuggin' bish. rollin' hur fuggin' ayes ad me lykes sheeze bettuhdanme"

"oh look hoolio, she's geddin' hoff now bay bay. donchu go rollin' your fuggin' eyes ad me. geez. ahdunno whud da fug hur prohblum iz"

can't make it up it's pure gold. also the guy looked a little old to be frosting his hair. his gray was showing through. weird scene. so all trains are running on the local track on the connect and i am not loving life. the bastard has shin splints and i'm trying not to beat on my legs too much tonight but here we are. we slowly pull into craptastic queens and suddenly, i see an F train running on the V line. no one's on it. i think "sweet, i sit down an settle into a good nap until this all ends". everything is now running express. nice and smooth. couldn't have wished for a better ride home. nice and smooth

—the bastard

...on more departures

...or on indigestion

last night the bastard went out to bid a fond fairwell to jimmy 3000 as he leaves our fair state for north carolina which seems to be becoming, much to north carolina's chagrin, new new york. 3k has had enough of gotham or in his case, suburbia and besides, it's gotten expensive to live here. the bastard makes a decent buck but, i'm also doing a bunch of side stuff just to get by. so, it's off to the near south for mr and missus 3000 and their daughter for a brighter tomorrow.

don't let the top image fool you, 3k didn't work with me at killing stuff monthly. he was a good friend of mine from when i worked at "computer magazine that was doomed to failure weekly". he was my IT guy and he came down to my office to get coffee. we traded off on a lot of good music because this was during the halcyon days of napster. i owe a great deal of the fact that i prefer to walk down the street listening to gomez to this man (besides, nothings better than macking down the street to detroit swing 66 on the right day of the week). anyway, the art's there because we went out to dinner at this place and i believe the bastard ate an entire petting zoo while i was there. i'm kind of on meat overload at the moment so i think i'll have to take a breather for a little while. get a little greens in my life perhaps.

—the bastard

P.S. as a little bonus batter, the bastard got himself on a little bit of a cthulhu kick while looking for art for this post and i came across this little redoctoring of a chick comic tract for your viewing pleasure. just know now that the elder gods are coming and everyone is doomed.

the drop

...or on procrastinating

so i've been taking my time repairing the starter. i've known about this problem since i moved back in. the solenoid is bad so when i go a distance, the block heats up, and when i arrive at my destination, she won't start again until the block cools off. so this morning (afternoon) i went over to the rents to get my check for doing the devil's work for the artist. after my mom keeping my up to date with television programs that i won't be watching anytime soon, i turn the key and no start. so here's a handy five step to start your car when the starter is busted (manual transmission required).

1. turn the key into the "on" position

2. roll your car backwards to give yourself a little runway.

3. start pushing your car forward so that it moves and jump into it action hero style.

4. put the transmission in first and pull up the clutch while pushing the key into the ignition position. you will feel a slight jerk in the car as the transmission catches.

5. roll out of there like the mack you are. i'm surprised it worked on a car as (not that a '96 saturn could be considerred "new")

so the next time you're in a bind and your starter is out, well you get the idea, jerk.

—the bastard

P.S. as an extra bonus, here's how to do the moonwalk

...and another one gone...

It occurred to me that I haven't told this tale yet. I even went back in the archives to see if I had previously mentioned it's passing. It being September 21.

Sept. 21, 1989, I was diagnosed and so hospitalized for Acute Lymphocetic Leukemia. Obviously a life changing moment, and a trying time to say the least, but let's not dwell on it, after all, I'm still rockin' the casbah. Fast forward, 11 years, Sept. 21, 2000. After feeling a deeply disturbing "heartburn" outside a chinese joint nearby the old HQ with the ex, I spend half the evening with her and return home. The next morning I still feel fairly uncomfortable, and after a prodding by said ex, I go to the doctor who in turn sends me to the hospital, seven or eight hours later I'm on the operating table for an aortic dissection. Again a life changing and trying event. And again let's not dwell on it, I'm still housin', and I can still enjoy some Lo Mein. Instead let's dwell on this: What do the dates 9/21/89 and 9/21/2000 have in common?...don't bother consulting a multi-year calender... they both fell on a Thursday.

Crazy.

