…on best practices

the bastard went to an industry function last night.

the company wanted to have an after party for the national magazine awards.

our team and the food book were nominated for awards and I wanted to come out and support.

I met a triumphant man in a gingham jacket who waved around the only thing Alexander Calder ever designed that I ever will want.

and I had a drink with our team to have a better luck next year chat.

problem is I started without them.

and that's a mistake.

so I spent today closing out the bike book, mapping out the bullet book and doing my first cover package for the big book feeling under slept and very willing to believe that there will be pyramids constructed to honor the massive massive hangover I had today.

but back to the award.

you see…

the winner left it at the venue where our party was…

so I got a closer look at it.

I've had conversations with other designers on the banality of awards and how they don't matter much.

and that may be true. but I wouldn't mind having one of these one day.

—the bastard

…on life lessons

bastard: is that pitcher water

lobster johnson: the clear one?

bastard: yeah. I'm putting a cup together for the babby for the ride home.

lobster johnson: yea it's water. don't drink from the skull… that's moonshine. but for kids in general… don't drink from a skull

bastard: that's heads up parenting.

lobster johnson: the more you know… ding.

tonight was left hand rob's (re: Mano lefto) annual mardi gras party which was the best place to be in new jersey tonight as nowhere in his little pocket of Edison, nj did anyone have to hear about how much god loved Whitney Houston so much that he let her get addicted to crack and that he called her home to him… with crack.

anyway we brought the babby who after two plus hours asked to go home. rob's last words to her was, "thanks for coming to my party babby. now you go get comfy in your car seat and don't drink from any skulls".

now that's head up baseball

—the bastard

the deaths door challenge…

…or how the bastard rediscovered doctor whiskey for the 11th time.

the bastard reads alot of shit on the interwebs about alot of things.

and

some of it is about alcohol.

new brands.

new styles.

a fresh spin on an old style.

alcoholics.

stuff like that.

recently, my brother in law flew in for the Christmas (I'm gonna call it Christmas because that's what I was celebrating. if you'd like to talk Kwanzaa, we can talk about Ron karenga electrocuting his girlfriend in another post) and I seized the opportunity to pick up this white whiskey I read about on uncrate called 'deaths door'.

Named after the super treacherous strait formed by Washington Island, WI and the Door Peninsula, Death's Door Spirits have both a literal and poetic connection to the location. Death's Door White Whisky is made from a mash with an 80:20 ratio of organic Washington Island Wheat and organic malted barley, double-distilled to 160 proof (!), and finished in uncharred oak barrels to bring it together.

this is from the press release.

so after the wife adjourned herself for the evening (not the whiskey drinking sort) the bastard pulled out two glasses for himself and the brother in law who is more of a scotch man.

after a long draw, I looked at him and he at me and both agreed that deaths door was 'nice'.

'nice'

that's what it was.

it was clean.

it has an almost grassy finish.

but it was only 'nice'.

I followed up with two glasses of knob creek. and immediately upon hitting that it came to me.

this was what was missing from deaths door.

smoke

caramel

character

deaths door can really pack the alcohol in but it's just 'nice'.

like the Midwest.

nice.

but I'd rather live in the dirty smokey part of the country instead.

—the bastard

… the bastard has got to tell you…

whiskey'll take a ton of you free time.

that is all

—the bastard

just in case you were wondering…

…free whiskey is the best whiskey.

the bastard has to give big ups to the flying bar.

due to our daughter's stomach bidness, we had to change our flight plans to later in the day.

which led to a great deal of uncertainty.

as to where we were seated.

how much grief we'd have with the babby.

that kind of crap.

but we lucked out.

front row.

and flight delays.

flight delays? lucking out?

yep. lucking out shiteyes.

inconvenience for the masses led to free whiskey for the bastard.

and free whiskey is a vacation win in my book.

cheers, jerk

—the bastard

unified theory…

11:16 pm
bastard: your unified theory of martinis is correct. two is enough to constitute trubble.

bastard: three is nigh disastrous

11:33 pm
mofo: But the cuban. The cuban!

bastard: the Cuban was impressive. but I am drunk and watching mi-5

12:01 am
mofo: I deconstructed eggplant parm and made tabboulleh tonight for nat and i. Martini and wine followed. No mi-5.

bastard: make no mistake. mi-5 had everything to do with martinis and tabbouleh. eggplant was bertuslicuni's fault entirely

bastard: what have aye Dunn to deserve this flat and flavorless manhattan?

12:23 am
mofo: You find gOod tabouleh in manhattan the eggplant parm is a tw original. Its going to be 23 degrees here tonight so chin up.


