where's scoop part 3

scoop: "i go get mexican in amarillo"

bastard: nice

scoop: marg barg time in tx

bastard: margz am the beast aye best

scoop: i just saw the worlds biggest cross and anything you want it was palying on the radio. i in ok.

upon logging onto facebook this morning (yes the bastard is on facebook, go to hell), scoop tells us that she is sleeping in an ihop parking lot. hopefully she gets herself a rooty tooty fresh and fruity breakfast there.

—the bastard

...on the vigorish

...or how the bastard never really knew how much he missed the subway

"hey scoop, this is the bastard. i'm on the parkway right now. it's really cold out but i was wondering if it would be worth my while to drive in. you know...because...my car is warm. anyway give me a call back. i should be parked in less than 15. see ya."

the bastard's new piece of space age technology keeps songs on it. scoop gets "wheel in the sky" by journey because she likes hair bands and i like to make fun of them. i'm en route to ricky west's birthday party (scoop's man) and it's downtown. fully knowing i will have to walk several blocks from where i'm going to park to get to the subway, i go to hedge my bets on lower east side parking but by the time the golden tones of neil schon and company kick in, scoop informs me that parking is a no go. so the bastard rolls out of the ride and into the cold. and damn, it was cold.

the bastard has forgotten how much he misses the subway. except for the cold part. it's much colder. but then again, it was much colder outside than it was in the ride. but the train is on time (relatively, it WAS a sunday) and it always comes to the same track. i don't need to run from track 13 to track 21 at the last minute with a bunch of rubes from the island so, it's good. surprisingly, the bastard didn't get lost in lower manhattan. i go here so infrequently since i got old that i have a tendency to get lost. and lost and cold are two things that i don't want to be. pay dirt, i makes it to the vig and oddly enough, the bastard arrives when he thought he would.

now just a quick backgrounder. the bastard hasn't been old all that long so i remember the price of liquor to be much cheaper than it was on sunday night. for that matter, last thursday, i met up with a friend from art school at the W on 47th and that was quite to pricey cocktail. quite frankly, the bottle of gin at my desk cost less than the 2 drinks i had there. but i wasn't there for the pricey fare, i was there to play catchup with an old friend and to make long overdue amends. but i digress, the drinks at this jib joint were equally as pricey as i found out when susie kansas offered to buy me a drink and i went up to the bar with her. corey glover behind the bar hands off the drinkys and says, "that'll be 16 dollars". the bastard exhales loudly and thinks, "am i getting some gold bullion with this drink? is it a fucking magical gin and tonic?" either way, i thank susie and make sure that i pay back the back breakingly expensive drink later. honestly, with scenery like this (see above), i don't understand how you pull that kind of tab down and still be able to afford to live in this part of town. ida know though. once upon a time, i could have lived down here. now, my own righteous indignation would keep me from paying these kinds of prices to rent on this rock. yeah. shoulda, woulda, coulda. shut the hell up old man.

by oneish, the bastard is feeling like it's time to go. scoop had to airlift her man out of the place and hour and change ago and susie kansas left with her guy 20 minutes ago. i ask corey glover for a glass of water declaring that it's a long ass walk back to queens. corey retorts, "astoria, long island city?" back at me. i fly back with, "nah. further east. fucking ice station zebra for all you needs to know my dear", i am the cult of personality indeed, shiteyes. anyway water in tow, it's back into the cold and onto the subway. you know, the night of the magazine's christmas party....er....planning meeting, the bastard had to take the railroad home at 1 in the morning and the next train was at 1:44 am that night. i ended up taking the first train that would dump me back in my old hood and took a cab back to ice station zebra from there. i didn't have this problem with the subway. i took the 20 minutes after i got onto the platform train to all parts going my way back to craptastic queens with out any muss or fuss. can't get that in penn station.