Normally, when September 21st approaches I grow leary, I set my ducks in a row and check my will, which may sound morbid, but I've had leukemia and heart surgery and I may be rockin' the casbah and housin' in this motherfucker but I'm not stupid! A man's gotta make sure his shit's straight.

yes I have a will, it's nothing official it's just a piece of paper I keep on file so if anything were to happen it's there to let my family know my feelings on resuscitation orders, (no, no fucking way), funeral arrangements (Viking-style with Marley's "Ride Natty Ride" as the theme), and who gets to take on my debt (that's a surprise)

One of the biggest problems is the psychology of the date is that everything becomes a symptom. A psycho-sematic aura always surrounds me around this time, but yesterday was special. Yesterday 9/21/06 was a Thursday. Thankfully all is well, another bites the dust. However the countdown is on for 9/21/2023. You see, the first 9/21 after 1989 was in 1995, nothing particular happened then, at least I don't remember anything particular that day except that I swept the floor of Tower Records that night, because I always closed on Thursday nights. The next Thursday 9/21 will be 9/17, there's a leap year in 2012, (and a Rush Concept album), so based on the past we'll skip that one which leads us to 2023. I'll be 50. I just did the math, 17 year's ago yesterday I was diagnosed with Leukemia. 17 years from yesterday is 9/21/2023. Now that's some of that freaky-deaky. You see, there is no god, only mother nature--and mathematics. September 21, 2023, it's a good enough day to die.

Want to kick it up a notch? The bastard (aka bastard, of the Forest Hills bastards) has reason to heed 9/21. But I'll let him tell his own story.


September 22, 2006: Nine months until my birthday.

a relieved mofo

...on the fall of the house of usher 3

and so it ends. the family treks west for greener pastures. the cycle ends. and so it begins. the family heads west for greener pastures. the cycle begins. now that the bastard's family has headed out and i back to the box i call home, the lowe, has left parts forest hills for the west and his apartment will be the artist's new base of operations. this has been a long time coming for the artist as he has been holding down the basement of 12johns for a little while. even longer than he lived at the family's house, the artist has done his time for the family. many docks were put in and taken out of the harbor by the artist (and whichever other chuckleheads from the family that showed up that day) which is why the mofo and i have acquiesced control of the grandchildren which my dearly departed grandmother referred to as "group 2" in her end time delirium (but that is another story).

so the artist has also arranged that i pass my landlord's (the stutterer) number to his sisters with the interest being our family repopulating the q-borough. starting with forest hills. i figure what the hell, if you find a vacant apartment on your block why not try and fill it with someone you know rather than have some hipster move in and make you feel old and uncool and of course price you out of the neighborhood with trustfundy goodness. this'll be real interesting for me. i never really visited my family very often before the troubles and i visit them even less now that they are done (mostly because the old man needs to come to grips with it and i don't want to do it for him). but now i'll have family on the block. we'll see what happens.

—the bastard

old black dawning...

it's really nice out today. the bastard can get to the train station and still feel human. my kind of cool. i can wear the trench so i feel completely sorted. i never really did like my summer wardrobe. something kind of unnatural about wearing shorts. at least for me. but it was a good ride in for running late. i'm tired too. but it's the good kinda tired. now get back to work jerkface!

—the bastard

...on the grid

...or is it off the grid

so the bastard is taking a nap one saturday (reoccuring sleep theme, it's karaoke night next door) a couple weeks ago, and the phone rings. it rings righ tat that magic moment when you are aware that you are about to go under. i wonder if dying id like this. you know? no i don't wonder if dying is like this, i have more important things to worry about. anyway, phone rings. bastard gets the shake up. i make it to the answerring machine in time to find that it's a hangup. i go back to sleep and that moment never comes again. time to kill the land line.

yeah, i know what you're thinking, "hey bas, what if another september 11th like incident happens again? how will you get in touch with your loved ones." well i'll tell you how. same way i did 5 years ago. with instant messenger. i did the blackout of 2003 with my bosses cell phone and it took forever to connect with someone and it didn't matter that i had a lad line then. so it's gone. the only people that call it are the landlord, my father and a buttload of telemarketers. so it's out. goodbye to all that. stupid thing is, i haven't felt like taking a nap in weeks. dammit! oh, karaoke's stopped. time for sleep. goodnight jerks!

—the bastard

the nod

so as i've mentioned on numerous occasions, the bastard don't sleep alot. for some reason, i can't seem to get horizontal until at least midnight. maybe it's when i turn into a pumpkin, that i can actually fall asleep. go figure. anyway. i skip 3 trains in the interest of getting a seat on the local. 3 trains in and we hit paydirt. all except for one detail. this handsome handsome devil to your left.

