the long walk...

full cuppa...

banging 80 in the ride...

not a fucking dime in my wallet...

so i won't be parking on campus for this visit.

fortunately LIJ is on the queens side of lakeville road and they have houses rather than industrial parks...

so i just slide the old sub sub sub compact into a small spot that would no doubt incense the locals...

but the bastard would imagine that the idea of ANY offworlders to cheap to pay for hospital parking would be off putting.

it's queens...

the spot in front of the house is yours by divine right of kingship.

so like a freight train, the bastard is headed into the belly of the beast to see zsolte.

he's been having a rough go this year.

the wheels are falling off and this is his second trip to the hospital...

last time for his ticker...

this time, it's his kidneys...

you gotta feel for the man...

the community has been...

since the thrilla broke this story to the boys in the band, folks have been working hard at getting out there to see him.

so, in i go to the ICU for a visit.

zsolte is a loud one...

he can bellow when he needs to...

"whoa... i'm on vacation!", he'd exclaim for all the woods to hear, "i don't need to be going on no nature hike"

...and there he is passed out in a chair looking like he's been getting the wrong end of it.

i haven't seen him since jimmy's funeral but, for a man of his carriage...

he looked rickety to me.

dialysis...

it seems...

kicks the shit out of a man.

makes him a shadow of his former self.

so there i sat for an hour or so watching the poor bastard sleep in a chair that was only slightly less uncomfortable than his bed.

i reached for a magazine when he came to, looking bewildered.

"wassup bruvvah", i exclaimed, mustering enough enthusiam for the both of us

"oh, hey bastard...it's you", he whispered almost incoherently.

we talked for maybe 20 minutes.

well i talked, he grunted. like i said, he ain't feeling rright.

then i excused myself...

figured, sleep would be better than me hanging out.

so i take the long walk back to the ride.

and i think of who i didn't give the news to and decide to get on that.

but the whole while back all i can think about is how much i'd love to have a whiskey...

or an egg sammich...

and while it's 5 o'clock somewhere in the world...

the bastard opts for the egg sammich...

probably better overall.

get better bruvvah...we're all pulling for you.

—the bastard

the last time

hey…

remember that time that we saw the beastie boys at Randall's island?

rancid had just finished their set on the other stage and there was a massive push from the left…

and we were almost crushed…

and I held on to your hand for dear life as we lifted our feet up and were carried 30 yards to the side and miraculously didn't die?

do you remember?

I do.

it was the first time I ever levitated…

and it was the last concert I went to as a young man…

and you were there.

now the bastard doesn't go around talking about the time when something inside of him died.

well maybe he does…

but it was the last time I got in the shit and it was the last time I felt like a kid at a show.

I was part of a big show and so I felt like I was a part of something big.

and on the bus ride from Randall's island back to civilization, I didn't really think about these things.

but age gives old men the benefit of thinking on shit that happened in the past do I can say this.…

that day was made possible because Adam Yauch gave a shit about Tibet. and because of him I was there that day more or less.

and I'm glad that I have that memory. and I'm sorry that I'll never get the chance to see them play again.

— the bastard

…on lamentations

the bastard used to have a pet lizard

his name was ivan.

he mostly kept to himself and I'd play him once in a great while.

because you know… he's a lizard.

he likes his alone time.

but I gave him away to a nice family in the Bronx.

and that's all I want to say on the matter.

oh that and I'm unhappy about it.

—the bastard

dried up…

exhaustion is a hell of a good sadness suppressor.

case meet point.

last night was the boy's last day in new york for the summer.

which always leads to a great deal of heavy sadness for me.

and don't get me wrong. the bastard is sad.

but yesterday…

it also rained like the hammers from hell…

and this added up to best lucky delays at the jetblue terminal that came straight out of logans run.

and this had the boy and I waiting for frikkin ever for the airport to right itself.

the boy didn't get airborne until 11:30.

the bastard didn't get on the van wick until midnight.

and after such a long night, I sat down on my balcony to consult with doctor whiskey and have a good cry but, it never came.

there I sat in my lounge

looking out at the great view of the thorough borough and I was too exhausted to move.

and I just couldn't do anything.

it wasn't until this morning while i was putting the boy's pillows away that I muttered, 'see you next summer", that I welled up.

you see it's august but for you but, summer is over for me.

—the bastard

box…

the bastard's gotta tell you.

it was much easier to find mullets and weird beards

when I could actually SEE outside my press box

weak

—the bastard

in the name...

last night , Pete Postlethwaite passed away.

you may know him from the usual suspects.

or you may know him from any one of a number of great british caper films.

but i first came into pete's work when i saw in the name of the father.

—the bastard

dearest fhills…

…up yours



now don't cry baby.

it's not all your fault.

but the bastard has to tell you off.

you see,



all I wanted to do after a long drive in the shit was to park and go back home.

but no,

I had to dig a snow bank out of my way.

it's not your fault baby. the bastard is just tired.

shoveling tons of wet snow can do that to a man.

—the bastard

…on wholesale disdain

the bastard has always been easily disappointed by things.

people.

circumstances.

behaviors.

inconsistency of these things.

simple and formulaic any one or two of these factors never raise an eyebrow

but, all of them create a perfect storm of disappointment.

maybe I'm still tired and jet lagged from my trip to the desert but I know better than that by now.

I'm thinking of writing a book about it.

—the bastard

…scotch and water

"you know what?!", said Joe, 'lim gonna tell you the secret. I'm gonna tell you the secret of how to drink at a work party."