—the bastard

where in the united states is scoop?

so as the basatard may have mentioned, scoop, left hand rob's predecessor at selling bullets seven times a year. has departed from hell's waiting room and she heads east by monkey powered toyota corolla along with her copilot. hopefully leaving a trail of destruction in their wake.

almost immediately on their departure, i was getting updates on their location.

scoop: "At n n out but we no no in nv or ca. I'm a free woman full of beef"

bastard: "that is the greetest phrase ever", i replied

then it hit me to come up with a map. left hand rob thought that it should look like one of those indiana jones maps. so here we are so far:


received a text on sunday night that went, "me at venetion now, i wanna get on the marg barg and play crapz. developing..."

2 hours later scoop tell me that she won cash money at the craps tables.

last we leave her, she went to the grand canyon yesterday and ended the day in flagstaff.

developing....

—the bastard

where's scoop part 2

bastard: "aye put up a map for hugh"

scoop: "hehehehehe i', at a dq in nm and i'm thinking about buying a drug rug aka baja robe"

bastard: "hehehe drug rug. where in nm?"

scoop: "no clue about fourty mi to santa rosa"

bastard: "close enuff. just needed it fire the map. you should dine at whataburger"

scoop: "heheheheh i've heard of that i need something non meat"

bastard: "that's what dq am fore"

in other news, someone has designed a steak flavored beer but it's for dogs

—the bastard

...on departures

i actually wanted to do this when scoop left a few weeks ago but i think i was in too shit of a mood at the time. you see there comes a time in everyones career where it's time to get the hell out and move on to another job. it isn't my time yet. the editor of "making guns look good" asked me to stay on for one more gun show when scoop gave her notice. she's going out to malibu, claifornia to work on to "how rich people can spend their money better" magazine. this comes as a complete bummer to me because scoop has been so integral to me not going nuts with my divorce. she's been a good friend and now she's heading west. good for her. bad for me. now i'll have to rely on gin to keep my head screwed on. not that i didn't rely on that anyway but, come on, the sentimentality is all there.

but, these things come in threes. prior to scoop filing, killing stuff monthly lost its own kentucky gentleman. the gentleman had the dry wit and the respect for the land and for the kill as any hunter i will ever know (and the bastard has met a few). but three was rounded out when susie kansas called it quits from killing stuff to go to "travelling for almost no money" magazine. she too will be sorely missed as she was a valued friend who has had her fill of this jib joint. i don't know if i ever properly thanked her for saving me from what could have been the saddest new years eve of my life, i should do that. as each person who i've know and valued over the time has left i find this place gets a little emptier and hollow to come to. during the separation i found that i liked nothing better than coming into this office because it was the only place that made sense to me. and it was the only place i felt truly comfortable in while i dealt with my problems. i've even slept on the floor in this dump and never slept sounder in the last 10 months anywhere else. now that's all gone. i think the bastard's time grows short here. one more gun show. one more dance. then that's it.

—the bastard

...on the jet set

..or was it just the drink set

"Mos Eisley spaceport. You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy. We must be cautious."

every year, before we went to the gun show, scoop and i would stop at this dump before getting on the plane. it didn't matter if it was in the morning, or after lunch, or whenever. drinks were had here before the bastard takes flight. why? well it sure as hell isn't because the bastard has a drinking problem. no we have others that are emminently capable of handling that responsibility in this family. it's just because this bar, in the jet blue terminal, is a place of drunks and villainy. here we'd be, in a dump full of salesmen, expensing our drinks as breakfast (as i'm sure the do as well), waiting for the chance to climb onto a big ball park frank and fly for work.

so, on scoops sayso via the IM, and my own desire to numb away the sounds of teenagers, i climb on board to relive the boardings of yesteryear. because you see, it isn't like this anymore. scoop left for the left coast last summer and left hand rob, lives in jersey so he doesn't meet me at the airport anymore. circumstances being what they are, the bastard's team that comes with him comes a day later because the silver k needs them in house this time around. so the bastard does this solo now.

all by his lonesome.

so i generally don't drink in airports anymore. it isn't fun for me. however, i did so this time and in classic bastard/scoop style, i almost missed the final boarding call for tucson while i was throwing back my third beer of the evening. didn't sleep a wink on the flight too. the run to the gate took care of all that. i miss that last minute run/stumble to the gate.