QUICK SIDEBAR: it is my understanding that inna gadda da vida was once considered one of the longest songs ever recorded logging in at, i believe, 25 minutes. jethro tull's thick as a brick logs in at 43 minutes but, it's really a series of movements strung together because ian anderson is a clever bird like that

so this fat load has convinced me that he is going to be deaf by the end of the week or, dead by the end of the train trip. his ipod is blasting what seems like something that sounds like hip hop or something that sounds like white zombie. maybe rob zombie started a side project. maybe i'm just imagining things because i imagined that this was the longest song ever. it was the same repetitive beat which turned into the kind of monotonous drone that i can fall asleep to. so i did. long story short is, i managed to get some sleep but, i felt the need to share the load's gloriousness with the world. jerk. well it's karaoke night and i know i won't see the sandman until at least one. good times. no. great times
—the bastard

...on the devil's due

so for the last two nights the bastard has been out and about which has kept me from doing the devils work for the artist. you see, the bastard's company is up on the block and that has created a whole lot of uncertainty around the office. so after the "official" announcement, i walk into the editor's office and we discuss it which concludes in the decision to have a staff outing to the bar. 4 gin and tonics later, i get the call from scoop to meet her for drinks. so 4 margarita's later, the bastard is fit to be tied. i roll home and thank god that i had the presence of mind to fall into a cab when i got back to craptastic queens.

flash forward: spent wednesday night at an event with susie kansas. it's like a networking event only everyone is really nice. the bastard loosens up and actually manages to not fall on his face. i could even say i was charming but hell, you're asking me, what did you expect? anyway chicago jerkface shows up only to be a lackluster wingman but who could blame him, he wanted to eat. so we got steak frites. well "i" did. i decided that when i go out to eat with jerkface, i will refer to whatever i am eating as the "grass is greener platter" due to the fact that anything i am eating looks better to him than what he's eating.

flash forward: last night, no plans. time to give the devil his due and i take care of it while watching a bridge too far. this runs into dinner and yet another airing fo enemy of the state. tv's just on for background noise but, i think i've seen this movie almost as much as i've seen "top gun" and "dirty dancing". work gets done by 11:30 but i have to fix it after the treadmill (you see, i'm trying real hard to NOT die). finally, i'm done at 1AM. 1:30 i get drunk texted by scoop. now i'm up. til 3.

flash forward: i slept through the alarm but got up at a decent hour to eat breakfast. only problem is, i poured orange juice into my cornflakes. yes, the bastard has finally exhausted himself enough that he poured orange juice into his cereal. not to be discouraged, i grab a strainer and flip the bowl right into it draining out what was probably 2 or 3 shotglasses worth of orange juice. dumped the frosted flakes back into the bowl and ate my breakfast. came in and sang "step right up" to left hand rob. you know, i see the brick wall coming, but i can't stop the train. chugga chugga, shiteyes!

—the bastard

full of grace

so i come home and turn on the tube. normally i don't do that but the bastard figures, "what the hell?" and a bridge too far is on which is the story of a failed allied attempt to take several bridges from the germans during world war II. i came in during the scene in which robert redford is leading his troops across the river and guys are getting blown up left and right by german artillery. he looks around him paddling with his rifle in the water and he chants as he rows,

"hail mary full of grace"

"hail mary full of grace"

i forgot how intense a scene that was and i forgot how intense a movie can be when you forgot that the good guys lose.

—the bastard

open road...pouring rain

well this morning the bastard was going in WAAAAY late. way late because the lowe is leaving town for parts west. i had to drop off some things for the drive and go. took a late expess train and nearly fell on some guy while sitting down.

QUICK SIDEBAR: the lowe has wanted to leave new york for a great while. one of the things he nevered like about here was the horrendous experiences he had on the express train. crowded, and constatnt rudeness were all he talked about. he also hated the winters.

anyway, i excuse myself and the man says, "are you okay?"

"yeah sure, just slipped that's all"

"so you're all right?"

"yeah"

"okay, well you have a nice day then, okay?"

"alright. you too." then he went back to reading his paper. it's a good start to a frikkin rainy ass day. well anyway, i never saw the same kind of rudeness on the subway. i mean, the bastard has seen his fair share of crazy people but never the likes of which the lowe ever experienced. maybe he'll find what he's looking for out west. godspeed sir.

