best use of action figures...

...EVER

the beastie boys are old but, they are clever.

watch this now.

—the bastard

...on a sunday, in the city, on a sunday in the city

Sunday morning, and the bastard gets up at the crack of 11 am.

left hand rob had a mardi gras party, and the bastard had to sleep it off.

by the by, deep fried turkey is the SHIT yo!

but i digress. my ladyfriend and I had to get some food for the apartment. and lady night the only game in town for late night parking was on 23rd street.

got some brekky and walked to the car for all parts east.

as we're getting in, a mini van pulls up with all of the sticker finery that a dominican man can pit ok his car to let you know he's dominican pops out and asks us in the secret hand language of car drivers if we were leaving. i give him the go ahead.

"ah tell yous man, any day ah dah week, ovuh good luck, ah'll take goo timin"

"i hear that buddy", he's got as much silver on him as mr. t wore gold. and he was rockin a leather fedora and a learner pea coat. "fly" by sugar ray was blasting out of his speakers.

"you know how many great singers there are that nevuh get famous"

"too many. how many?"

"as many peepull that has rabbis. thanks alot man."

"no problem. have good day"

"nah man you have a good year", he starts dancing with his hands up, "cause this guy Obama, no me amo".

"thanks man." but he doesn't hear me as his opens his door as if by magic and his car sings to him.

"iiiiiiiiiiiiii just wanna fly". timing is everything.

-the bastard

...on baby snatching

i came across this really good piece in new york magazine about the rec room in the bronx and how kool herc (the george washington of hiphop or perhaps the robert johnson because he never got paid) was one of the driving forces behind trying to save this building that was essentially the birthplace of hiphop.

it made the bastard feel bad because this guy got so screwed by the industry:

"These days, Herc won’t talk to journalists without being paid for his time. “Herc is not bitter, he’s just tired,” explains Cindy. Sitting in a garment-district coffee shop downstairs from her office, she sipped steaming tea. “He doesn’t know if you’re going to take his story and write a book about it or maybe make a movie".

“Hip-hop was Herc’s baby. But imagine that all of a sudden somebody snatched your baby from you and killed it. That’s how Herc feels sometimes.”

it's just messed up. now go read it.

—the bastard

...on matching

so i get this photo from the chairman this morning and i don't knwo what to make of it. so i ask questions.

bastard: what was the significance of that pic?

bastard: the shoes?

chairman: the shoes

chairman: the wrist bands

chairman: the shirt

bastard: oic

chairman: he is match tastic

chairman: and he works for MTV

bastard: gotcha

chairman: he put on matching wrist bands bastard

bastard: intern no doubt

chairman: MATCHING WRIST BANDS


so that said, i wondered to myself, "what was he thinking?" the kid, not the chairman. the bastard knew what he was thinking. i asked him. did you doze? but it did give me the opportunity to use this term my ladyfriend uses all the time.

"matchey matchey"

i think it has something to do with fashion and/or interior design because lots of people on top design and project runway use this term alot. not that i watch these sort of programs of my free will and all.

—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 bus

..fashion tips moves above ground

you know,

you'll find all sorts of characters on the bus.

and monday evening was no slouch.

we saw this guy who looked like pete wentz if he was a modern primative. asllthough one wonders how one can be a modern primative but use modern technology. it's kind of like a bullshit amish movement. i don't know someone explain it to me. anyway, he sort of looked like a slightly gayer pete wentz (from fallout boy, keep up, will ya) and he drew my attention because he was singing out loud.

and thus drew everyone else's attention. this remind the bastard of this guy the chairman saw who was riding no hands down metropolitan avenue shouting, "THIS IS MY LIFE", while he was doing his trash on sunday. i kind of hope that it's the same guy. because it's how i pictured him.

—the bastard

the bastard has no idea what this is for...

actually saw this going down second avenue with my ladyfriend last sunday.

but this sunday, they were torn and in a fashion, this make a better photo. if anyone knows what the hell this is for, the bastard would like to know. i was kind of hoping it was preliminary posters for the big screen adaptation of grant morrison's we3. also if anyone else is listening, option vimanarama. it's such a good story.