so here's to the airport bar, we hardly knew ye

-the bastard

...on saint pat's...better late than never

...or how the bastard should call 3 posts on a sunday the weekend wrapup

anyway, the bastard realizes that it's a whole week and change since saint patrick's day but since i have the time today, and apparently an abundance of material, i would opine on this pick i took on the 17th on 33rd street.

scoop had urged me to not take 33rd street to penn station due to the fact that there is three irish bars on one side of the street and a larger drinking establishment across the street as part of the hotel pennsylvania. ignoring scoop's warnings i went down 33rd anyway to catch this piece of blurry gold. this dear friends, is why the bastard tends to not celebrate saint paddy's day. i realize that i am only part irish which makes me more irish than alot of people that put on a green plastic hat and make an ass of themselves on this day but, between scoop telling her eyewitness account of seeing two 17ish boys puking into a lexington avenue subway station, and the inimitable JDF telling me his nose witness account of the delicious smell of vomit in and around grand central station (and that's not including the bums), and this lovely passed out paragon of virtue, the bastard now feels he can just drop his pants and walk across town to penn station and not be nearly an embarassment to his people as some others could be.

—the bastard


i'm thinking i might do a weekend wrapup one of these days. it was a good week for material and since i didn't take notes, it's kinda lost so maybe i'll start on that one day.

i see him...

...is scoop's universal battlecry for when she sees something she wants to make fun of. most of the time, scoop alerts me to mullets because mullets are her passion. but sometimes, scoop sees other things. this is one of them. isn't he beautiful? ok, the bastard needs to wash his eyes out with battery acid now due to the fact that i'll never be able to remove this image from my dome now.

—the bastard

where's scoop part 5

...the big push

ok, the bastard has come to the conclusion that he needs to start a fight on the subway.

i have no material except for scoop's roadtrip.

anyways, she's in the home stretch. woke up in tennesee, was last seen approaching the virginia border.

in pennsylvania by dinnertime.

end of the line after that.

—the bastard

...on the devil's due

so for the last two nights the bastard has been out and about which has kept me from doing the devils work for the artist. you see, the bastard's company is up on the block and that has created a whole lot of uncertainty around the office. so after the "official" announcement, i walk into the editor's office and we discuss it which concludes in the decision to have a staff outing to the bar. 4 gin and tonics later, i get the call from scoop to meet her for drinks. so 4 margarita's later, the bastard is fit to be tied. i roll home and thank god that i had the presence of mind to fall into a cab when i got back to craptastic queens.

flash forward: spent wednesday night at an event with susie kansas. it's like a networking event only everyone is really nice. the bastard loosens up and actually manages to not fall on his face. i could even say i was charming but hell, you're asking me, what did you expect? anyway chicago jerkface shows up only to be a lackluster wingman but who could blame him, he wanted to eat. so we got steak frites. well "i" did. i decided that when i go out to eat with jerkface, i will refer to whatever i am eating as the "grass is greener platter" due to the fact that anything i am eating looks better to him than what he's eating.

flash forward: last night, no plans. time to give the devil his due and i take care of it while watching a bridge too far. this runs into dinner and yet another airing fo enemy of the state. tv's just on for background noise but, i think i've seen this movie almost as much as i've seen "top gun" and "dirty dancing". work gets done by 11:30 but i have to fix it after the treadmill (you see, i'm trying real hard to NOT die). finally, i'm done at 1AM. 1:30 i get drunk texted by scoop. now i'm up. til 3.

flash forward: i slept through the alarm but got up at a decent hour to eat breakfast. only problem is, i poured orange juice into my cornflakes. yes, the bastard has finally exhausted himself enough that he poured orange juice into his cereal. not to be discouraged, i grab a strainer and flip the bowl right into it draining out what was probably 2 or 3 shotglasses worth of orange juice. dumped the frosted flakes back into the bowl and ate my breakfast. came in and sang "step right up" to left hand rob. you know, i see the brick wall coming, but i can't stop the train. chugga chugga, shiteyes!

