deplorable...

you know,

the bastard remembers back in small times,

he used to go up to the wendys on braddock avenue with sherman.

and it was good.

flash forward: 

last night i was watching the news, and there was a huge brawl at the wendy's of my youth.

and it made the bastard wonder, "what the fuck is wrong with my old hood?"

it's terrible when one sees this as the likely outcome for the old hood. 

every once in a while, one has to get off the highway on the way to the rents because of traffic. 

and if this was after school let out, it was a real shit show. 

thugs all the way round.

it's sad to see you're old neighborhood slowly go to hell.

—the bastard

ain't we lucky we got 'em

the bastard woke up this morning and he was a little nonplussed.

shouldn't have been that way as he and his cohorts at killing stuff monthly were the recipients of a major award last night.

he thought to himself, this is great but what about the art.

the art.

i really wanted to win something that was solely for the art that we do for this magazine and we've always been sort of an also ran.

but upon speaking about this with the velvet hammer, i felt more in the team spirit of our win and i was content. i felt like more of an ungrateful jerk as well.

the bastard might feel even better if it did in fact turn out that this old house the magazine redesigned their magazine to look like the now deposed domino magazine but, who cares.

a win is a win. i was grateful.

flash forward: i was at trader joes picking up some stuff for the house and for dinner at my rents tomorrow.

and there was this guy who was working the floor who looked like john amos.

and he was a paragon of jockularity in a cyclone of shopping people.

kept on smiling.

kept on joking.

opened the register and we got to chatting.

the bastard got to bagging.

paid the man and he thanked me for bagging.

the bastard told him that i did the grocery biz for seven years.

"you been down this road before then"

"hells to the yeah", i don't even talk like that.

with that, the bastard carted his food out into the mist of hood he spent the begining of his adulthod in and stopped as he loaded up the car and looked up.

i unloaded trucks for seven years, working my way through college.

loaded image setters for art directors for 5 years before i got my shot.

was promoted to assistant art director 7 months before they closed my book.

and then i landed here with the animal heads and never looked back.

well, maybe once or twice.

and the bastard felt thankful.

looking up into the mist, i felt good.

good times. good times.

—the bastard

...on motivational speaking

i was having a conversation with my ladyfriend tonight.

we're in the middle of putting together birth announcements.

and she had remarked on how she doesn't want to do anything too too nutty as our daughter is more of a night sleeper than a day sleeper.

"i'm not gonna go nuts. when am i gonna have the time to do that?", she asks

"you gonna do it anyway". air and light and time and space don't mean a thing.", the bastard responds

"what?"

so i went to the web and grabbed hank's poem about it. i used to have it on my office wall.

it helped the bastard with the "conundrum".

what conundrum do you mean?

well young jerks, it's like this.

you wanna be an artist but you need to pay the bills.

so you get a job.

now you have cash in pocket

but

no time to create.

what to do.

so a really good friend told me about a drunk named hank and this poem that i kept on the wall in my office and at home in my workspace and it was my compass for a long time.

and perhaps sometimes it still is.

air and light and time and space

"–you know, I’ve either had a family, a job,
something has always been in the
way
but now
I’ve sold my house, I’ve found this
place, a large studio, you should see the space and
the light.
for the first time in my life I’m going to have
a place and the time to
create."

no baby, if you’re going to create
you’re going to create whether you work
16 hours a day in a coal mine
or
you’re going to create in a small room with 3 children
while you’re on
welfare,
you’re going to create with part of your mind and your body blown
away,
you’re going to create blind
crippled
demented,
you’re going to create with a cat crawling up your
back while
the whole city trembles in earthquake, bombardment,
flood and fire.

baby, air and light and time and space
have nothing to do with it
and don’t create anything
except maybe a longer life to find
new excuses
for.

i read it to my ladyfriend tonight and it reminded me of a time when the bastard was struggling and he couldn't see the light at the end of the tunnel.

developing film for unappreciative assholes.

designing album packages at 2 in the morning for some shady guy who stills owes me money and moved to vermont.

reminded me because i'm here.

top of my game.

end of the road.

one year later.

i miss my closest buds because they weren't as lucky or they got fed up and left.

still standing. at the end of the tunnel. and i don't know what to do next.

you'd think it was all it's cracked up to be.

and i'm not gonna tell you it ain't

but i ain't gonna tell you it is.

but i'll tell you this,

i would really love to see lobster come into the office in that phillies hat to grub a cuppa coffee these days.

dunno what i'd give for that.

