let me google that for you

once upon a time there was a guy the bastard used to know who would roll his eyes if you asked him for some technical assistance...

...he'd reply, "google it"

and if you didn't know what to do about something he had an expertise in...

...he'd reply, "google it"

and on some days where i was feeling cranky, i'd take it the wrong way.

today i understood why.

there is a person on the team who needed something from this month's issue of killing stuff monthly for the web and i answered her question with a procedure.

export the page as an eps...

open it in photoshop at 300 dpi...

res it down in image size...

done.

she replies, "that would be great if i knew how to do that".

and the bastard had to fucking sigh.

didn't they teach you kids anything in upstairs hollywood web design school?

"SIGH"

and in the expanse of time it took me to type the email telling her how to do what she needed to do...

it was done...

"SIGH"

—the bastard

...on experts

so this is how the bastard spent his friday.

about three weeks ago, killing stuff monthly's web producer sent an email around asking everyone what their favorite summer beer was.

it is in these instances, that we discover the magic that is the reply all button.

Ha — BUSCH LIGHT, WOOOOOO My favorite beer, year-round, is Chimay Blue. Dark, rich Belgian ale. Brewed by Trappist monks and sold in a manly 750 mL corked bottle. Tons of complex flavor. Smooth finish. I’ve never met anyone who likes beer and didn’t love this. Most “summer ales” are lemony wuss drinks.

the editor who has been web crazy of late, followed up with

We need to do a beer tasting before summer is out. Let’s plan a Friday afternoon. Everybody bring a 6-pack and we’ll do a tasting. Maybe shoot some pics for the Web site.

so the bastard and his trusty managing editor brought our contribution to the table in the form of widmer hefeweizer from me and victory hop devil from rob which we have renamed "the mother fucking hop devil" because it IS the fucking devil.

needless to say, the afternoon didn't end well for the bastard. it came down to myself, killing stuff's copy chief and the p-cat finishing up the remainders. after this, the bastard surfaced from his lunchless drinking session with the bright idea of getting lunch at 5pm with a stomach full of beer. this also didn't end well as i tripped on my way out of the pizza place and broke a vase but for some reason, it escaped notice until i was in the clear.

nice and smooth.

good and drunk. i made it home.

good and nauseous.

passed out, the bastard gets a phone call from the chairman. good thing i still had my headphones still on so i didn't have to move as the world was still spinning at this point. 10 minutes later, i'm in the good ship chairman's ride and on my way yowards being rescued by mexican food. my aching skull.

—the bastard

rain's stopped

now if only the bastard can get rid of that sinking feeling as well.

or

maybe he should get some frikkin dinner.

what a concept.

have you ever had the reoccuring feeling that you are both the hero and the villain in this tragedy?

yeah, me too.

—the bastard

...on cocksuckery

a week or two ago, left hand rob wrote about the noise problem in our work area. and we've both kind of commented about the issues surrounding our work area.

but there is this guy who walks around with a headset on who can call locutus. now when we're at all above an audible volume, locutus shuts his office door but, the bastard assumes that locutus is not aware of his own annoying sounds because he justs walks around with his nasally wine all the fucking live long like his shit don't stink. it's kind of annoying in an us versus them kind of way.

haves and have nots.

shit like that.

generally, i tend to ignore it but today an unnamed editorial staffer who has just recently discovered the internet came over to discuss the latest "uniques" on the web site or some crap.

people learn new words and it's just like a toddler who learned how to say, "poop".

"poop"

"poop"

"poop"

"poop"

you hear it every day. for weeks upon end until they learn "light", or "kobe beef".

"kobe beef"

"kobe beef"

"kobe beef"

"kobe beef"

you get the point. anyway with locutus and staffer having their open air love in about the internet. it makes my head hurt. so it's ipod+loud equals small oasis from jackassery.

so i'm tapping my foot.

"is that sound you tapping your foot?"

"yes."

"oh i was wondering what that was." and staffer turns away.

"unique. kobe beef."

"unique. kobe beef."

"unique. kobe beef."

