ride home

so here's how it was supposed to go down.

the band was supposed to go on at 8:30 but turns out they didn't go on until 9:30.

and while i wasn't guaranteeing anything, i was really trying to be back in queens in time to get in the car and pick up the chairman.

the bastard even drank accordingly to plan for this possibility.

but, i didn't get outta the l.e.s. until 10 to 11. and when i got down there, the platform was empty.

so here the bastard is,

in one of the more desolate areas on the edge of china town and the lower east side,

on an empty train platform.

it was kinda creepy actually.

but, the bastard sometimes gets rewarded with fine fine plumage. it is as my buddy scoop says, "i love going out on wednesday nights, it's when the gates of freak open". pure gold.

i get off the train at 20 to 12. the text message reads:

11:21 landed

11:31 you suck bro i guess i'll have to take a cab

so when i get home the text response was:

11:46 that's me. aye suck

—the bastard

messages from the creatures of the deep...

...and other crap the bastard saw in a bar last night


"hi aquaman",

was the greeting the bastard received from a magic marker drawing as he went to take a leak in the bathroom of the 169 bar last night.

"how was the bathroom", my ladyfriend asks me.

"it's a typical bathroom on the lower east side, it looks like a hundred punk rockers took a crap in it and then drew all over it with magic marker. standard"

"cause mattysaintjoe said that it was flooded the last time he played here."

"yeah water was just flying out the door", retorts mattysaintjoe (that's him on the right).

hmmmmm, hi aquaman indeed. the bastard almost dropped hi phone in the toilet over this one.

the 169 was a haven for local thugs back in the day. now it's a haven for folks who really fucking miss cbgb's. there was a girl banging on a piano and screaming tone deaf poetry into a microphone. this trainwreck culminated with her doing the single worst version of you don't own me. the rest of the night, she was yelling, "holla, holla, holla", between everyone's songs. sarcasm i would imagine for mattysaintjoe but definite sincerity for the danish girl who was part of broken down social scene part two. i only figured this because holla girl's whole shit was bitching about her ex girlfriends and judgey catholic priests whole raped her when she was 15 or something. i guess that's the value of a nyu english degree.

mattysaintjoe was good last night although a 50 something year old swedish lady was bending the bastard's ear about how rude his bandmate was to her. and who knows, he may well have been. people just don't make shit up these days. anyway, she told me her story. i told her part of mine justy because this conversation wasn't about what was going on in MY life, it was what was going on in hers. and that the other guy in matty's duo was rude to her. oh well, it still made for a good evening.

oh, right, and they were selling fourty ohs of colt 45 for 9 bucks a clip. being that the bastard spent most of his college career drinking colt 45 for only 2.25 a bottle, i just couldn't do it. that door is closed. but on the other hand, it works everytime.

—the bastard

...on gunsmoke

so i get this email from bobble. apparently the chairman went to the range. wait let me back up.

FLASHBACK: so the bastard was at the gun show, or rather, i was taking a cab back to my casino-less hotel, and my driver looked like captain lou albano in a fez and the fez was advising me to go to this shooting range outside of town to experience shooting a 50 caliber machine gun for 20 dollars a round. earlier in the week at an industry dinner, the ceo of a company in my industry was telling me about this place in texas where wild boar is hunted 24/7/365 because they have become a dangerous nuisance species (imagine a species that reproduces kind of as much as rats or maybe dogs but they grow up to be 500 pounds, an ornery disposition and TUSKS, as well as a healthy desire to kill you).

so i passed these nuggets along to the chairman. and there he is, firing an uzi. also shot was an m-16, an mp5, and a thompson submachine gun.

which he was scolded for not respecting enough.

"you better RESPECT THAT WEAPON or i might just have to shoot you. that gun killed REAL nazis. so respect that weapon"

glad to see the chairman has found something to do with things that have killed nazis. excellent.

