...on crosses to bear

easter sunday.

the bastard gets up at the crack of dawn to go to church with the boy.

father and son stuff.

let me save you the trouble of asking.

lightning didn't strike.

the ground didn't open up.

the hosts of hell didn't come up to claim what is rightfully their property like i've always suspected they would. however, one minister looked like mike ditka and the other looked like the lead singer of the bosstones.

don't be disappointed, it'll happen for me one day.

dad'll be so proud.

at least when i get there, i'll be warm.

so i get out of the rental and i look up the parking lot to the big rusted cross where the worship is taking place.

i approach the fist of kung fu to get my mass program but, then i look up and see this on top of the church and i see this:


the bastard had to wonder. so i ask the fist, "ummmm hey fist?"

"how's it going?"

"pretty good but, i was wondering"

"how was your flight?"

"good, is that a cell tower on the cross?"

then the fist of kung fu makes himself a big ole smile and shakes his head. "yeah, it is."

then he spins a brief tale about it.

you see, the fist is pretty active in his church. so he's friend's with pastor ditka and one day while walking the grounds he explains to the fist that they had the roof repaired or something done to the sunday school or something and he pointed out the new cross on the roof and the fist asked the same question. pastor ditka gave him the same answer.

"wow, it sure did look like one", i repled. "i just had to ask. it kind of gives a new meaning to the phrase can you hear me now?"

now let me say off the bat here that , i would never begrudge a church the means to keep itself afloat. not every church is a catholic church. so, that means that they may not have the vast landholdings and financial resources of the catholic church that come with that. a church can have a cell tower but maybe not a coca cola sign on the church front door perhaps. i don't know. maybe it doesn't matter. maybe it's the worship that matters. on the same token, having a cell tower attached to the cross on top of your church is pretty funny to me.

the bastard is SO going to hell.

—the bastard

...on the dead

...even they get their day

the bastard always found the history of catholicism in the new world fascinating. jesuits and other missionaries try to convert the natives but try to phrase it in a way that the noble savages could understand (because go forbid you assume that the indigenous people think for themselves and all). anyway, pagan rituals bleed into christian rituals and vice versa.

case and point.

day of the dead. ancient mexican death rituals meet up with all saints day and all souls day down a dark alley and honor the dead. it's sometimes playful but always respectful. this alter is where i left a message for my grandparents. along with the boy leaving a message for his grandfather who is also beyond the pale. what did i write them? none of your business. ask them when you pass. it's the sort of thing that is between yourself and the dead. unless of course you don't belive in that sort of shit. but the bastard doesn't know. on the same token, it would be nice if that sort of thing worked out that way.

it's simple enough that it could but, who knows. and yeah, that's my coffee on the floor there. look dick, i'm saving lives here.

—the bastard

crack that whip

went to the boy's school this morning in oro valley (it's like queens to tucson's manhattan) and all the kids were in costume. i didn't get the picture of the little boy who looked like the cowboy from the village people but claimed he was chuck norris as walker texas ranger but, the chairman did send me this image live and direct from the new york subway system this morning. i don't think that there is anywhere else on earth where the freaks come out like this on halloween. maybe in san francisco. but, the bastard hasn't been to san francisco on halloween so go to hell jerkpiece!

—the bastard

ladies and gentlemen, i give you...arizona. now with more scorpions

last night.

cleaning up the coffeepot (yeah i makes me own coffee. what of it?). anyway 5 dollar johnny saunters in to clean his dishes. well, his mug really. most people that don't live in the office don't do much more than use a mug and eat take out.

"hey bastard, what's new?"

"nuttin much just trying to tie up all my loose ends so i can get on a plane to arizona"

"going out to see the boy?"

"we're going trick or treating."

"what's he going as?"

"he's going as luke skywalker. he demands i go as darth vader"

"cool, bring me back some candy"

"sure, it'll be special desert candy"

"cool it'll be nice and dry"

"and full of scorpions"

"special arizona desert candy...now with more scorpions"

sometimes, you just can't make this shit up. plane boards in an hour, and the bastard is behind in his drinking. i'd put art up but, it seems the network at the airport just doesn't allow for that kind of action today. i'll bring it when i get into the desert.

—the bastard

ummmm...

...mexico is THIS way.

so while driving to the mission at tomacacori, the boy fell asleep so, since we were in the neighborhood, we kept driving to mexico. i gotta say though, maybe it was the temperature, or maybe it's all of the totally legal public urination (or maybe they clean the streets with urine scented cleaning products) but, i think nogales, mexico needs a shower.

now here's the thing about nogales, mexico. it's one of those places that americans go to to purchases prescription medication for a discount rate, as well as discount pottery and hand made furniture. the funny thing is 30 miles or so north is an "artist community" that sells really expensive handmade pottery and furniture except it's pottery and furniture that is "inspired" by mexican handmade pottery and furniture. nice scam if you can pull it off.

—the bastard