"unique. kobe beef."

can't wait to move into the new space. oh has the basatrd told you. selling bullets 7 times a year is moving down the hall. yes, it has gotten to a point that the irritation has brought us to leave our good good friends at killing stuff monthly so that we can make a fucking magazine in peace.

—the bastard

...on the subconscious

the bastard doesn't understand.

i keep having these reoccuring dreams.

they take place usually in and around the neighborhood. and i don't recall the overall storyline in the dream. it's not like the rat dream s i used to have but, i never really talked about them much (it's kind of a long story).

anyway, the only thing i can recall when i wake up is:


somehow, the black guy from night court keeps showing up. not bull or harry anderson but, the black guy.

hell i didn't even like watching the show. when it was in syndication, the mofo (rest in piece) would want to watch it and i kind of didn't want to. which was not to say that i never watched but, i never really watched it willingly. i thought the bull character was unfunny, marky post had the worst 80's hair and harry anderson was not just awful, he was god awful.

anyway, the bastard clearly doesn't understand why the black guy from night court? why not the black guy from sliders? i actually watched that show when it aired on regular tv as well as syndicated on the scifi channel. the bastard just doesn't get it. stupid brain, pick better reoccuring subconscious cast members. dammit!

—the bastard

the bastard has got to tell you...

...patriots fans are drunken fratboy jackasses.

so i'm talking to the roadie while waiting for go time and like ten jock types of various ages get on i'm their pats gear.

OK QUICK SIDEBAR: the bastard has no team affiliation when it comes to the gridiron so, i didn't start this from some boring loyalty to the war between the polises (we all know that the giants are i'm jersey no matter what logo they wear on the side of their helmet.

so the roadie and i look at each other and agree that this is a bad thing which i think has nothing to do with him being a cowboys fan.

OK FLASH FORWARD: the steward shoos the bastard to take a crap in the back of the plane because the captain was in the front doing just that and the bastard has to run the gauntlet past four guys trying to charge some booze and it ain't working only to find the rest of their party
of cocksuckery in my way "pounding sum brewskis brah, and it wahs wicked ahsum".

getting out, i open my door at the same time as the other door opens and one of the jockestra yells, "whu-oh, beep beep beep", and the bastard looks his unfortunate guy with me look at each other with much disdain (i really don't envy the tail-ees). i turn to the nearest jock and
ask him, "so, is that the clever one?".

he concurs that this meathead in fact is. It's gonna be a long flight.

—the bastard

...on functioning

i don't get it.

no matter how hard i tried last night.

no matter how much i had to drink at the evil ant overlord's christmas party.

the bastard didn't die.

i'm beginning to wonder if death really IS a mug's game.

who knows? the worst part is, the bastard didn't start feeling better until he walked into the office. i think that there's a concentric circle of hell for bastard's who are rejuvenated by the office. and i think i'm going there. at least in hell, i'll be warm

—the bastard

...on routines

you know. the bastard should know this by now.

i've been doing this shit.

at this place.

at this magazine since 2002.

i should know better. i should know better that every year, at this time, just when things are starting to function properly, that it can all go to shit in a fucking instant.

let me spin it for you real proper like.

every year, while doing the daily for the gun show, the bastard has to sanswich this between the january issue of selling bullets seven times a year and the feb/march issue. and the january issue is our periodic table of fucking new guns issue. and every year, a certain manufacturer who is very early in the alphabet on this periodic table of firearms promises us pictures of their new guns.

"ummmmmm yah, we're gonna send you a disk. but, we ummmmmmm gotta take pictures of them first. then we're ummmmmmmm gonna send them to ya."

and we make space for them.

every year. and every year, they somehow drop the fucking ball.

"ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm, yah. the like photographer hasn't like gotten the stuff together, so we won't be able to send this to you until next week"

"but you said this last week"

"uuuuuuuh ya. well ahma gonna say it again. mostly because i spent last week putting a banana in my ear to lure the monkey out of my brain"

well not every year but pretty fucking often. and then the bastard feels like this for like a couple of hours.


following this is several hours of me being fucking angry with everything around me.

irrationally.

and i can't calm down. and it ruins my day. so there it is. thanks unnamed manufacturer. you fucking dicks! you'd think the bastard would learn something.