—the bastard

this just in...

...fat digerati people are too dumb to walk around you.


so the bastard is fresh off his latest drunken misadventure with scoop, mistress of the mayhem, and decides t sleep it off. i had a networking thing i went to last night downtown nad it was good times but all good times come to an end and right before i leave i get the text from scoop

I meAt some 1 who payy for driny buu i h8

long story short, i head uptown to meet up with her and friends and i believe a bucktoothed man from new zealand thought i was a blackhawk pilot and wanted to sit on my lap. then he called me an asshole and eventually, the ponce was on his way. the bastard gets home from this and decides, "two words...late train" "two more words...egg sammich".

anyway the late train is not a sleepy train because you need to be conscious to transfer. so on the platform at jamaica i wait to meet my connection (i love that fucking stones song) and i get bumped by some fat man with a wireless headset. no scuse me, no nothing. now the bastard stands on the yellow line on platforms in hopes that one day he'll fall asleep at the righ tmoment and meet with a quick end so this fat chucklehead thought that he was too close to the yellow line passing in front of me but not bright enought to walk around the back...idiot. and that ear bud just makes you look more irritaing.

i get off and roll the easterly roll that i roll (cause that's the way we roll in queens, shiteyes) when i see a collision. this special asshole has his head in his ipod and clearly isn't paying attention and bam! there it is. both guys almost go down like old soviet union, the other guy apologizes. apologizes mind you. and ass pod just belts out an "asshole" and ambles on his way. i'm sorry sunshine but i believe it's you who's the asshole. but what the hell do i know?

long story short, the egg sammich was just what the doctor ordered. thank you little mexican men in a 2 foot storefront who made my sammich. thank you.

—the bastard

the quicker it hits ya

...or the bastard redeclares his great love of alt rock, and how he won...for a change

so the bastard is tucking into his research for his yearly re-inventing of the wheel, i tunes on the randomizer and "closer you are" comes on. now we've been down this road before but the bastard has to declare yet again that rock may well have died after guided by voices broke up.

on a better note scoop called me up in my sick bed yesterday morning to inform me that we won the gold medal for the folio magazine award for recreation/sports magazines in the B2B category. you wanna find out what magazine that is, get off your ass and do the research yourself shiteyes. anyway i thought she was kidding me. you see scoop, is the kind of co-worker who likes the low key joke. she sends you an e-mail and the bastard responds with his usual vitriol for the production whatchamacallit who screwed up and then she runs over to tell me i hit reply all to gauge my reaction. ahhhhh kids. anyway, she wasn't kidding. so now the bastard can move off the grid with his head held high knowing that not only can my skills win an award but not every magazine contest is as dishonest as figure skating. sleep soundly kids. the world ain't all that dishonest and the bastard shed a tear for it. recognition at last. whod've thought the bastard was that needy? later for that jerkface.

—the bastard

PS: now spectral mornings by cornershop is playing. most underrated band of hindu rockers ever.

crispy the redeemer

as some of you might have read in earlier posts. one day on the way back from lunch, jesus told me that i needed fresh breath. well this afternoon, the co-worker who we will now call "scoop" has also received a calling from above...to snack. yes, the manhattan christian assmembly is passing out flyers with a rice crispy treat attached. perhaps the maker is encouraging scoop to have a snack or perhaps is saying, "here you go, live a little". either way those manhattan christian assembly folks know how to pass out a flyer. allthough i did notice that it was a rainbow treat. maybe, god is ready for gay marriage. who knows?