—the bastard

...on rats and fat cats

...and lots of shouting


now the bastard tries to be about fair play.

but there has been these picketers protesting across the street all day.

and it's starting to fuck with my flow.

you see, the bastard is wearing many hats now and none of them are made of cheese.

so i'm not down with the rat these thugs have been dancing around for the last 8 hours.

ok truth to tell the bastard isn't too sympathetic in general let alone a bunch of people who have more job security than most of my friends have seen in the last two weeks.

hell, i had a few things to say during the last transit strike we had and i have to say that not having job security doesn't give you much sympathy altogether.

so shut up thugs, the bastard has work to do. thank you.

—the bastard

there's no time

so the other day, i saw the trailer for the 24 movie that will be airing in november. and while it has robert carlyle in the cast (still rooting for him to replace david tennant should he give up the role of doctor who), it seems like a strange departure for jack bauer.



it's like this. i had read that because of the unpopularity of our protracted conflicts in the middle east, the producers felt that 24 needed to go with a new enemy and something something something. and in the movie, he's like saving kids in some african nation that is an amalgamation of sudan/liberia/rwanda/zimbabwe and any other nation that has gone to hell on that continent.

it's a decent jump off for next season but it seems very un-jack-like to have him saving a bus full of kids.

anyway, the bastard was sharing his thoughts on the trailer with left hand rob, and the bastard took some license. i told him the basic plot and

"i think that because of the iraq war, they want to soften up jack bauer a little. make him more liberal friendly."

"oh"

"like i think in next season jack switches political parties and is chased by a bunch of republicans wearing sean hannity masks"

"as long as they cut off alan colmes hand in the process"

"i think that at some point jack will have alan colmes' hands zip tied to the steering wheel of his prius and jack will use bolt cutters to get information from him"

11:59:58 (boom)

11:59:59 (boom)

12:00:00 (boom)

—the bastard

wide load

excuse me ladies.

excuse me.

as much as i love being stuck behind slow moving assholes on my way to lunch,

i really don't.

so please move your fucking carcasses!

—the bastard

...on the thunder

the bastard is soooooooooo tired.

went to the movies last night.

saw tropic thunder.

it was quite possibly, the funniest thing i've seen all summer. and not just because robert downey junior was playing an australian actor posing as a black man who doesn't get out of character until he does the dvd commentary. it's because ben stiller knows how to make a funny film. he single handedly did a better job of making fun of the movie industry, making fun of actors, making fun of the inner workings of the film industry better than all of those stupid epic movie, superhero movie, disaster movie parodies (that all overuse the typeface futura and the color red in their posters) that traditionally plague the summer box office. even the smallest part gets a good line.

also he pretty much saves tom cruise's career. the bastard has to say it was probably some of his finest work....EVER.

but here's the thing. because of the chairman's work schedule, we saw the late show. and i kept waking up all night for one reason or another. and while i didn't drink a drop last night, i feel hung over.

and i feel like crap. and i don't think coffee can save me now. time to die.

—the bastard

dear mta...

i know we've had this little chat before but,

why you gotta suck so much?

i mean seriously, why you gotta suck so much?

no

really

why you gotta suck so much?

this is twice in as many days that the people sweating on the platform are waiting to get their 2 dollars worth of shit transportation (in the bastard's case, 4. you know, round trip and all. i'm predicting the ride home to suck at this point) but can't you like,

ida know..
send some trains our way out here in the outer boroughs?

so we can like...

get to work and shit?

i mean i know that you poor excuse for an accounting department wants to raise fares because the mta just can't seem to get their shit together but, messing up service to "prove" that we need a fare hike but, this is only proving that you collectively throw your sabots into the machinery (you like that one don'tcha) time and time again in order to convince us that service will get better.

and it doesn't.

ever.

so please quit fucking around. the rest of us get paid when we work in this town, and we get fired if we don't. unfortunately, union workers seems to be able to elude this hard and fast rule on productivity. but that's another long winded diatribe for another time.

time to fix the motorcycle and leave all this transit bullshit behind.