—the bastard

...dearth

hell is round the corner where i shelter.
isms and schisms, were living on a skelter
if you believe i'll deceive common sense says you are thief
let me take you down the corridors of my life.

—tricky "hell is round the corner"

so it's that time again.

the time where the bastard loses sleep.

when the bastard has his busy season.

when the bastard does the devils work.

when the bastard crams tons of magazine pages out the door.

and then loses his cool and breaks shit.

apparently, i noticed that this is also the time of year that i keep regurgitating lyrics from tricky's catalog of work. i don't know what it is about him but, it always illustrates how i'm feeling when the bastard is in it. up to his eye balls in work. i'm never going to sleep again . at least not until february.

so what i'm saying is,

it's going to be a little thin for a while.

but, look for me jumping through a plate glass window near you. right before i cut your throat.

—the bastard

it's a fact...

...people at coffee shops with big fat carcasses who didn't order a cup of coffee but feel they need to be up the ass of their friend who did order coffee will in fact block the station where you put sugar and milk and get napkins from and they will invariably have a backpack on to subsequently increase her footprint. given this knowledge, in certain societies, one could find oneself strangling said cow to death but fortunately for this particular heffer, we don't live in that kind of society...yet.

—the bastard

...on clocking

...tick frikkin tock!

you ever had one of those days where your sunburn wakes you up at 5 o' clock in the morning and those cheap ass pillows you bought from target are just not cutting it, so much that you wake up with a headache and can't get back to bed because of the headache, and the burning, and the crook in your neck that is starting to feel like viral menangitis (oh my god, i think i have viral menangitis! now i'll never get back to bed) and the resulting anxiety keeps you from getting back to bed?

yeah me too.

so the bastard made good use of his time and the boy came in with me (possible half day and all that whatnot. besides, he likes coming to work with me). then i thought i'd get some stuff done. ummmm...yeah...notsomuch. we just had a systemwide crash. i think nothing is going to get done today. NOTHING.

—the bastard

jesus christ! will you get the hell out of the bastard's way you frikkin jerks?!

...or was it on road rules

okay kids, it's like this. you need to get out of the way. the bastard is hungry and you are in the way. no no no. you don't need to walk in side by side wall of death fashion you frikkin idiots! get out the way! so as a rule, i will do this two fold, do NOT walk side by side through a construction site, your are inconveniencing everyone by fucking moseying down 33rd keeping your collective fat asses in the bastard's way and secondly as according to uncle the jesus, "if your going to be in someone's way, the least you can do is speed up". thanks uncle the jesus. besides given the size of your collective asses, you COULD use to speed up a little.

awwwwww no. no no no no. you fucking jerks! why must you all walk into the same place i am. you know there is no reason why i have to play dodge em at a lunch counter. at the end of all things though, i think one third of the three fat asses made it to the sandwich counter 5 or 10 minutes after i did. now for step three. insert knife into idiot's neck. oh well, i think i hear my parole officer calling.

—the bastard

PS: hey fat lady with the ugly sandals who made eye contact with me and did nothing to stop the closing elevator door and i got in anyway much to your fat assed chagrin. go to hell. go to hell and get edema in your fat assed feet. thanks. love, the bastard.

slog

lemme axe you a question.

have you ever had one of those nights where you wake up like you've been shot out of a cannon and you can't get back to sleep for at least two hours so when you finally do you wake up at the regular time feeling like you've been hit in the side of the head with a black jack?

yeah, me too. the bastard is trucked and i have the devil's work dogging my heels. it's gonna be a busy day shiteyes. busy day indeed

