the long walk...

full cuppa...

banging 80 in the ride...

not a fucking dime in my wallet...

so i won't be parking on campus for this visit.

fortunately LIJ is on the queens side of lakeville road and they have houses rather than industrial parks...

so i just slide the old sub sub sub compact into a small spot that would no doubt incense the locals...

but the bastard would imagine that the idea of ANY offworlders to cheap to pay for hospital parking would be off putting.

it's queens...

the spot in front of the house is yours by divine right of kingship.

so like a freight train, the bastard is headed into the belly of the beast to see zsolte.

he's been having a rough go this year.

the wheels are falling off and this is his second trip to the hospital...

last time for his ticker...

this time, it's his kidneys...

you gotta feel for the man...

the community has been...

since the thrilla broke this story to the boys in the band, folks have been working hard at getting out there to see him.

so, in i go to the ICU for a visit.

zsolte is a loud one...

he can bellow when he needs to...

"whoa... i'm on vacation!", he'd exclaim for all the woods to hear, "i don't need to be going on no nature hike"

...and there he is passed out in a chair looking like he's been getting the wrong end of it.

i haven't seen him since jimmy's funeral but, for a man of his carriage...

he looked rickety to me.

dialysis...

it seems...

kicks the shit out of a man.

makes him a shadow of his former self.

so there i sat for an hour or so watching the poor bastard sleep in a chair that was only slightly less uncomfortable than his bed.

i reached for a magazine when he came to, looking bewildered.

"wassup bruvvah", i exclaimed, mustering enough enthusiam for the both of us

"oh, hey bastard...it's you", he whispered almost incoherently.

we talked for maybe 20 minutes.

well i talked, he grunted. like i said, he ain't feeling rright.

then i excused myself...

figured, sleep would be better than me hanging out.

so i take the long walk back to the ride.

and i think of who i didn't give the news to and decide to get on that.

but the whole while back all i can think about is how much i'd love to have a whiskey...

or an egg sammich...

and while it's 5 o'clock somewhere in the world...

the bastard opts for the egg sammich...

probably better overall.

get better bruvvah...we're all pulling for you.

—the bastard

...on hats

... and the grate outdoorz

so here the bastard sits at his desk.

waiting to finish his crap to do.

i wear many hats.

the mag hat.

the spam hat.

the other mag hat i keep on the side for other print projects.

but let's focus on the first hat. the mag hat. it is a many hatted hydra that has the bastard playing art director, photo editor, and production manager. not to mention, the part where i also wear this hat to be an industry professional both in the magazine and the firearms industry. this is the hat that makes me feel like i move forward 3 feet and move back 1.

learned the new system of shipping color. it's great actually but, i had so much to do when i got done learning it. and i'm just starting to wind it up now. and i'm so tired. which brings me to my next point.


i'm going camping this weekend.

i've already been through several rounds of mail with the mofo and dean thrilla and k love and zsolte about it and we already know that it's gonna piss out this weekend.

i don't care.

im going.

i HAVE to go. i NEED to go. i need to get the dirt (read: MUD) under my feet regardless of how shitty it's going to be out. i need to break with society for a couple days and i'll be fine. regardless on what falls on top of the bastard. i sometimes get a signal out there in the sticks so if anything noteworthy happens, i'm going to put it on the bastard feed and perhaps opine on it later. but if i die out there, then you get nothin'. straight up nothin'.

—the bastard

the palace at 4am

mad mike: well i'm glad you came out tonight. zsolte, i always love when the bastard comes out to hang out. he's always got shit to say

zsolte: what's up with the shirt bastard. why you all dressed up?

bastard: well i just recently discovered exactly how much laundry i go through when it's hot out. all i have left is my work clothes right about now.

mad mike: yeah bastard, we're all standing here in our t-shirts and there you are in that slick shit. bastard's got to look good so you can pick up.

bastard: not really mike, the clothes are clean and i just want to be able to die pretty.

zsolte: how you plan on doing that, pal?

—the bastard

...on hardcore

...and handbags

so the bastard is settling into his usual saturday night which consists of watching downloaded episodes of doctor who, which in case you care is geek enough without having to download it off the internet, so in my boredom, i have acheived a new level of loserdom. anyway i get the 10:15 call from zsolte.