—the bastard

PS: because i am a bastard, call the train line's superintendents and bitch about it.

V line: 718-334-8491
E line: 718-334-7692
R line: 718-334-8190

i won't bother with the manhattan lines. shit seems to run a little more timely for the chosen ones —b

the bastard has to axe you

you ever have one of those days?

you know.

you split some really expensive tickets with your brother so that our mother can go see her favorite artist perform at her favorite venue before it closes?

and then you go out to dinner for your cousin's birthday?

and drink like.....three martini's and have a good meal?

and then we completely didn't almost die in a car wreck because your cousin has a superior braking system in his car?

and then you get home to open the mail and find out that your accountant fucked up and now you owe the government even more money?

yeah me too.

it never fails. every time the bastard feels like he's starting to get ahead, starting to be able to sock some away and some other fucking expense comes up.

—the bastard

i don't know if the bastard has told you this but...

...sometimes, love train is the best song ever

no, not that crap that the o'jays sold to soda companies or whateverthehell they sold it to to make some well deserved cash but bunny sigler's version of "love train". it was so incredibly soulful. the mood lifeter that i needed this afternoon. you see the heat was starting to get to me as i had to dress all proper for a going away party that killing stuff monthly is throwing for their fishing editor, who we can call "old man winter" and i needed a pick me up and the bastard pod put on ole bunny. and it was delicious.

and you miss it then i feel sorry.

sorry for yoooooooouuuuuu.

tell all the brother in africa. ahhhh-fri-caaaahh. but the bastard digresses.

secondly and almost more importantly:

nobody beats the biz.

i mean fucking NO-body

the biz came on at lexington and the bastard realized something. the biz can rap the goddam phone book and i would listen to him. now the bastard is gonna go play some basketball.

—the bastard

...on being smart

a few years ago, the bastard had heard about a little car (quite literally) from europe called the smart. no one really paid very much mind to it here because gas was cheaper than tap water here so everyone thought it would be a great idea to buy an suv.


but now gas costs a lot more and alot of people are unhappy about it as well as some of our nations popular talking heads. so now this car which has been made in europe for years has finally reached our shores and now:


all kids love smart. i mean what's not to love.

you can't pick up more than one person.

you get crazy mileage.

you can park practically anywhere. and it's quite possibly the cheapest mercedes benz that you will ever get to buy. the bastard would have bought one but, i like to have a little extra storage. and i like haveing the means to get other people around and i like to go places with my girlfriend and my son. so having a yaris works out for the bastard. but, i would have bought a smart if it met my needs. ok so much for product plugs. i don't do them often and while i will continue to mock/cover the smart, i'd rather see them than see escalades on the road.

—the bastard

...on the longest wait ever

the bastard loves his neighborhood.

he really does.

but while he does.

he sometimes sees it's inherent flaws.

there is a blogger i go to on a regular basis. and sometimes i take his suggestions.

and sometimes i wish i didn't like tonight.


the chairman and i went to the bonfire grill on austin street once and it was one of the best burgers i've had for a great while.

the chairman and i went back a few weeks later and the burger was still good but the service was fucking abominable and we decided to not go back until they work out the kinks.

we went back again tonight and once again, the burger was fantastic, dare i say, better than the first time.

but,

there was no reason for us to wait over an hour for the burger. not even for a burger that could change the world. and this is the problem with the hood.

you see, forest hills is in a state of becoming...potentially.

and nice restaurants have moved in because, they want manhattan style eateries.

but they don't give manhattan style service. the bastard has spoken about this with regard to a certain overly praised pizza place on ascan avenue which shall remain nameless and it's plain and simple.

you have to step up.

look, we gave the waiter a proper tip when all was said and done (even thought he was astonished and told his coworker so as the chairman walked right past him as he was flummoxed by the fact that these two guys actually tipped him. by the by john our waiter, bad move dick), it wasn't his fault. tonight it was the kitchen.

it's a hamburger. you're not saving lives. well maybe you could have but i nearly expired on the chair waiting for it. the bastard won't be going back for a while. it's a shame, it's a good burger.