—the bastard

contents may shift while in transit

the bastard knows that you're really caught up in the whole, feeling less like a man because the train just shifted and you thought that you really didn't need to hold onto anything but your wall street journal but, when you full on fell into me, instead of saying nothing, the phrase you should have been looking for was:

A: sorry buddy.

B: excuse me.

C: whoops, my bad.

D: hey buddy, can't you see i'm falling here

any of the above would have been acceptable. it would prevent the bastard from thoughts like:

A: you're and asshole.

B: i hope you die or at least have an amusing pratfall in my presence.

C: you're a dick.

D: you suck at living.

and that as they say is that. i was kind of hoping for the pratfall though. oh well, coffee.

—the bastard

gauntlet

under the shadow of the empire state building is korea town. daily this is the bastard's gaunlet due to the fact that it's an easier road than taking the 6 train at night. it's kind of like the rainy post apocalyptic los angeles of blade runner. except the regulars dress more fashionably and they are less aware of the ghost faces that are trying to head to the f train. god forbid if you have to get past a big crowd at the fucking pinkberry on 32nd, you might get trampled by a poorman's recreation of the shibuya district.

you see the bastard has been drinking as you might guess and he's spouting crap.

spent three stops putting up with some jerkpiece testing out his ringtones underground. i'm sure it seemed like a great idea to him at the time. now the bastard is closing in on home and it sure tastes good after a steady diet of white ale and piggly wigglys.

god dammit, I love this fucking town. good to the last drop, shiteyes.

—the bastard

...on seeing it

LAST NIGHT: "you know bastard, i'm very concerned about how i'm going to get to las vegas on saturday"

"howso chairman? oh wait. yeah. the snow"

"yeah"

"well like anything weather wise in this town, i'll believe it when i see it. then again, i'm saying this with the ground condtions being right for snow to stick but, i'll believe it when i see it."

THIS MORNING: "well, that sure looks like snow all right", says the bastard as he accidentally kicks his air cleaner to the ground, completely crushing all hope of hitting the snooze button and getting another 10 minutes before i face the day.


HIT THE GROUND RUNNING: the bastard has this pair of boots from redhead that i got from the snowman but were worn by this man in a photoshoot for killing stuff monthly. but hell, free is free and they are spectacular in the snow. notsomuch with the indoors though.


ER, I MEAN SLIDING: transfer point.

took a chance. the ny1 said that there were signal problems up and down the 6 line but, i don't want to walk in these boots, i've worn them like 4 times tops and the lack of breaking in is grinding on the backs of the bastard's feet. oww.

down the stairs towards downtown. and down the bastard goes. you ever heard that sound a picket fence makes when you run a stick across it? yeah that's the one. all the way down the downtown stair i go. thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, WHUMP. ow! my aching ass! a woman who's having a case of the crazy hair turns around and asks the bastard,

"are you alright?"

headphone comes out," yeah, sure. that was delightful. did that sound as good as it felt?"

crazy hair smiles, "yeah", chuckles, and it's back to the business of getting work and the little mexican elves who make egg sandwiches for me. owwww, i hurt now.


ON THE SIX: a giant fat man in a trench coat gets in behind me. he has so much carcass. how the fuck does he get around like that? does he live on a steady diet of entire horses? he looks like nikita kruschev ate two whole nikita kruschevs to become the nikita kruschev that gets to walk THIS earth instead of the 3 other earth's that have giant nikita kruschev eating nikita kruschevs dwelling on them (there can BE only one you know). god, the bastard fucking HATES cannibals.

anyway, nikita, gets off at 42nd but he has to lumber his way through us and he smites this pleasant faced black woman into me. and now he's lumbering like the creature that the boy in akira becomes in the last half hour of the movie and as she's being crushed into me, she smiles and i tell her, "i believe the phrase the gentleman was looking for was "excuse me"". she just smiles and decides to get out of the doorway. nikita looks back for a second, the bastard holds his fingers in a v shape and jams them into my throat looking for a reaction from this fat fuck but he's off the train.

and i'm looking for an egg sandwich. god dammit, my ass hurts. stupid boots.