—the bastard

UPDATE: looks like it more marketing. disney at that. oh well, go to hell.

ride home

so here's how it was supposed to go down.

the band was supposed to go on at 8:30 but turns out they didn't go on until 9:30.

and while i wasn't guaranteeing anything, i was really trying to be back in queens in time to get in the car and pick up the chairman.

the bastard even drank accordingly to plan for this possibility.

but, i didn't get outta the l.e.s. until 10 to 11. and when i got down there, the platform was empty.

so here the bastard is,

in one of the more desolate areas on the edge of china town and the lower east side,

on an empty train platform.

it was kinda creepy actually.

but, the bastard sometimes gets rewarded with fine fine plumage. it is as my buddy scoop says, "i love going out on wednesday nights, it's when the gates of freak open". pure gold.

i get off the train at 20 to 12. the text message reads:

11:21 landed

11:31 you suck bro i guess i'll have to take a cab

so when i get home the text response was:

11:46 that's me. aye suck

—the bastard

messages from the creatures of the deep...

...and other crap the bastard saw in a bar last night


"hi aquaman",

was the greeting the bastard received from a magic marker drawing as he went to take a leak in the bathroom of the 169 bar last night.

"how was the bathroom", my ladyfriend asks me.

"it's a typical bathroom on the lower east side, it looks like a hundred punk rockers took a crap in it and then drew all over it with magic marker. standard"

"cause mattysaintjoe said that it was flooded the last time he played here."

"yeah water was just flying out the door", retorts mattysaintjoe (that's him on the right).

hmmmmm, hi aquaman indeed. the bastard almost dropped hi phone in the toilet over this one.

the 169 was a haven for local thugs back in the day. now it's a haven for folks who really fucking miss cbgb's. there was a girl banging on a piano and screaming tone deaf poetry into a microphone. this trainwreck culminated with her doing the single worst version of you don't own me. the rest of the night, she was yelling, "holla, holla, holla", between everyone's songs. sarcasm i would imagine for mattysaintjoe but definite sincerity for the danish girl who was part of broken down social scene part two. i only figured this because holla girl's whole shit was bitching about her ex girlfriends and judgey catholic priests whole raped her when she was 15 or something. i guess that's the value of a nyu english degree.

mattysaintjoe was good last night although a 50 something year old swedish lady was bending the bastard's ear about how rude his bandmate was to her. and who knows, he may well have been. people just don't make shit up these days. anyway, she told me her story. i told her part of mine justy because this conversation wasn't about what was going on in MY life, it was what was going on in hers. and that the other guy in matty's duo was rude to her. oh well, it still made for a good evening.

oh, right, and they were selling fourty ohs of colt 45 for 9 bucks a clip. being that the bastard spent most of his college career drinking colt 45 for only 2.25 a bottle, i just couldn't do it. that door is closed. but on the other hand, it works everytime.

—the bastard

...on the groove

the bastard just wants you all to know.

that tonight, james brown saved all of your lives.

i was ready to do it.

i was ready to strike out on a mad rampage.

i might have eaten the city whole.

left no survivors.

but i didn't because even posthumously, james can bring the one.

and that groove saved you all.

—the bastard

...on fly whips

so the bastard has been taking to watching sucker free countdown on mtv2. coming out of the stop n shop yesterday, the chairman was explaining the state of the hip hop nation. this all stemmed from the fact that the number one song this week (which is i'm throwed by paul wall) is god awful. maybe it's just my taste in hip hop. then again i haven't bought anything with a beat since pre millenium tension by tricky. anyway, the chairman says that nothing really good comes out until late spring or november. either said label is trying to catch the christmas market or they are trying to put out this summer's hot jam. oh well. i guess that's mass marketing for you.

so i was noticing that there was this mini van parked under the bastard's window. and the mini van was rockin' it's own gangsta logo. apparently even soccer mom's have crews. apparently even soccer mom's are HAHD. one could even argue that maybe somewhere in the greater forest hills area, there is a soccer mom who's out there rockin' her own fly ass grill. ridin' around, king of the town, i always got my windows rolled down. oh wait, gotta get the kids to soccer practice and then to the pta meeting...i'm throwed

—the bastard

...on the one

holy crap! the bastard woke up this morning only to find out that the godfather of soul is dead. there is now a great void in the world that some great god of funk will have to fill. i don't think anyone is up to the challenge. james was the standard bearer of what george clinton referred to as "the one". the one is the first beat of the 4/4 time (the bastard doesn't understand sheet music well so bear with him) and funk kind of finishes the measure not on the four count but on the following one (thus the one) clintop went on to explain how james brwon would end on an "early one" and he would end on a "late one" and that was the difference between james and parliament funkadelic. but none of this matters anymore. james brown was a consumate musician, a consumate conductor, and his souns was more important than the beatles, the stones and elvis in many respects. on this day of christmas get up from your dining table and go to the fucking record store and buy james brown live at the apollo. you may not like it at first but, you will find that it's the gift that keeps on giving. you might even catch yourself dong the funky funky funky funky broadway. good night james, and thank you very much for the funk.

—the bastard