…on spare time

normally the bastard doesn't have time to post about the commute.

it's usually 10 minutes

but

today there are mad delays

no express service. only local

I'd settle for a goddam train at the point regardless of it's orientation.

and every local is crowded.

oh well. go to hell

—the bastard

loaded…

…is the word the computer says as the bastard gets into the cab



loaded is how he feels on two hours of sleep.

loaded is what he may or may not be when he arrives

loaded kind of makes the bastard more like cargo than man

—the bastard

…on street fares and other things that make the bastard hate

come on.

the bastard's been good.

he moved to manhattan to stop being pissed about the commute but, sometimes dear city, you throw me a bone.

or a flaming bag of dog crap.

anyways, last weekend was the last of our fair mayor's summer streets program

which I hate; wait there's more.

the wife and I decide to go to the park but we have to pass park.

you figure, no cars, no problem.

wrong.

without the tyranny of the automobile, the bicyclists became the top of the food chain.

and as the top of the food chain the onus of obeying traffic laws was on them.

but they didn't.

as the top of the food chain, the onus of being considerate were on them.

but it was lost on the vastness of two wheelers.

now there is no reason a man needs to use a baby carriage as a means of leveraging his way across the street.

but I did. and I keep a hand free for the expectation of hand throwing which didn't happen fortunately.

the bastard didn't want to waste his Saturday in a cell when his brother in law was grilling across the river and chilling beers as well.

thing of it is this, my brother has had more than his fair share of shit with the four wheeled contraptions that "plague" bicyclists.

but some days it seems the plague is merely their desire to ignore people and traffic laws because they got to a respectable enough speed and, oh damn, here's a red light, nah, I'm gonna keep going, it's not like we get ticketed.

and BAM! your dead and some jackass is chaining up a freshly spray painted white bicycle where you went down because you thought this was a good idea, bro.

that said, I postulate the modest proposal the critical mass is wrong. we need cars on the road to keep you guys in check.

no good? eat a bag of dicks.

—the bastard

roll

an hour of sleep

never felt so trucked

my driver clearly smokes in the car.

I hope i'm never dead.

we are the road crew.

—the bastard

...end of the road

2200 miles.

at least 6 tanks of gas.

over a hundred felled deer across the highway.

2 huge meals of bbq.

1 boy happy to see his dad.

yea, there was a whole lot more and i wrote about it. what do you want, a goddam recap show? either way it was a good roll across half of this nation and i'll doing that again in a month and a half.

yay.

—the bastard

impasse

and we were making such great time.

blockage in the tunnel at allegheny mountain.

dammit!!

—the bastard

it always sucks the night before a roadtrip

I always run logistics,

so

it's hard to get to sleep.

also, my ire is up.

so if i crash tomorrow, it's on you sir.

oh well, the pills are kicking in, maybe we get the in one piece.

time to hit the send button.

—the bastard

...on daybreak

more from the hell is other people files.

long flight.

and my travelling companion's method of sitting could best be described as...

urban sprawl.

so at 6 am, hell is not just other people but,

speech.

so tired. but here we are, back in my city. all 5 boroughs of it.

—the bastard

... on frostbite

walk back to the car.

brought my gear just in case.

but it's frikkin cold.

40 mph winds.

yeah, the bastard goes out.

and sure as hell is cold.

thought my fingers would never thaw out.

-the bastard

...feeble

got off the plane at 6:30 am.

didn't sleep a wink.

hungry enough to kill and eat the cab driver who i was stuck with on the fucking van wyck for an hour.

hell, i could dig up robert moses' corpse and eat IT if it was time efficient enough.

but it ain't.

so upon getting home, the bastard has breakfast, then goes to bed.

an hour later, left hand rob calls up to tell me that somethings wrong with the cover. now, my head hurts. problem gets solved and it's back to bed.

got up at 4pm.

got to bed at 2am after a bout of the devils work.

my life hurts.

so that said, i have more to say about my travels but, it's going to come later. much later when my head isn't covered in the fog of exhaustion.

—the bastard

...on the exodus

...and the cold cold ground

did you know that it takes 1 hour to drive from houston street to the holland tunnel?

however it only takes 10 minutes to get from the holland tunnel to new jersey.

it takes 15 minutes to get to newark airport from there.

it takes 35 minutes to get to north jersey from newark aitport.

so the entirety of the bastard's travels adds up to the amount of time to travel from housten to the holland tunnel.

this is what happens when the entirety of a major metreopolis needs to cram itself into two lanes going to new jersey. the food was damn worth it though. at dinner, my ladyfriend's sister's inlaws were sitting near me, discussing with their son, the teacher, how they would like to be disposed of when they pass. father wants to be put in an urn in the center cabinet. mother wants her ashes to be buried in a biodegrable sack in a field. the bastard thinks he needs to be buried with the pumpkin cheesecake he had for dessert. that would be fine by me.

—the bastard