—the bastard

...on the wind

you know, five years ago today, it was the same out as it was today. it was windy out and it was sunny out. then some buildings got leveled downtown and everything turned to smoke. i remember how for a week or two the sky was totally empty because planes were grounded. three weeks later i ran into one of my neighbors and she was telling me how a passenger jet was flying overhead as she was walking to work and everyone stopped and held their breath. and when it passed, not crashing into anything, everyone around her exhaled.

i went outside for some air this morning and saw how nice it was outside. it was sunny and it was windy. just like it was before everything changed. exhale.

—the bastard

...on the bass

now as the bouncer will tell you, as an establishment starts to fail businesswise, they'll let any dumb neanderthal into the place. now the bouncer is, yes, a bouncer and his expertise lies in the club scene. the bastard finds that his logic is sound in most any business arena. take the restaurant for instance. now the bastard hasn't reported on the restaurant's karaoke activities since getting back into the apartment for one reason and one reason only. i can't be bothered. i resigned myself to not getting bothered by the little things anymore. i decided not to get bothered by thing one or thing two either. i want to have inner peace in my life, and it starts with me. so there. sorry, i'll find better material for the faithful.
buuuuuuut, sometimes something breaks up my peace. like when i'm tired and when a bunch of neanderthals get out of a really loud car to check out the menu of the restaurants and the while they decide how they are going to pronouce words like richotta and calamari, their driver parks his car under my window. and the bastard is tired from doing the devil's work last night for the artist. but there he is, thumping bass, windows rolled down and standing outside his car, posing. i used to go to the bouncer's site to remind myself of the kind of idiots i went to high school with but now i get a front row seat. hey can you turn that up? i don't think they can hear you in jersey. rhythm is a dancer indeed...you prick.

—the bastard

...on doing your business

so the bastard doesn't like talking about doing his business. but, i walk into my "office" to do my "business" when someone asks from the other stall,

"hey man, do you have a spare roll of toilet paper overe there? the roll over here is soaking wet"

so the bastard does his rate best to give him a goddam roll so i can put this unpleasant incident behind me (HAH. behind GET IT?! ahhhh, go to hell) but it doesn't stop there,

"thanks man, i don't know how the roll over here got all soaking wet man. thanks"

"SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!" the bastard is now sufficiently creeped out. carry on. GO ON! carry on.

—the bastard

i don't know if the bastard's ever told you...

...i really love it when people eat on the subway

yeah. seriously. i absolutely love it. nothing gets the bastard's motor running like watching some salty faced guy (or gal) takes a turkey hero out of some greasy paper bag and rips the thing in half getting breadcrumbs all over the already filthy floor of the car and chomping away right there. i am getting so hot and bothered by the very idea of watching this rube get crumbs all over his mouth and wiping them off with the cuff of his shirt, i just can't contain myself. oh wait, out comes the soda. oh yeah, crumbs and soda and filth. this is the fucking best. no. wait. don't put the can down on the floor. you know how i love it when you put the can down on the floor. YES! YES! YES! ok i'm done. now do it again, you fucking slob.

—the bastard

P.S. ummmm, guy on the number six train who felt that the best way to tell the folks around you that YOU won't be bullied into getting on the train any faster than your pace and we will have to just deal with that: Move jackass! if there was a better path to go around you, the bastard would have taken it thus avoiding any righteous indignation you must have felt that GOD FORBID people want to get on the train before the doors close. oh and by the way, if you ever try to kick me again, i WILL cut you a new breathing hole thus enabling you to breath while i stick my foot in your mouth.

God i love this town. i never thought i'd get this back. it's like having an old girlfriend over for breakup sex.

crushed glass

yeah, the bastard thinks he's going to have to stop smoking. once upon a time when i started to use the treadmill, chicago jerkface made a remark about how smoking and getting on a treadmill after a long time of inactivity will make you feel like you have crushed glass in your lungs. this always makes me think of a joy wulke sculpture i saw at the allendale shopping mall in massachusetts. now i haven't used the treadmill for a couple days but i woke up with that feeling and i'm thinking, it's time for a little breather(hah! get it?! ahhhhhh go to hell) from my nicotine infused crutch. you see, there's glass in my lungs. oh well, rains stopped.

—the bastard

screwed on...