—the bastard

just so you know...

it's red pants thursday. and quite like the lumbering red panted sasquatch that he is, the man with the red pants has brought that beat back. and it is FIERCE.

—the bastard

things the bastard overheard at an off broadway show

"oh mah god?"

"what?"

"dear god, please don't make me have to pee during the show?"

"oh my god?"

"what?"

"the second act like totally sucked?"

don't say that to brooke (the playwright) when you meet her?"

the bastard saw a little play called hunting and gathering with his ladyfriend last night and it was very promising. although since, we're obviously in the same age group as the author, and i've dealt with a playwright or two in my time, i can't help feeling that every quirky romantic comedy i see on a small stage is a future indy film in the making. maybe the bastard thinks cinematically because he watched too many movies (i'm still waiting for get carter, the musical), or maybe he just sees the ambition in the playwrights work. or maybe it's because the playwright i used to do design for always wanted to make a movie about her plays which were about her drug habits in the 80's but, always seemed rushed when written out.

don't get me wrong, hunting and gathering is quite good. the bastard had a good laugh. and the bastard got some insite but, sometimes, it was a little clunky. i know clunky probably isn'ty a reviewer term but then again the bastard doesn't review plays, so go to hell. anyway. it was good enough to develop into a film and brooke.

don't be fooled.

they totally didn't like the second act.

—the bastard

PS: there's this part in the play where the main character is housesitting in astoria. and more than one of the characters is creeped out by the notion of queens AND is put off by the notion that people from queens feel that queens is a "real" neighborhood because we have greek bakeries or somesuch. the bastard has said it before and he'll say it again, you TRANSPLANTS need to get off of the outer boroughs' dick (see staten island, i'm sticking up for you too albeit begrudgingly). now i'm not directing this at the playwright due to the fact that she's logged 20 years on this rock but, manhattan is only a shining crystal palace because you came from crapper out in the plains states and because carrie anne moss told you that all things taste better with manolo blahniks on your feet. manhattan is just a rock like any other rock, and brooklyn is not it's ugly step sister. eat it.

...on sneaking

...and sneakers.


justice is a man who's nuances are almost as interesting as conversing with him.

he sometimes makes decisions to obsess over something for a month.

he sometimes decides to take on new habits for a period of time.

he sometimes has to order his pulled pork sandwich with coleslaw and a pint of stella artois and then he eats it in a specific order.

sometimes, he watches every episode of lost in 2 evenings so that he can be caught up with the current season because he's merely just biding his time until the new and final season of battlestar galactica airs this spring.

but while at shot show, justice decided that he wanted to be really into jack daniels.

and when he gt back he wanted to be into cigars. just for a little while. then drop it like a bad habit.

so he bought some cigars.

and a flask.

and left hand rob didn't have any jack daniels. so justice took care of himself. regardless of the unsuspecting youths he may or may not have been corrupting. but it's like the bastard said, his nuances are almost as interesting as talking to him.

—the bastard

this just in...

...left hand rob's house comes with instructions.

...or his house is haunted.

so at some point during lobster's tardy gras party, chicago jerkface's girlfriend, the gossip pointed out to the bastard that missus lobster had put some coffee on and she could now see through time.

so my first dilemma was, where i could find mugs. so i look up and i see:


feeling confident in my instructions, i wonder to myself where the milk and cream was and lo and behold:


you know how the phrase goes, "ask, and ye shall receive."

—the bastard

...on stations

...and superstitions

"i took a picture of you guys at the craps table."

"rilly?, i have to see."

"wow, that's a good shot"

"are you wearing your trenchcoat?"

"yes"

"why?"

"i didn't want to disrupt my system. i was in my mode"

"are you serious?"

"sure. part of the fun of playing craps is pretending to have superstitions. that's why rob and i stay on opposite sides of the croupier. it's part of the fun. although i used to be more superstitious."