"what you do I order a scotch and watah, and throughout the night you keep refilling the watah. the drink will stay looking like scotch and watah and you'll look like the hardest man in the room because you've been drinkin' scotch all night"

Joe was a lawyer.

Joe was in the corps.

Joe was always quick to tell you a good story, or cut you down because he thinks you put on a little over the year.

Joe was also my great uncle.

and Joe knew how to make one hell of a martini or so he'd tell you.

he'd tell you he'd make a double when he'd get home from work and he'd get comfortable for the night.

and that's how I'd like to think how it happened last night.

he made a martini. maybe a double. and he sat in his favorite chair, one last time.

got comfortable in his favorite chair and closed his eyes and slipped away.

here's my fondest memory of Joe. during my divorce, I took the railroad home to my parents house. and Joe coincidentally took the same train home only I didn't know it until that night.

at that time.

and there he was in the front car with 4 or 5 of his coworkers, owning the conversation, these younger folks hanging on joe's every word as he gestured wildly his eyes wide open. he was positively electric.

and then the train pulled away in to night.

and I went home to sit in the basement.

i come from a large family.

we are fucking legion.

and I don't see any of them nearly often enough but when I did I loved seeing Joe and his wife Martha who was my favorite smoking buddy. but now family gatherings will be different out east. and it saddens me tonight.

funny thing though, the bastard was at a 40th birthday party last night and I was poured a glass of scotch on a pile of ice and thought of him briefly, hours before I got the call.

—the bastard

this shit ain't easy yo

whoever said that you'll never get poor buying real estate in manhattan has never lived in this economy.

open houses are my weekly opportunity to go get breakfast elsewhere and dream of greener pastures.

oh well.

—the bastard

the least wonderful time of the year

press pause…

…and the bastard is having the time of my life.

running around with the boy.

enjoying the whole new family dynamic.

loving life.

I never say loving life.

and it's been a great summer personally.

but like the trustie said to me this week,

"all good times come to an end"

and he's right

…press play

the gate backs away.

the truck pulls the plane back and I whisper one last goodbye to my son.

and it tears me up inside.

I don't know how the other parents who's kids are flying solo tonight are feeling but,

the bastard is torn up.

this never gets easier.

but it was a good summer.

now it's back to dealing with the rest of what my life is when the boy isn't here

I have the love of a good woman and that's good.

and a little girl who smiles at me when I come home and that's good too.

and a hole in my heart that is only full for two months a year.

but it's gonna be alright someday.

…press stop

—the bastard

...on teh sads

the bastard is very sad.

somewhere in des moines, iowa,

a lot of people had a alot of bacon.

and the bastard did not.

that is very much with teh sads.

—the bastard

...reaping the whirlwind

pardon me.

can you take me to the hospital?

i think the bastard broke his ass.

we're like a week out from the gun show and the bastard's asthma is getting on him.

the kids in the downtown office just pulled a bait and switch. i hope that it's not me and the posse hand drawing these live pages.

—the bastard

a christmas carol

quite unlike my brother, i don't particularly enjoy the holidays like i used to.

the gin has dimmed my good memories over time.

i seem to have the good fortune for remembering the bad ones.

even though i am the luckiest bastard on the planet.

it's a personal failing i think.

hell, father christmas is my favorite christmas song.



i dunno what it is.

however, it's different this year as the bastard is a new father again.

i still will be missing four christmases with my son this year.

so it's never not gonna be bittersweet.

the year's accomplishments will never be complete enough.

and i'll always be missing something. but at least this year, the bastard has the love of a good woman and a little smiley faced monkey who always lights up when she sees me.

and it makes the hole a little smaller this year.

and for that, i'm glad.

merry christmas. i hope you all get what you need this year.

—the bastard

this just in...

this is pretty much the last time i'll bring this up.

the bastard was driving down 36th last night on my way home from jersey.

and the sign is gone.

it's called "the archive" now.

it's as if under the volcano was a beautiful dream that we all got drunk during.

and now it's gone.

murray hill is dead to me now.

—the bastard

be here now

dear daughter,

here I am driving the i10 past this mountain on my left

when it's on my right,

I am missing you

when it's on my left,

it is your brother I miss.

for today,

I am coming home to see you in all of your small wonder.

and I won't miss you as much then.

but right now,

you ride beside me and tell me that it's gonna be okay.

see you soon.

love,

—the bastard

...on rainy tuesdays

the boy goes home today.

this never gets easier.

—the bastard

the bastard is having a hard time with the economy

the bastard has his woes.

and in the grand scheme, they small potatoes.

he has his health (barely).

but, it's like this. i miss the bike.

but i just got the tax bill and it leaves me poor.

and i have no scratch for a new one.

and a friend is selling his.

and it's outta my reach.

guess the bastard finds he has to wait.

just so you know.

it's the hardest part. fuck tom petty.

—the bastard

...on irish blessings

"may the road rise up to meet you

and may the wind be at your back

and may you be in heaven a half hour

before the devil knows you're dead"

it's what the bastard said to grandpa at his funeral.

it's what he's come to say instead of saying goodbye.

sorry.

force of habit.

you see, left hand rob got let go while I was in arizona and his last day was today. it's like losing a steady right... er... left hand.

and the bastard got spared and that is it's own giri to bear.

because you see, landing on your feet also has it's price.

and i'm not sure if it was worth it yet.

—the bastard

...on the view

...and not that god awful show with joy behar and whoopi


last tuesday


last night


tonight

things are a changing round here.

i mean the office, not the fucking election. i just wanted to get a few more pix of the view before it all changes on the bastard again.

—the bastard