...on weddings and funerals

"hey bastard, long time no see. sorry about your grandfather."

"it's okay tony, it wasn't your fault" the bastard quips back with one of his many sordid coping devices, "actually, i'm just glad he's out of pain. how have you been?"

"not bad. the kids are really growing up. patty is doing a great job with them"

"that's great. it's been such a long time"

"i know. it's kind of sad", piped tony. "it seems as you get older, you see your relatives less and less."

"yeah i know. and even if you try, you can never keep up"

"i know. it seems like the only time you get to see your family is at weddings and funerals"

"very true"

yeah. weddings and funerals. i had this conversation with tony in june of 2000 at my grandfather's funeral. tony and his wife, my second cousin used to babysit me when we were young. when the mofo was still in diapers. we'd go out to my great aunt's house and marvel at the plymouth duster she owned and hang out in her pool and the three of us would skewer tony and he would take it because, he loved my cousin and hell, how bad could three kids skewer a man.

the bastard remembers this conversation because, tony died this week from lymphoma. i'm going to his wake tonight. i'm embarassed to say that i never knew he was sick. i'm embarrassed that the last time i saw him was at my great aunt's funeral. and before that my grandfather's funeral (his sister in law came to grandma's instead. family schism. long story. another time perhaps). and before that, my wedding. that was over 10 years ago mind you.

there was truth to his words back then. and it sticks today. i'll see these people tonight. and i haven't seen them since the last joy/tragedy. all i know is tony and i won't ever be able to have that conversation again but, i'll always remember wanting to get the hell out of the conversation to go have a cigarette that day. maybe that's why i feel embarrassed. because i'll never be able to wash that feeling off.

i hate funerals. my mom's family is dying and they constantly come together and try to keep it together. i guess that when the wagons are being circled is when you feel like locking arms, because you know the end is coming.

—the bastard

seethe

so the bastard has a very complex parenting dynamic. he is divorced. he lives in new york. his son lives in tucson (that's on mars for you jerks who need a map). ergo, the bastard needs to fly on a plane because flapping just doesn't seem to work AT ALL and i haven't latched onto any science fictiony or any alien technology to get me there. so i fly. i fly jet blue. why? because i've flown it for business for the last 4 years. now here's the twist (there's always a twist jackass, don't you read?), i'm booking my flight at work. i'm booking my flight on a computer that uses an operating system that was used last century. i crashed the browser not once but 4 TIMES. the bastard was shaking with rage. fucking shaking. ask left hand rob. he came in to get coffee and i couldn't contain my rage. how hard is it to book bloody airfare! AGH!

NOW LET'S BACK UP: crowded train. pulls outta 51st. not having a good time. someone reeks of perfume/cologne and cigarettes. you know that smell. that smell that might be slightly worse than a man with the next morning whiskey sweats. the worst part about both smells is, that the culperate is rarely aware that they effing REEK of unspeakable smellatude. i deal. i'm on for two stops anyway and i'm already standing straddling this charming makeout couple, the female half of which looks like she chewed most of the shocking ink nail polish off of her fingers for breakfast before proceeding to stick her tongue in her boyfriend's ear on the 6 train. how very touching. i mean i like earwax for breakfast once in a while too but, i've gone on at length about how much i enjoy eating on the train. anyway, we pull into 42nd street/grand central. no one gets off. people want to get on. it's rush hour. yelling starts.

"step in the car"

"it's that simple"

actually lady it isn't that simple. i think the makeout twins here would really appreciate it if i didn't sit on this young man's lap so you can get 6 more inches of real estate on an already crowded train. this ain't the last chopper out of saigon. there WILL be another. christ! i hate the people that get on at grand central. fresh off the metro north and full of rage and entitlement and disdain that they have to get on the train with the masses. man that perfume/cigarette smell is gross.

—the bastard

PS: fast forward: i hit the publish button on the OS9 version of blogger and the browser crashes. could any hell be more real...or now? good thing i saved this elsewhere. god dammity dam!

...on pimps and playas

so i have these two friends from college who moved out to las vegas a few years back and when the bastard has to go to the gun show, i visit them. so the female half of the duo who we can call H.M., works at what will be the new planet hollywood casino. it used to be the aladdin but now it'll be planet hollywood. so h.m. sends me these photos of the new casino putting up the letters for the hotel. apparently another version of the photo made the local papers over there.

you know, every year when i have to go to the gun show, they make me stay at the hilton. because it's connected to the convention center. and since it's not a high profile destination anymore (and since the owners daughters set such a stellar example of how much americans like to get drunk, do drugs and fuck in public. or maybe it's just not on the strip), it attracts a different class of professional. but for a brief minute, the working professionals that work inside had a place they could call their own. "planet ho". all kidding aside, i can't wait to see h.m.'s new digs when i get out there. the bastard loves a good craps table.