—the bastard

wind up

well, this might be the only chance the bastard gets to do this before one more crisis hits us before the year is out so here goes.

this year the bastard won for a change.

he got to see some magic. and he got to hear the phrase that pays.

the chairman fired a fuck ton of guns.

the bastard found out how to get in touch with god.

the chairman had soem bad dreams that apparently come in threes.

the bastard went to court.

scoop came back to the east by car. and then she moved to florida.

the boy came to town and educated new yorkers on how to use the bathroom.

i drank some beer. nothing new there.


we had an election. the chairman's friend in denver covered the convention for me. the bastard really hopes he's wrong about the next 4 years.


the bastard finally outlasted the restaurant that had caused him so much grief over the last 8 years. and now i'm gonna leave because hey, i won.

the machine came to life and the bastard has been riding it ever since.

i got engaged, and then my ladyfriend went to iowa on business.

the crew went camping.

the bastard had hisself another indoor flood.

that said, it wasn't too bad a year, except for all the flooding. but it's like this, i got a promotion last month. it was the biggest promotion i ever got in my whole career. i didn't want to arrive in this chair in the way i did but, i'm in the chair of a newsstand magazine again and i'm going to make the most of it. i'm going to make the most of it because the bastard has been really lucky in life. yeah, i've had some tragedy and i keep getting up to do it again. as long as i can keep doing it again.

see you next year jerks.

—the bastard

When I was young and they packed me off to school
and taught me how not to play the game,
I didn't mind if they groomed me for success,
or if they said that I was a fool.
So I left there in the morning
with their God tucked underneath my arm --
their half-assed smiles and the book of rules.
So I asked this God a question
and by way of firm reply,
He said -- I'm not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays.
So to my old headmaster (and to anyone who cares):
before I'm through I'd like to say my prayers --

the devil went down to...jersey? pt3

so upon arriving, and we did arrive arrive with time to spare for the main event. however, we did manage to miss the opener , which was okay. you've seen one whiney gothic looking emo band, you've seen them all. no muss, no fuss. but then the main event hit. and boy did it hit.

at this point, the bastard had texted to scoop and the chairman that he had died and gone to mook heaven. the chairman asks how many mullets. i fail to take the mullet toll. sometimes, it's just too much to take in.

now, it's been a long, long time since the bastard has been to an arena show. and i must admit, i AM a music snob. the last show i went to was to see mastadon. the last show before that was to see the gorillaz. i've seen scraping foetus off the wheel, i've seen sick of it all close the superbowl of hardcore. i've seen stuff that was considered "better" than this band by alot of my circle of friends. but after seeing this band, i have to say they are the fucking kings of parking lot jock rock. which is NOT to be confused with cock rock. on my way to the bathroom, i text to the hockey fan that i see a boy with a sgt pepper jacket dancing around with fingerless gloves and old women dancing around like strippers in the aisles. the fan texts back that it sounded like an average night at the bastard's house.

granted, arena rock is alot to take in. but, i've never seen so many people older than me, so drunk unless it was a wedding. and so many mooktastic mooks. guys with buzzcuts, glazed over with the kind of drunk that only exists in parking lots of concert arenas, with their drunken wives who are wearing so much makeup that you need to apply it with a putty knife and take it off with a chisel, they stride obliviously throught the arena spilling their miller lite on them selves and spilling others on themselves as they struggle to not have the courtesy to make eye contact or even to watch where the hell they were going. but, it's to be expected. after all was said and done, all things considered, the bastard had a good time. it was a good show. bands that stay together for this long can only get better with time. and it's also a time and place for thousands of mooks and rock and roll sluts to re-live their salad days of rocking with their cocks out.

i've seen a million faces...and i've mocked them all. sure that's cheesy but, you can go to hell. this is my world. life without me is like cornflakes without the milk. yeah and i fart ambrosia too.

—the bastard

...on the comeback

"you know bastard, you really need to update the blog", says the chairman.

"i am aware of this and when i get back in the saddle, i shall"

so the mofo rose from the dead and submitted this gold for us from his friday commute which sort of arrived shortly before or after this conversation. so once again, the bastard has to ask the completely stolen from scoop question:


is it tragic?


or is it magic? what say you snitches?

