...and the idiot shouts down from his ivory tower

now the bastard doesn't want you to take this the wrong way but...

i don't care about your dog...

i don't care what you are listening to on spotify...

i don't care how many reps you did today...

i don't care that it's leg day...

and the bastard doesn't really want to read your daily affirmations about how good god is to you.

i don't wanna hear it.

now let's pull back...

this ain't yer fault screw...

i read this article in the times yesterday...

via gawker of course, because i'm lazy and i'd rather read some guy rant about it instead of reading the actually piece...

because who wants to read the sanctimonius talkey talk from some guy who earned 420 million dollars off of selling his "pre netscape" web browser telling me how we, the common folk, should live with less...

however...

he's not wrong...

we should live with less shit...

it leaves you more room for your smug sense of self worth...

also, it just shows that you spend less and in barry's economy, i need to be spending less.

but...

for some reason, having some really wealthy guy telling me what i already know about scaling down rubs me the wrong way.

call it righteous indignation or perhaps it's just that i've become comfortable disliking the rich or moreover the people that have what i do not have.

and perhaps that's petty but, the bastard is petty.

but let me get back to the beginning here...

after reading this times piece, i started noticing the little things that i'd like to see less of.

like how many reps you did...

or how many retarded daily affirmations hashtagged #truth on instagram...

or any of that nonsense...

there's just alot of it out there and i'm wondering if it's time to bury myself in a hole or take a vacation from social media altogether.

then it occured to me how many times i have taken the above photograph from my balcony.

has to be at least 1200 times...

so now, i'm part of the problem.

one time the nice lady and i had a disagreement when the boy pointed at a starbucks sign and said, "that's daddy's coffee"...

and we spoke at length about her problem with name brands and the pervasive nature of advertising in society and how she wanted no part of it.

and i agreed but with a proviso...

there's nothing you can do about it and expect to be a part of society and that you might as well burn all of your designer clothes, toss your cellphone and ANY technology that delivers information for free and start walking to a cave somewhere in the middle of kansas and sort of live like the amish but with machines that have no brand names.

it's a quandry.

i'm gonna root around my desk now and look for some whiskey

—the bastard

nothing is easy…

…but nothing is gonna stop me from trying to make it easier





the bastard thinks that he become affected.

is it an age thing?

I don't know. but the last year was challenging and I've come out of a bad bit of business relatively intact.

got to keep my job.

got a new lease on my career.

got a new place.

and yet, I can't seem to unwind anymore.

it's better but, often I find myself still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

I'm now the same as a coworker who had told me that they haven't been comfortable since the great cull of three years back.

it's a long time to sweat it but, here I am, waiting for it.

every night, I sit out on the balcony now enjoying the night air like shit is gonna go all pear shaped tomorrow and it ain't healthy.

but for now, I'm feeling comfy in my comfy chair, drinkin a beer and watching the river.

waiting for the other shoe.

—the bastard

you never really get what you want

the bastard is actually a pretty ungrateful guy it seems

he turned 41 today.

and while the virus has informed him that over 70 people have wished him happy birthday on the virus, he's out on his balcony wondering when the last time it was that he had a truly happy birthday.

don't get me wrong, any birthday where I didn't wake up dead is a fucking gravy birthday but I can't remember when it was last when I had a storybook happy birthday with presents and shit.

where I wasn't drunk.

when I got something I always wanted wrapped in a big box with a bow on it and i was genuinely wide eyed with anticipation at it's contents.

nope. can't do it.

maybe it's just the whole getting old thing.

maybe it's just because birthdays aren't meant to be special when you get past a certain age. because you want to make sure that your kids feel special.

yeah. I think that may be it.

but I digress.

on the virus, a guy I did a triple bill with 20 years ago shares a birthday with me.

we did a show 20 years ago tonight. I turned 21. and I was doing a show with my bad at the time.

that was kind of special. so maybe it wasn't wrapped up in a bow but a jack Daniels and coke 20 years ago was the first present I bought myself at the beginning of the end of all things special.

maybe I'll by myself a new bike next year. I hear one rumbling away as it leaves the midtown tunnel ambling towards points east.

that'd be nice. you ungrateful old man.

lucky ungrateful old man.

—the bastard

…on glaciers

the bastard pecks away at it but my debt gies up.

been diligent about it but today is the day that I need to get my car tuned up

and that shit costs.

frikkin yay!

—the bastard

…on faith

flashback: it's pissing out and the bastard is happy to arrive at the office.

not dry but, not soaked so it's ok.

I get in the elevator and a woman says to me in a big voice, "isn't it a great day? isn't it just glorious outside?"

"it sure is something out"

another gets in and she pipes up again, "isn't it a great day? isn't it just glorious outside?"

"yeah…great"

and we ride up the elevator and when it stops on her floor this big voiced woman whispers, "thank you Jesus" and steps out.

the bastard feels sheepish mocking her earlier words because to a woman of faith, every day is glorious.

flash forward: today was not a good day.

shit is bringing me down professionally and personally

and on top of that, baby's first plane trip is this morning.

the bastard had to pick up some 11th hour stuff for the baby for the trip.

on a whim I got onto twitter to see if the waffle truck is near union square. and fortune finally smiled upon me in her fashion.

I wanted a pick me up and I know like alcohol, food is never to be used as a crutch

but, fuck you.

my day has been wave after wave of negativity which bookended a really pleasant conversation about gundam I had before going once more into the breach.

so i got a waffle and I think it dam near saved my life tonight.

and that's about as much faith as I can muster these days.

—the bastard

countdown…

t minus… who the hell even knows.

regularly, the wife im's me with some new fresh hell that cokes attached to the home buying process.

the mortgage broker is wound up all kinds of tight.

too tight for her taste. and we're both tightly wound.

but it's like the death of a thousand cuts except they remove information from the flesh of our paperwork and them come back with questions.

apparently because my evil ant overlords have changed payroll companies two or three times, he cannot divine that I have held down this job since 2002.

umm your husband has been part of evil ant publishing since 2009.

between the understanding gap and the tense, it isn't what a bastard could call fun.

don't get me wrong.

the ends totally justify the means, it's just short term annoying.

…end rant here…

—the bastard

on saturdays…

…shit is local yo!



oh MTA,

why you gotta suck so very much?

weekend service is always a dicey proposition

but, the bastard knows for shit sure that the garage is gonna be buried.

today might be the day when the bastard has his heart attack.

fml

—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

something always has to happen when you wanna do nothing

I really wanted to do nothing today.

I wanted to relax.

and think about nothing.

but you can't do that in 350 square feet.

so off we go to do something.

fucking yayz. (o_O)

—the bastard