—the bastard

...on the forecast

...and other grief

so the bastard has consulted with ollie and the black-u-weather forecast is,

IT'S GONNA RAIN!

that's right jerks it's going to rain today. it's gonna rain saturday. it's gonna rain sunday. it''s gonna rain...well you get the idea. either way, the bastard is dry. i think it's because i mahaned to walk between the rain drops to get to the train station. and by walk between the rain drops, the bastard means "took the bus"

—the bastard

PS: ummmmm. plump girl from circulation with the bad frost job, and the self tanner, and the fake nails who just gave me the "as if" look while i was making coffee, you're not my sort. REALLY not my sort. carry on fatty.

...on transubstantiation

"you know, that was good but i'm not eating there again for a long time."

"that's why i didn't want to get the pie. she was pissed"

"well she screwed up the order"

"very passive aggressive"

"what the hell is a resurrection biscuit?"

"dude you have got to take a picture of that"

"i hear ya"

"is that what they call it?"

"no they call it a wafer. they probably have a point that refers back to it. you know, they were probably thinking, resurrection nuggets, like nuggets of info but, it might have sounded dumb to them so they opted for biscuits because it sounded less dopey. you have to think like a protestant with these things. how do i make the message go with the title so it sticks"

"the mcrib of christ"

"there you go"

"why can't the body of christ come in more flavorful treats? like the cheesesteak of christ"

"it would make the word of the lord go down a little easier"

"i would prefer to have that with the cheesefries of judas. i'm so going to hell for that one"

—the bastard

...on animals

...or on blind magazine items

so there is this company that bought us. they also bought a company 2 years back that had alot of fishing magazines and boating magazines and they also bought a very posh, very award winning food magazine that we will just call posh food (or maybe pompous food, the bastard might feel the need to toggle once in a while). anyway, posh food was removed from their new york offices and moved to florida and now they are moving them back to new york. in the meantime, while posh food's posh offices are being renovated downtown so that they can no doubt have a posh kitchen to cook posh things and live poshly.

anyway, until their no doubt very fabulous offices are done being constructed, they are here. in the not so posh, dead animal head ridden offices of killing stuff monthly and her sister book killing stuff and winning ASME's. and we have tons of heads here. we have more creatures hangng on display than the museum of natural history and if we could fit it in here, we'd get that fucking whale in here too if someone would just head out into open water and kill it. well there you have it. the bastard wants oneof the editors to run right out and kill a whale, you know, just ot round out the collection. any takers?

so today is the day that the posh food staff comes in and decides to wander around the area. they kind of look like a very well off group of the living dead. or perhaps really wrinkly clones of helen gurley brown but, you get the picture.

"oh my god. did you see that head hanging there?'

"that's disgusting"

"isn't that disgusting?"

"oh disgusting"

"oh my god, look at the wall, is that a wolf?"

"well i never"

you know what? and you never will.

a fascinating thing i find about folks in my industry (magazines, not killing shit, i haven't gone postal quite yet) is the elitism that sometimes comes wrapped in hypocrisy. yes, there are alot of dead animals on the premises. posh food is a magazine that writres about cooking dead animals. i read it. i ahevn't come across their all vegan issue quite yet. so the bastard has to wonder, what's more disgusting, killing a deer, or an ibex, or a boar quickly and accurately and hanging it on the wall, or shoving a funnel down a live gooses throat and shoving food into it's gut until it can fit no more so you can get the a piece of foid gras big enough to choke a horse (which of course you might want to do by sticking a funnel down a horses throat and stuffing it with foid gras....yeah, that's disgustin'). but you get the idea. either way, i get the feeling that they won't be inviting us over for high tea anytime soon.

—the bastard

...on shoving

...and napoleon complexes

...ummmmm, hey short lady. yes you short lady why are you shoving? why are you name calling. i know it's a real bitch to be that short and all and i know that it's all ME ME ME and such, and i feel really really bad about you having to walk through life with that tragic tragic haircut, but if we weren't in mixed company, i would stab you in the neck. that shoving and shouting is quite unnecessary. have a nice day.

and oh yeah you can go to hell too. >>smooch<<.

—the bastard