...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

...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

...on the living dead

so the other night, rather than house cleaning, the bastard was watching the second resident evil movie. nah, i didn't see the first one. i figure you can just dive into crap like this. it's a hack zombie movie based on a video game, what am i going to miss in the plot? at some point i had a zombie movie problem arise. there was this teacher who is going through a school house to find her kids and, to her horror, have all become zombies.

then they eat her.

and they either were really not good at eating people or they were just taking their time because she seemed to scream for a good long time. i mean why didn't they just go for the throat and stop all of that noise?

anyway the bastard starts wondering why did all of those zombies wait for their teacher to show up when they could have killed just as much time eating each other?

i mean why do zombies only eat the living?

it's not like they can think or anything. they're ZOMBIES.

FLASH FORWARD: so this afternoon puzzled by this, the bastard asks left hand rob about this zombie dilemma and he ponders and we decide to ask the k about it. and the k says this:

"zombies only eat the living because they are dead and thus not appetizing"

"but how would they know?"

"ahh," says left hand rob, "living flesh is warm zombie flesh is cold. it's just like how it is with brains"

makes sense to me. stupid zombies.

—the bastard

...on weddings and funerals

"hey bastard, long time no see. sorry about your grandfather."

"it's okay tony, it wasn't your fault" the bastard quips back with one of his many sordid coping devices, "actually, i'm just glad he's out of pain. how have you been?"

"not bad. the kids are really growing up. patty is doing a great job with them"

"that's great. it's been such a long time"

"i know. it's kind of sad", piped tony. "it seems as you get older, you see your relatives less and less."

"yeah i know. and even if you try, you can never keep up"

"i know. it seems like the only time you get to see your family is at weddings and funerals"

"very true"

yeah. weddings and funerals. i had this conversation with tony in june of 2000 at my grandfather's funeral. tony and his wife, my second cousin used to babysit me when we were young. when the mofo was still in diapers. we'd go out to my great aunt's house and marvel at the plymouth duster she owned and hang out in her pool and the three of us would skewer tony and he would take it because, he loved my cousin and hell, how bad could three kids skewer a man.

the bastard remembers this conversation because, tony died this week from lymphoma. i'm going to his wake tonight. i'm embarassed to say that i never knew he was sick. i'm embarrassed that the last time i saw him was at my great aunt's funeral. and before that my grandfather's funeral (his sister in law came to grandma's instead. family schism. long story. another time perhaps). and before that, my wedding. that was over 10 years ago mind you.

there was truth to his words back then. and it sticks today. i'll see these people tonight. and i haven't seen them since the last joy/tragedy. all i know is tony and i won't ever be able to have that conversation again but, i'll always remember wanting to get the hell out of the conversation to go have a cigarette that day. maybe that's why i feel embarrassed. because i'll never be able to wash that feeling off.

i hate funerals. my mom's family is dying and they constantly come together and try to keep it together. i guess that when the wagons are being circled is when you feel like locking arms, because you know the end is coming.

—the bastard