—the bastard

monday morning...

...special 2 days late edition


so my monday began with a downpore.

which was followed by a series of bad decisions built around staying dry.

which turned into an umbrella big enough to keep the state og texas dry in a rainstorm.

which turned into a 30 minute wait for the bus which made the bastard late.

but the fair box was broken so the ride was free. so i got what i paid for in a way.

but the mistake to take the e train and wait 30-40 minutes between 63rd drive and woodhaven blvd. it felt like forever. and i actually packed a second bag for 2 days of lunch.

i get to the new space to find that part of it has been colonized by the hive mind of mystery science magazine.

there they are,

stacked two to a cube,

never speaking,

almost never moving.

i think they are going to try and assimilate left hand rob and i. i'm SO gonna stab one of them.

—the bastard

spoiling

so for a change of pace, my commute sucked ass.

it was one of those days where i guess one late train makes for a full ass platform.

which makes for a crowded train.

which makes for a lot of inconsiderate behavior infringing on your morning.

the bastard wasn't going to get into the asshole who used me as a piece of furniture until i tugged his chinese language newspaper. but while looking for links to posts where i complain about the subway (which number in the thousands apparently), i came across a picture of this dick. i even wrote haiku about him.

where there you go.

so i nice he did it twice. kind of takes the wind out of the sails of the post but in a nutshell, all of you on the r train and the 6 train this morning suck at life. now lets be fair, only the commute from 8:30-9:20. and the front car of the r. back car of the 6. the rest of you may suck at life but i wasn't talking about you. try to keep up.

—the bastard

...on the flying experience

so there are a few things, the bastard has noticed about travelling these days.

wait let me back up for a sec: i have this uncle who lives in california. let's call him grizzly adams. he works for a major air carrier that has a hub out there. and part of the trappings of working for a major air carrier is your family's ability to fly for free. well not free. but for tax. no wait. employees families do fly for free but buddy passes are where you pay the tax. anyway, grizzly's family used to fly for free. now, notsomuch. it's kind of like how after you get out of school, you no longer have their medical benefits. which is pretty much why the accountant is the only one of my cousins from cali that can come out on a regular basis but her company pays for that crap. but i digress, grizz, would make them dress up for the flight as they are technically representing the company every time they fly for free.

but back to my point: there are a few things, the bastard has noticed about travelling these days. people dress like slobs.


well, not everyone. i mean sometimes you can be a little overdressed for some occasions.


but then again, i think it was toht that remarked that americans are always overdressed for the wrong occasions. but i think ithe opposite has become the standard. behold, y'all:


i mean come on! what the hell is this? people are in the airport in broad daylight in their hoodies and their pajama pants. and, well i've already commented on this guys frikkin' birkenstocks. i mean i know that white folks like to wear things that will help them will summer to happen sooner but come on! there is appropriate footwear and there is NOT appropriate.

what the bastard is saying is, he should never feel like the best dressed guy in the airport.

—the bastard

...on cud

ok, it's like this. i've made it abundantly clear that the bastard doesn't enjoy watching you eat on the train so i won't belabor the point.

ok.

maybe he will belabor the point. it was like a surprise gross out this morning when this character sat down across from me with his cup of....something. i think it's coffee.

but it wasn't. instead it was a cup of nice sludgey steel cut oats.

thanks pal, watching you cram that sludge into your pie hole really made my day. thanks.

no.

really.

i appreciate your disgusting albeit efficient use of your time. the fact that you look like you are spooning spackle onto your beard is neither here nor there.