3:47 am
bastard: chin up indeed. I've been tits up on my couch since before your last text. nai nai

—the bastard

fumes…

it's been said,

"somedays you get the bear. and somedays the bear gets you".

needless to say, the bastard didn't get the bear last night.

in fact what he got was a paddlin at the hofbrauhaus.

it's the only place I've gone where I don't care if they screw up my food order because I'm there for a stein of "lake beer I can dock my boat to".

but what happened was,

my party had also ordered shots of apple scnapps.

shots come on a paddle.

so needless to say, we all got a paddlin.

then the bastard essentially made no headway with the dice.

this always strikes me as a every other kind of thing.

so who knows,

next year can end up being a more lucrative trip instead of a more paddly trip.

at least I can still sit down.

—the bastard

…on beer goggles

funny thing about this city of sin.

when you get too much of your drink on,

you may answer a certain variety of advertisement.

and the bastard has to wonder.

—the bastard

…lowbrow

you know,

it used to be the interesting work that gets the bastard out of bed in the morning.

then it was the people.

but sometimes it's the swag.

and in this case, the most inneresting variety.

or




has the bastard ever told you about the time he found out exactly how lowbrow his tastes in fact are.

you see, the powers that be decided to have a bourbon tasting for killing stuff

because the people like they whiskey.

it ain't all budweiser out their in the field my son.

but this was a blind taste test.

9 whiskeys

8 bourbons (not all cheap ones either) and a Mickey slipped in to fuck with the cross section.

oddly enough, the bastard chose the Mickey. which was jack Daniels oddly enough.

which calls either my tastes to the carpet or it calls the nature of trying 9 different whiskies in one sittings and trying to be able to discern what is what by your fourth taste.

I think it's a little of column A and a little bit of column B.

but in retrospect, it's what I got out of bed yesterday morning.

come on,

you can't have the love every day

—the bastard

…on old crows

perhaps it was the two "good" bourbons on ice the bastard had last night,

or

perhaps it was the two beers in retrospect one realizes that one doesn't need to chase down a beverage one likes.

or perhaps it's because the creative director of ordered it in the way someone English would order it.

you see

he says a name like basil like one would say "bah-zill".

so when he says, "ah think ahll have ah glass a old crow", I think it sounds like a great idea.

and the bastard won't really know for sure until he has himself a clean pallette.

but I walked home last night after a fine evening of bourbon drinking

and it was good.



so was the mcrib I had for dinner.

—the bastard

…scotch and water

"you know what?!", said Joe, 'lim gonna tell you the secret. I'm gonna tell you the secret of how to drink at a work party."

"what you do I order a scotch and watah, and throughout the night you keep refilling the watah. the drink will stay looking like scotch and watah and you'll look like the hardest man in the room because you've been drinkin' scotch all night"

Joe was a lawyer.

Joe was in the corps.

Joe was always quick to tell you a good story, or cut you down because he thinks you put on a little over the year.

Joe was also my great uncle.

and Joe knew how to make one hell of a martini or so he'd tell you.

he'd tell you he'd make a double when he'd get home from work and he'd get comfortable for the night.

and that's how I'd like to think how it happened last night.

he made a martini. maybe a double. and he sat in his favorite chair, one last time.

got comfortable in his favorite chair and closed his eyes and slipped away.

here's my fondest memory of Joe. during my divorce, I took the railroad home to my parents house. and Joe coincidentally took the same train home only I didn't know it until that night.

at that time.

and there he was in the front car with 4 or 5 of his coworkers, owning the conversation, these younger folks hanging on joe's every word as he gestured wildly his eyes wide open. he was positively electric.

and then the train pulled away in to night.

and I went home to sit in the basement.

i come from a large family.

we are fucking legion.

and I don't see any of them nearly often enough but when I did I loved seeing Joe and his wife Martha who was my favorite smoking buddy. but now family gatherings will be different out east. and it saddens me tonight.

funny thing though, the bastard was at a 40th birthday party last night and I was poured a glass of scotch on a pile of ice and thought of him briefly, hours before I got the call.

—the bastard

…on tails

one evening while driving home from what the bastard can only describe as the bowels of south jersey…

I came to find myself riding behind mr alan, the original florist.

apparently, there were no florists before him.

thas a bold statement.

—the bastard

weird stuff the bastard bought at a japanese big box

so the builder's pastime when he goes to the japanes big box is to find weird things to drink that they don't sell in america.

well edgewater new jersey is still part of america but you get the picture.

anyway, while waxing poetic on the time he found mint pepsi, we came across green cola.

green cola happens to be made of green tea.

and cola.

and 11 other herbs and spices.

but the end result was a soda that wasn't as fizzy as say pepsi but also tasted like royal crown cola or some other soda that would be store bran like key food soda or the like.

well that's it.

you want a frikkin' novel?

—the bastard

…goddam it's hot out

…so why not have a drunken throwdown.

so the mofo will be bidding the q borough adeiu soon for desert plains.

and what better way to send the old home off than to drink in the back yard and burn some meats.

the accountant came in from the golden state along with the chairman, captain America and a host of our clan.

good beer. good food. good times.