...or notsomuch with the good

okay so it's notsomuch with the good today. apparently the bastard is having a problem remembering things. on tuesday night while getting cash at the atm, i forgot to take my card out of the machine. i didn't realize this until friday when i needed to take out laundry money (back in the apartment means no more free laundry). i get my atm card back and realize that when i went to the mall on thursday night, i neglected to find proper parking for my car and when i got home on friday, i had a ticket on the windshield. no wait it gets worse. i had this weird dream this morning that got me out of bed early. apparently i was canoodling in my high school's library (circa 1988)with someone who has been blowing me off for the last two months and i was just about to ask her something when i woke up and realized that somewhere between when i got my new atm card and moving my car out of the illegal spot, i lost my ipod. i don't know if i'm blacking out or i'm just not paying attention but, it's very disconcerting that i can remember to take out something to cook two days in advance but i can't remember where the hell i put my ipod. notsomuch with the good.

—the bastard

and the rain rain rain, fell down down down

well ernesto has made it to new york, and it hasn't really turned into much more than some rain that might get worse later today. you know, it's things like north carolina that keep hurricanes from beating the hell out of new york more often than not. i mean we've had a couple few over the years but, a hurricane is gradually dimished because of the south. i'm sure that perhaps willy dub, killing stuff monthly's resident tall tale teller is down at his parents gigantic middle class estate battening down the hatches with his big blue ox. one tume willy dub told me this story in which he battled a giant on top of mojave mountain. when the fight was finished they had so destroyed the mountain that mojave became the mojave desert. then he passed out in a cab. woke up on 125th street and malcolm x boulevard and asked the cab driver to take him to a jazz club because he needed to hear jazz.

anyway, rain sucks and this morning is not turning into the fix up the apartment type morning that i envisioned it would be. oh well. i guess a shower and car ride is in order. i still have crap at the rtents house to get. maybe that can add up to some progress. the bastard is going to need some help he thinks.

—the bastard

I've got mail

The bastard sent his package for me. It should be some copies of the Showtime Original series, "Weeds." I've heard good things about and wanted to check it out anyway because it stars Mary Louise Parker in it, who, if there was truly a god would be my wife, or at least on the short list.

The bastard also found it necessary to send along with the DVDs, this:


and this:


I'm sending it right back to him cause he didn't call no backsies.

No Backsies.

Circle, circle, dot, dot--beeotch!

mo

...on representin'

so i got this text message from the artist last night and i didn't know what to make of it, i was trying to get some sleep. anyway when i spoke to him this morning (you see, i'm doing the devils work for him), he explained that last night on the mtv vmas, ll cool j said,

"the q borough is thorough"

ll grew up in queens. way to give it back to the peeps james.

—the bastard

...on departures

i actually wanted to do this when scoop left a few weeks ago but i think i was in too shit of a mood at the time. you see there comes a time in everyones career where it's time to get the hell out and move on to another job. it isn't my time yet. the editor of "making guns look good" asked me to stay on for one more gun show when scoop gave her notice. she's going out to malibu, claifornia to work on to "how rich people can spend their money better" magazine. this comes as a complete bummer to me because scoop has been so integral to me not going nuts with my divorce. she's been a good friend and now she's heading west. good for her. bad for me. now i'll have to rely on gin to keep my head screwed on. not that i didn't rely on that anyway but, come on, the sentimentality is all there.

but, these things come in threes. prior to scoop filing, killing stuff monthly lost its own kentucky gentleman. the gentleman had the dry wit and the respect for the land and for the kill as any hunter i will ever know (and the bastard has met a few). but three was rounded out when susie kansas called it quits from killing stuff to go to "travelling for almost no money" magazine. she too will be sorely missed as she was a valued friend who has had her fill of this jib joint. i don't know if i ever properly thanked her for saving me from what could have been the saddest new years eve of my life, i should do that. as each person who i've know and valued over the time has left i find this place gets a little emptier and hollow to come to. during the separation i found that i liked nothing better than coming into this office because it was the only place that made sense to me. and it was the only place i felt truly comfortable in while i dealt with my problems. i've even slept on the floor in this dump and never slept sounder in the last 10 months anywhere else. now that's all gone. i think the bastard's time grows short here. one more gun show. one more dance. then that's it.

—the bastard

upon viewing the body...

...it was total gentrification, in the study, with the candlestick...