—the bastard

...on the texting

i don't know if it's because the bastard just bought himself an iphone over the weekend but all i see on the train are:

people texting on their crackberry.

people texting on their crackberry.

people texting on their crackberry.

people texting on their crackberry.

it's been epidemic. now the bastard likes hid tech as much as the next geek but, it seems a little epidemic. every time i walk out of the subway, i inevitably end up stopping short because someone hits ground level and starts texting. out the way asshole!

—the bastard

...next to godliness

hey.

guy from big fishy magazine who look like he trying to look like ernest hemingway

i know that you folks aren't happy with your new set of neighbors here.

i mean hell, we can't miss the dirty looks.

but for christ sake hemingway.

when you finish taking a piss.

could you please,

wash your fucking hands.

i mean come on, you and mitchell leave your little area like 10-15 times a day to go smoke out on 32nd street and park so you must already have the brownest fingers in murray hill.

wash your hands.

i don't wanna talk to you either.

just wash your hands.

we have the running water.

use it.

soapy soapy.

rinse.

dry. you see, no talking involved whatsoever.

just wash your hands. thanks.

—the bastard

things you need to know today

little man.

the thing that you were probably grappling with wasn't whether or not to get out of the bastard's way but, HOW QUICKLY you could make that happen. also, the other thought that was rattling around in that vacant space you call a head was, "maybe i should trying and update my haircut because this one makes me look like fucking parker lewis"? because yes, you should update your haircut squire. no one should look like they came to work via a doorway to/from the past. discuss. and oh yes, please die.

speaking of dying.

young lady.

with the bad dye job. or rather bad bleach job.

the phrase you were looking for when someone holds the door is "thank you". say it with me. "thank you". very good. now onto the meat of the manner. you aren't THAT good looking. just because you clearly have a tanning salon near your house doesn't mean that it makes you look good. and i've already mentioned the streak job. come on, don't all you impolite sort watch sex in the city? besides, you kind of look like a pug in a wig. plus, you suck at living too.

sales monkey.

the bastard doesn't want to hear about what kind of games eson will broadcast.

the bastard doesn't care about their newsworthyness.

however, the bastard does care that you shut the hell up before there is a report on the news tonight about a dead sales monkey thrown out of the ninth floor of an office building in murray hill. it might very well interrupt the uconn game. or the marion game. or the whatever the fuck game you were blabbing on about.

come on! i'm saving lives here.

oh.

wait.

coffee.

—the bastard

tucson...we have a problem

"bear left in 400 yards and take the motorway"

".....and nope"

"exit right ahead"

"bear left in 400 yards and take the motorway"

".....and nope"

"exit right ahead"

"bear left in 400 yards and take the motorway"

".....and nope"

"exit right ahead"

"bear left in 400 yards and take the motorway"

".....and nope"

"exit right ahead"

"bear left in 400 yards and take the motorway"

".....and nope"

five exits. what kind of town closes off 5 exits...both ways...on a major interstate? holy frikkin' hannah. not that there was ANYTHING holy about hannah. i mean, i heard about hannah back in the day when she was a strung out piece of jet trash selling herself on the i10 but not that they've closed off 5 exits of the i10, she's gotta go down to little tokyo on the lower east side of tucson. the bastard asks you, where the hell is the skin trade to go? little tokyo? little freddy eisenstein is going to have to hang up his own shingle on speedway so he can sell his ass for 15 bucks a pop. it's bloody disgraceful.

sorry jerks. it's the desert talking. there are bats the size of palm trees out here. and pizza the size of satellite dishes. the bastard goes home tonight and he wants to lay into the two guys drinking mountain dew across form me or perhaps the girl with the fucking uggs sitting next to them. oh well, at least she knows how the weather is. the mofo texted me earlier this evening (the mofo? who's the mofo? don't worry virginia, there most certainly IS a mofo and he's selling his ass down at ground zero) and he told me the hawk was out.

tune in tomorrow when the bastard lets jetlag tell you who he's going to cut out of his life. in the meantime, tomtom is me copilot and satan is me pal.

—the bastard