Sherman came too with his family massive.

it may be circle the wagons time.

whither the q borough, I wonder.

it might be time to move back across the river perhaps.

—the bastard

…on barflys

free time.

that shit's a precious commodity these days.

so when the bastard gets some,

he revels in it.

case

meet

point.

I got myself some summer friday yesterday and I decided to enjoy it some.

yeah, the bastard COULD have gone straight home to releive the nanny (yes, we have a nanny, wanna fight about it?) but, I wanted a beer and a burger.

so the happy medium is going to the bee.

it's close by

it has burgers

it has beer

and it's the middle of the day.

so much to me surprise the bar was crowded.

with kids

watching the world cup.

what the hell!





so, the bastard has his beer

and his burger.

somewhere else near the bar.

and england tied algeria.

and it was good.

—the bastard

deep fried gladness

so our hosts felt a real taste of the deep south was in order last night.

this came in the form of airboat gator rides and deep fried alligator tail.

it was a good night.

the takeaway for the bastard is this.

I spent the last two and a half days feeling like the dumbest guy in the room and then in the next moment like a goddam genius.

and above all else, it gave me a renewed sense of purpose.

wasn't a waste of my time at all.

now if only this shifty eyed character in front of me just turned out to be my imagination, all would be right with the world.

happy landings jerkface!

—the bastard

...time machine

...and no, not THAT kind of time machine

Saturday nights are usually quiet for the likes of the bastard.

I'm a family man you know.

anyway at 10:30, my ladyfriend and me are watching yet naothe episode of special victims unit

because it doesn't pay to be a victim

but,

if you're a SPECIAL victim, your story gets ripped from today's headlines.

anyway,

the phone rings.

it's the past, "hey past, how's it going?"

"bastard, what are do doing?"

"well I'm in my peejays and getting ready to turn in for the night". I do this but I never seem to get to bed before 2 anyway.

"well get your pants back on. the past is here andhes calling you out. so you must come. and the past is buying"

so how could the bastard refuse.

at the gigantic bar I went to was a friend from junior high school who friended me on the virus when I told him a story from 8th grade health class to authenticate my identity.

he had a smoke on him.

damn, I wanted to smoke too.

but I wanted to drink more.

so the past who can be the collector got me my bracelet.

and I went for my drink only to be waylaid by my old old guitarist.

you see, the bastard was in more than one band in his day and lou was in a punk band with me.

hell, he WAS the damn band.

I met many from yesteryear.

some reminded me of times I felt waould be best forgotten but tonite I was kind of glad to remember them.

that shit keeps you humble.

keeps you from trying to steal another man's girlfriend from him.

keeps you humble.

keeps you drunk too. the host kept passing me shots of whiskey.

the past never tasted so good.

I came away drinker than I needed to be but glad that Sherman, my benefactor from the past called me to come back in time with him Saturday night.

more later.

—the bastard

...on chinese fire drills

the bastard doesn't like to complain.

but,

he hates the runaround.

case

meet

point.

we were encouraged to come in early today because something important was going to be said.

then we were told we were filling seats today because our ant overlords were in and looking around.

i don't really mind this

but,

ants didn't show.

the upside is, i get more done.

the downside is, the poor lady who trucks in from queens to watch my daughter everyday came in early for this specifically.

and it's a little unkind.

i think the bastard will get drunk for lunch. that'll show 'em 9_9

—the bastard

...on reunions

...and bratwurst.

the bastard used to do things at the eleventh hour.

you wanna go drinking at 11:59?

the bastard was there.

notsomuch these days.

I'm working my ass to death making two magazines,

going to offsites,

trying to be a decent father,

tryig to be a decent spouse.

so I have been a planner.

not really so much as living with a planner and trying to do right by her.

which is why I haven't seen the chairman since vegas.

it doesn't help that schedules collide either.

except for one day when we high fiver each other going the opposite way of each other om the bqe.

which counts as hanging out by the way.

and quite like how it used to be, it was good times.

it didn't hurt that there was venison sausage to be had at this beer hall.

—the bastard

a christmas carol

quite unlike my brother, i don't particularly enjoy the holidays like i used to.

the gin has dimmed my good memories over time.

i seem to have the good fortune for remembering the bad ones.

even though i am the luckiest bastard on the planet.

it's a personal failing i think.

hell, father christmas is my favorite christmas song.



i dunno what it is.

however, it's different this year as the bastard is a new father again.

i still will be missing four christmases with my son this year.

so it's never not gonna be bittersweet.

the year's accomplishments will never be complete enough.

and i'll always be missing something. but at least this year, the bastard has the love of a good woman and a little smiley faced monkey who always lights up when she sees me.

and it makes the hole a little smaller this year.

and for that, i'm glad.

merry christmas. i hope you all get what you need this year.

—the bastard