"how so?"

"after he passed away, i used to keep my father in law's mass card in my suit when i gambled. he was a big gambler and i thought it would bring me luck. i don't know if it did but, i haven't been able to find it."

yes, the bastard really did. but then again, i never knew if bob was lucky at gambling, he did get comped alot. but i think he had other games that he played. i think he liked roulette.

—the bastard

the gift

every year, we have a new goofball to obsess on.

whether it's some character with a loch ness mullet and a foreigner t-shirt.

or some knife booth girl from the ukraine who waves back to us when we wave to her (and then jonny airplanes walks down onto the floor ands brings her up to the press suite for a beer).

or maybe it was our company's former rainmaker who keeps giving us the finger in passing in and out of the fray.


but this guy was our man this year.


our frequent flyer.

our go to weirdo. the man we followed.

sara voids found him independant of us and snapped away.

everyday, he wore a different variation of his acapulco shirt/and knee socks.

his kitch was a dream come true.

on day four, the editor had gotten into the game. he likes our little mullet hunt.

he gets the joke.

i get a text message from him.


"our guy is by the glock booth, in a robe and slippers"

and lo and behold, there he was. goddam classic

he was like the gift that kept on giving.

the stuff that makes the gun show worthwhile.

until next time.

when we return to florida.

—the bastard

...on magic

so rob talked the bastard into taking in a show.

normally, the bastard doesn't take in shows while in vegas.

he gambles.

and raises hell.

and spits fire.

and farts ambrosia.

but we took in the penn and teller show. i have to give it up, that while, penn and teller show you how each trick is done, it makes the idea of sleight of hand seem just THAT MUCH more magical.

it's kind of like when i used sleight of hand to beat you up for your lunch money.

no....not really.

it's kind of like that sharp pointed feeling you get between your second and third ribs when i stuck that shiv into you.

no....not really but, you get the idea.

anyway, at the end of the show, p&t do a little meet and greet in which you find out that not only does teller speak, he speaks english. but, i had to talk to penn. i had to tell him that i missed hearing him on the radio.

first off, he is a goddam huge human being. and shaking hand with him is like shaking hands with a giant.

"excellent show"

"thanks" (eyes roll; can't help it, he probably hears that shit all the time, 365 days a year)

"penn, i miss hearing you on the radio"

"don't worry pal, i have something coming up soon"

"really? cool. i always enjoyed the way you said honky tonk badonkadonk"

and then penn, with the voice of someone who could totally be president if the south was ready to accept a atheist juggler into the white house smiled, and said, as if he would say, "my fellow americans",

he says,

"honky tonk......badonkadonk"

yeah. that big bastard never disappoints. made my week.

—the bastard

the bastard has got to tell you something...

...he's totally dying.

no not the kind of dying where you all get together and throw a party because of it.

i'm just sick.

which kind of sucks because i'm in west palm beach this week.

fear not jerks, i still have more shot show to bitch about.

so maybe that mean just "fear".

yeah.

definitely fear.

—the bastard

...on camouflage

"what do you make of this?"

"the jeep?"

"yeah the jeep"

"it's red white and blue"

"and"

"i mean, it's apparently paid for by the wounded warrior project but, how the hell can they pick up anyone in a fire fight with a red white and blue jeep"

"well, look at it this way bastard, if any of our boys go down during the opening 5 minutes of patton, they'll be golden"

—the bastard

..on rare plumage

on day four, rob and i walked the floor looking for free shit and vendors to send us products to use in the magazine. now the gun show is kind of like walking across the width of manhattan.

we were getting ready to tuen in and break the press suite down when what did our wanderring eyes see?

but the best mullet we've seen since we walked into vegas. or at least the best mullet since we got to the convention center.

he was at a booth where they sell foldup handguns.

this was a fantastic example of biz in the front and party in the back. and the fantastic 80's guido v-neck sweater/turtle neck combination. it was truly wondrous to behold.