—the bastard

...on the fhills

...or on local crap

so a few months back the local overpriced dry cleaner closed it's doors and construction started. one day the chairman, informed me that they were building a 7-11 over there. we think "sweet". now when it occurs to me, i can get my hands on corndogs and slurpees at 3am. actually, i was thinking that when i need a gallon of milk, i didn't have to go to the not so convenient store by my apartment that never has milk on a friday (there is no goddam reason the bastard has to buy a can of evaporated milk for his morning coffee). so i think good. the chairman on the other hand sees the obvious convenience of having a place he could float into in the middle of the night in his white suit riding in a carriage pulled by two sacks of money to buy late night whatnot. win/win, i say.

but the fhills says otherwise. according to another local (who alerted the chairman that we have our own adidas shoe named after our area, take that, team zissou, the community met with the local 7-11 owners who own another down the road a piece. locals bitched about 3am trucks and those omnipresent bored white kids (the chairman and i rate their graffiti as a 9.5 on the wackness scale) that haven't reached driving age and one commentor called for a boycott (to be fair there was only one commentor). and the bastard had a thought, "damn now you folks are gonna have to act like a neighborhood now, won't you?"

OK QUICK SIDEBAR: i mean look at this from the bastard's perspective, on my side of the ave, i have this annoying restaurant that keeps me from getting to bed. the locals don't boycott that place. no one in my area really likes the racket, or the smell of their garbage, or the landlady for that matter but it stays open. oh, i left out the garbage trucks that come at all hours, making a racket, stinking up the place. it's a necessary evil. someone has got to pick up the local business' trash. no matter how stinky it is. then we have the police. the police that does nothing about public nuisances in the area. in the case of my pet peeve, the owner of the restaurant bought them a horse and they not only turn a blind eye, they give him a placard so he can park illegally. he isn't a cop. why does he have cop perks? what the fuck? what the fucking fuck?

but the bastard digresses, yes that means that the neighborhood has to act like a neighborhood now. if you don't want the riff raff around, call the cops. if it's your kid, get in his/her business. if it's your neighbors kid, get in his business. when the bastard was young and kicking the dirt, i had a local father who knew my every move because he drove a cab in my hood. rather then rat me out to my dad, he would ask me why i was cutting school on such and such day, or why was i calling a cab at 4am or somesuch and yeah, it was a pain in the ass. but it kept me out of trouble. so i put it to you schmucks. if you don't like the riff raff, do something about the riff raff. do not squash local business, it's not like their going to replace it with a nice italian restaurant (like we need another one of those in the area). cause i not only call bullshit on boycotting the place, i'm gonna get me a frikkin' slurpee.

—the bastard

...on the premise

so the bastard likes to temper his high brow cinematic tastes with some candy. so once in a while, i've tuned into grey's anatomy. yeah, i know. i can't spend all of my time watching heroes, lost and 24. but speaking of implausible premises, grey's runs with the premise of, here we have a bunch of really hot looking doctors that all work at this hospital in seattle that all have "issues" and you guessed it, they are all sleeping together. what are the chances? a co worker of mine one time commented that if a resident doctor slept with his/her intern it would be grounds for all kinds of legal action. anyway, last night one of the doctors who is leaving the show for the innevitable spin off so half of the show is a crossover preview of the new show which has the following premise,

after sleeping with all of the hot looking guys at the hospital in seattle, doctor addison (don't even know if i'm spelling this right) takes a leave of absence presumably to go back to her home town of los angeles (which we will hereby refer to as hell.a.) to have a baby. so she goes to this medical center run by one of her old friends where everone is A: hot looking and B:have issues and C: have already slept with each others characters or gotten divorced. i mean what are the chances of that. now, i'm not saying that 24 is a more plausable show. it isn't. how could it be. new york magazine has it's own weekly absurd-o-meter that runs on tuesdays. but the bastard just found that every five minutes i was rolling my eyes at this ridiculous show. i'll tell you this though, i'll probably watch the damn show next week and it's spin off until i am no longer astounded by it. good times. no. GREAT TIMES.

—the bastard

P.S. the bastard was watching the salton sea yesterday afternoon while waiting for the cable guy to show up and fix the cable and i have to say, SEE IT you frikkin jerks. it's got drug addiction (a personal favorite for the bastard and revenge (another perosonal favorite for the bastard) involved. so see it now shiteyes

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