...or was it colonel mustard in the kitchen with the handgun? or maybe it was real estate profiteers with the rope in the billiard room? either way, gentrification put a bullet in the brain of pop culture in this town and i'm sure the bastard had something to do with it. i mean i go to starbucks, not because i'm a shill for corporations but because the "local places" i would buy coffee from were filled with ill mannered goth girls that would never give me the time of day if that was my thing at the time and more importantly, the coffee sucked ass. like 5 day old diner coffee sucked. so at a place like starbucks, i still get ill mannered service but the coffee is good. jz, the bastard's brother in law (or is it former brother in law, i'm still trying to work out all these post divorce semantics) hates all things corporate and goes out of his way to avoid them to the point that i would percieve it as inconveniencing yourself to "stick it" to a corporate entity that doesn't know you exist anyway. but people equate this sort of behavior as a contribution towards the end times. but in the case of cbgb, i make an exception. cb's is a crappy, filthy, dirty, hole in the wall that lowers property values and should stay in the bowery forever. and it won't because after 30 some odd years, the birthplace of punk rock is closing forever.

stevus christus invited me out to see his guitar teacher's band play so i turned out to view the body. i hadn't been to cb's since december so i wanted to one last visit in. the teacher's band went on after the generic fallout boy sounding rock act. i think they were called "insert clever name here". anyway, i meet the members of the band at different times and they are all very nice enough people. the teacher who sang and played gits was drunk and that is a special kind of way to be before a show. the fact that he missed my hand on the initial handshake and then apologized for missing made him alright in my book.

alright, i won't go into length about the band, or their sound or any of that crap because, it wasn't my taste. one of stevus' friends said they used to sound like blink 182 but now they sound different. more like some other band that sounds like some other band. i mean hell, blink 182 is a band that sounds like "all", who sounds like "the descendants" which sounds pretty much like all punk bands from berkeley who sound like the "stiff little fingers". so i'm seeing a band that sounds like a band that sounds like a band that sounds lie a band. hell, one of the songs did sound like a living color song that i used to like so i have to give them props. oh...wait...i said i wasn't going to get into this. don't get me wrong, these guys are incredibly talented. the rhythm sections was goddam incredible. one of the best i've heard in years this guitarist has incredible chops and i dig on his voice but, he's very safe. like alot of bands out there that are safe. cintra wilson one time lamented the fact that there are no cock rockers out there anymore and she was right. a guy like iggy pop wouldn't get up between songs and say, "this next song is about...this next song is about...this next song is about". no, he'd spit at the crowd, tell me to go fuck myself, kick some chick in the head, then cut him and perform "now i wann be your dog". sorry, this is just how i feel about music these days.

after the show, i was talking about the bad brains to stevus' friends and one of them left dismissing the conversation as the two of us rehashing the past. it wasn't a rehash, it was a lesson, shiteyes. recognize!!! anyway the singer came out and those who stayed told him how much they loved the show and while it lacked the energy of the blah blah blah show 3 months ago, it was still really good. i said they were pretty good in and amongst that exchange and the teacher paused and asked me,

"waitaminute, did you just say we were pretty good"

"yeah, i said you were pretty good"

"stevus..? what the fuck"

"well you remember that thing you said earlier about the discerning tastes of new yorkers?" piped up stevus

"they're all fucking posers"

yeah, i left that part out. during the show he had something to say about how new york audiences are all a bunch of stiffs. oh yeah, and we're all fucking posers. (the phrase poser has a special meaning for me since i got the shit kicked out of me over that very term but that's another story). talking crap about my town especially with reference to how your music failed to blow me away always wins points with me. iggy?

—the bastard

you know, that's not something you see every day

so the bastard is heading towards the 6 this morning and i come across this guy i spoke about exactly a year ago with regards to the cut of his jib. he was with his girlfriend and apparently they are either moving to idaho, or they are going to vacation there. that's not really the story. i came across that post while looking for my generic number 6 train photo for this post.

anyway. at 42nd, this homeless guy in a wheelchair gets on with his helper monkey and then proceeds to get off of his wheelchair. i didn't pay attention to him when he got on. becoming apathetic is a disease that occurs frequently in a city of this size and i have my own fish to fry to BACK OFF. anyway the guy gets off his wheelchair and plops down onto the floor. i noticed this because he had no legs. he then proceeded to move between the cars. sat in between the cars for a couple of minutes before moving into the next one. now that's not something you see every day.

—the bastard

UPDATE: the bastard was coming home from a late lunch when i saw him again. guess the 6 is his friday gig.