—the bastard

more hat than mullets...

...or is it more hat than cattle.

either way, the bastard came across more hats than mullets this time around. when the show is in vegas, more vendors come out mostly because they either can't afford to or refuse to go when the show is in florida. which in the case of the latter is a little egocentric in the bastard's book. i mean, hell, the bastard gets on a plane and goes regardless of where the show is. if it was in missouri, i'd go to fucking missouri.

no judgements.

just do the job.

allthough the bastard would have to rent a car and drive to branson in order to gamble. could you imagine? a casino without drinking or smoking? how do you get people to lose at table games if they aren't drunk? most of this was shot by sara voids.






at the end of it all, the thrill really isn't in the finding of mullets, so much as it is in the searching. and if it's hats, mullets, drunken jackasses, the bastard is ready for the good times that come with hunting for jackassery. it's probably the only thing at these shows that the bastard like's more than drinking and gambling.

well i DO like the drinking

and the gambling alot.

so i guess the jackassery comes third.

—the bastard

elvis has left the building

on day four, most of the staff went home so it was just left hand rob and i. and as the hotel emptied out, people attending agfa's annual photo conference. and an elderly elvis impersonator was in attendance. and then he took his wig off. and left.

—the bastard

...on sharps

the bastard has seen tis before in various airports throughout the country.

and i know that these stations are there for diabetics.

but the bastard can't help wondering how many heroin junkies actually use these disposal thingys.

—the bastard

...on heights

"so is there anything else you need this afternoon?"

"i need a good crowd shot for page one."

"i also need it to look better than last year's."
"not to be cheesy but, i need you t reinvent the wheel on crowd shots."

"hmmmmmm....ahmmm...hrm...i'll see what i can do."

convention photography is by and large the same schlock every year. lots of people walking around with bags full of press kits and fanny packs. samr shit, different year. but the bastard has faith in justice (photo editor: killing stuff monthly).

now the bastard doesn't remember who came up with the idea. it was either justice or sara voids but, there was this large catwalk like ramp that a glove comapny was using to demonstrate it's heat resistant abilities. guys who worked for the glove compnay would grab the rope at the end, and then slide down with these gloves on their hands. now either sara or justice decided to do the crowd shot from the top of this catwalk.

i thought it was a good move.

wish i thought of it.

so at the end of all of this, we got a free show, and justice got me my goddam crowd shot. nice and smooth...ish

—the bastard

more pictures than words...

shot show this year has shown the bastard that the mullet is starting to go the way of the dodo. so rather than have reams and reams and virtual reams of mullet pics, we only have a few.

some rockstar hair was on the ground for this year. this guy apparently is on the phone with his agent. getiing ready to reunite spinal tap.

there was alot of this. dumpy guys with bandanas on. got this during set up.


doctor dre pointed this guy out to us. because of the new no smoking regulations in las vegas, you can no longer smoke in this already smokey smelling convention center. this guy worked with this unlit cigarrete in his mouth for almost two hours.


the chairman sent me this on his way to the giants parade. so we have soem good old fashioned new york hockey hair.


the bastard can't tell if this is a mullet or not but, it was shot on the escalator, while i was behind him. so it's part of my series of covert mullet hunting.

—the bastard

...on jetlag

the bastard just flew back from vegas.

and boy are my arms tired.

i have lots to post from the show.

later, not now.

—the bastard

rilly big shoe

been up to my ears in working and eating chicken sadness. however, i did get to meet one of the iron chefs from the american version.

nice guy.

more mullets later

—the bastard

sam kinison walks the floor

so the bastard is looking out the winder.

the bastard's winder to the world.

and what should my wandering eye see on the horizon


behold yall.


sam kinison has returned from the dead. and he's walking shot show.


this guy with the pinch cap and the stove pipe is pretty sweet too but, you already read this. so go to hell.

—the bastard