—the bastard

...on the jet set

thanks to the goodness of space age technology, the bastard can come to you live from the frikkin airport. behind me is the bar that for 4 years was the staging area for scoop and i for our flights to the shot show. the last time i was here, i forgot my reservation number for my rental car and the chairman's minions were trying to get in touch with me for some of the devil's work and i couldn't get in touch. but while i was cooling my jets in the world of luddites, all i could see was "wireless hotspot" for "free" thanks to jet brew. so i was thinking, i have got to get me one of those notebook computers. i mean, i do the devil's work from home and soemtimes after hours in the office but it leaves my totally working in two spaces which creates continuity issues for me and so, i cracked the effing cobewebs off of my wallet and bought myself a notebook (ya fucking cheapo). i gotta say, it doesn't suck.

—the bastard

OK QUICK UPDATE: ...on liveblogging the airport. i totally forgot. i really can't stand yuppified corporate guys who ae doing actual work here. they all sound like snake oils salesmen.

where's scoop part 4

3:15 pm: little rock, memphis by 5

we're shipping the book so, aside from the hive mind not being around for whatever reason, it's all about the shipping.

—the bastard

THIS JUST IN, SPECIAL "ME TOO EDITION"
in a special report which the bastard can only describe as "a me too update", jonny airplanes reports that he is back in virginia from his current base of operations in key west florida.

call it good timing.

call it good times.

but most definitely call it.

...on ch ch ch ch ch changes

scoop had told me since discovering that I wasn't flying on jet blue (also known as the flying bar) that she was indeed disturbed by this.

but, the bastard has to go to the desert the way he can and this time it's delta (also known as Don't Expect Luggage To Arrive) so I actually planned for them losing my luggage by packing two days of clothing in my carry on. so here the bastard waits for adventures and shit in the wrong terminal, without my bar but, the view ain't bad.

-the bastard

...on muckraking

the bastard would like to talk about his hood for a minute...

i live in a spaceship in long island city 3 blocks away from the east river...

and while it didn't garner as much press as what's happened down by the rock...

we took it on the chin when sandy came through...

we took on some water...

which wrecked our electric.

my neighbors and i were homeless-ish for two weeks...

and fortunately, we're all getting back to normal.

we were lucky.

but here's the rub.

there is this local blog that i USED to go to for my local info that went to my building during the post storm mayhem to "get the scoop" on the extent of my building's damages.

we're a new building...

we're not all sold...

we'd like the rest of the building get sold...

but this sort of thing sets us back as a community, so our people politely said no...

the muckraker who writes this blog presses harder, saying he's providing a "service to the community" by providing  photos that are fit for disaster tourists of all stripes and those of the kind of carnage that would definitely hinder other new buildings in the area from EVER becoming profitable anytime soon.

i'm sure the powerhouse and the yard are real fucking grateful for that.

so after this bit of leverage from the muckraker, our people respond with a sterner "no comment" which hurt his widdle feelings.

so in what the bastard can only imagine was in a crying fit of babylike proportions, he wrote an angry post about our building...

you know...

as a service to the community.

a service...

you know?

muckraker.

this prompted the ire of both residents and local who felt that this "service" was unwarranted...

perhaps uncalled for...

trolls responded to the counter...

and i'm convince those trolls were the very author of the post as they all centered around how the blog provides a service to the community and we should all move on.

i mused to myself, does the muckraker hav e a thesaurus in which to alter his constant refrain regardless of what the name of the troll who posted in response.

i eventually, commented an invitation to lunch to the author of one unkind cut.

said we should meet up...

have some lunch...

chat about the local issues...

like muckraking...

and local bloggers who flew through a storefront window as a service to the community.

muckraker.

but i digress, when the bastard moved back into the building, he decided to let it go,  glad to be home again.

this post garned the most comments in the pitiful history of the blog so it was not surprising that when my building was mentioned in a post on curbed that he felt the need to repost it as his own content.

or at least as a "i'm neither good at writing nor am i good at generating my own content but, i sure did like all of that attention i got the last time i slagged off on that building that hurt my feelings so left me just repost it"

muckraker.

so to the blog, i linked to today but won't bother mentioning...

please go directly to die...

you won't be missed i assure you.

now i have work in the publishing world to finish up now...

so run along now to your amateur photography and your bitchy posts.

—the bastard