"hey bastard, whatcha doing tonight?"

"well actually i'm drinking beer in a basement and watching doctor who. what's up?"

well let's get past the requisite laughter at my plight and go straight to "well, i'm going to fuzzy's (local bar...real local) to see 25 ta life with dixon and maybe dean thrilla will make an appearance if you feel like coming out."

"zsolte, i am there because anything has to be better than sitting in a basement watching british sci fi. the only thing to make it worse would be if i was reading comic books. oh wait, that's what i did last saturday night. i'll see you in 15."

needless to say, while i've never heard note one of 25 ta life, i couldn't have left a building faster if it was burining to the ground. and i rode over to fuzzys. tryuth to tell, i could have walked but walking is soooooo 1985. the funny thing about "the scene" as skinheads call it, hasn't changed since i stopped going to shows. they sing songs about unity and try to sound as unoriginal as possible. not that they try to sound unoriginal and all but bands try to sound contemporary and as a result sound like what would happen is limp biscuit had a baby with napalm death. and it isn't their fault. hardcore is more about the fundamentals. good song structure and singing about unity and tattoos. but the sound is kind oif distinct.

by the tim,e 25 ta life hit the stage, i had had my fill of the opening acts and when they started i realized why thrilla and dixon had given up a night of 30 something aged sleep to see these guys. they were old school. real old school. the kind of thing that makes you think of why you started listening to this stuff. hell, the kids even danced old school. this band was hahd. they not only played in romania, they played in hungaria. now while i was enjoying ther sounds, i couldn't help but notice the pop culture footnotes at this show. mainly the girls. i couldn't shake the notion that there were girls that were decked out in their NYHC best but, were carrying burberry handbags. how do you keep it real while carrying one of those things at a show liek this. this is supposed to be about the streets. now to be fair, the bastard is older and wiser and understands the bullshit but, this seemed iconoclatic to me. and funny. almost as funny as thrilla's comment on how girls in a moshpit always strike him as how watching a girl slam dance looks less like dancing and more like a woman trying to escape a sex crime and maybe it does look like that. but it makes the bastard understand what all of those old school skinheads i used to see at shows in the back of the room were laughing about. it's like being in on the oldest joke in the scene. what i wouldn't give to be able to get a time machine and bring back a 1980's incarnation of token entry to perform "the edge" just to lift this up a bit but i will settle for dixon and thrilla stealing the mike to sing "crucified" on 25 ta life's dime. well played, sirs. well played.

—the bastard

the bastard loves hangups

you realy gotta love japan sometimes. i know i do, which is silly because the bastard has never been. it is however, on the bastard's list and zsolte assures me that it totally rocks. one day the bastard will go or as the nice lady keeps chiding me, i will be reincarnated a 14 year old japanese school girl. that couldn't be further from the truth. the bastard is a big fan of travel but travel isn't a fan of him as he seems to come back cranky every time. i don't get it. either way, i enjoy what i have seen media wise and literature wise. as i mentioned in an earlier post, i had just finished reading idoru and it takes place over there. now i didn't get the book because it took place in tokyo, i got it because i'm reading alot of william gibson these days. reading passes the time on the bastard's commute.

anyway, this photo comes to us from the office. you see, the collector brought this toy over to me to show me it's humorous qualities. why the collector you ask? well, at the front door (for lack of a better term) of every cube here, we have little squares with our names on them so that they can put a name with the number and everyone doesn't come rolling into the bastard's cube saying, "hey mr. 10n-9 how's it going? how about those white sox last night huh? working hard or hardly working? (cue guy smiley teeth right.....about....now)" instead they can say, "hey bastard, you need to do things for me so that i don't have to. now do it jerkface". it's as simple as that. anyway, every time someone on the floor departs our magical little kingdom here on park, the collector takes their name tags and tapes them up onto her cube, to keep it real. anyway, the collector bought this power rangers toy for her niece and then speculated on why this toy (that turns into a dog) has it's tail between the robots legs looking like...well you get the picture (literally).

in short (which this blog never seems to be) what i really find funny is the japanese sense of humor or perhaps it's their ability to sneak sex into even children's toys. or maybe we just have dirty minds. but then again we don't exactly have vending machines on the street with underwear in them. but i suppose everyone has their hangups

—the bastard