assertions…

as defined by wikipedia, 'gunpla' can be best described as 'the practice of building Gundam models, rather than the models themselves.'

this is what the bastard foes with his spare time.

I'm sure if people hung around with me, my hobby would be hanging around with people.

but people don't hang around me so I build robots and hang around them.

in my last place, I had no room for the robots and even less so when we were selling the apartment.

you know because people get frightened when they go apartment hunting and find otaku in the place.

it just stinks up the joint.

lately the wife allotted me some space for my gunpla so I've been mucking about building some models.

I started one before we moved out and finished it tonight. he's a companion piece to one I had built a year ago in my office.

what?!? I wanted to unwind during my lunch hour.

anyway, I realize that could never properly display any large number of my collection as they number in the over 75 category and are in various states of repair.

I may do a rotating exhibition given the chance but until that day arrives the bastard is content to use the space allotted for whatever.




besides, I have a new one to start on whenever I get started on it.

not to mention whatever I'll inevitably pick up at comic con this year.

shit. I have to find my flip camera for that.


—the bastard

…on cycles

"this shit runs in cycles", the bastard says to himself.

no really.

I said this to myself on the train this morning.

you move into a hood.

everything is shiny and optimistic

then shit ensues.

it happened in fohi

it happened in the reverse in manhattan.

and the cycle seemed to start up.

you see, we moved into a new building and in the back is an old building that used to be a bar.

and it turns out it's gonna be a bar again.

so the bastard is thinking it's 2000-2008 on metropolitan all over again.

I decide that I don't want it to be like that again.

also, the guy who is going to run the place is doing a build blog.

so rather than let history repeat itself, I decide a better man (the better man I want to be) will ask upfront what's gonna happen.

and he responded.

turns out he's a reasonable guy.

doesn't want to make the hood mad. he wants to be a good neighbor. because he wants the hood to come drink beer at his new place. this seems like a foreign concept with relation to my experience in forest hills.

the bastard is optimistic about this. he likes when a businessman wants to work with the community.

be a good neighbor.

not just some guy trying to turn a buck.

nothing like Danny was.

and as I sit out on the balcony overlooking this new bar, sipping bourbon, I wonder if Danny still walks the earth.

karma dealt him a bad hand after his restaurant closed and I'm not altogether unhappy about it.

I just hope the fates don't give me pancreatic cancer for being a dick to my neighbors.

—the bastard

countdown…

t minus… who the hell even knows.

regularly, the wife im's me with some new fresh hell that cokes attached to the home buying process.

the mortgage broker is wound up all kinds of tight.

too tight for her taste. and we're both tightly wound.

but it's like the death of a thousand cuts except they remove information from the flesh of our paperwork and them come back with questions.

apparently because my evil ant overlords have changed payroll companies two or three times, he cannot divine that I have held down this job since 2002.

umm your husband has been part of evil ant publishing since 2009.

between the understanding gap and the tense, it isn't what a bastard could call fun.

don't get me wrong.

the ends totally justify the means, it's just short term annoying.

…end rant here…

—the bastard

closing in…

the wife had kindly asked the bastard to keep his yap shut about our home buying nightmare.

as the daughter of superstition, she doesn't want to jinx shit.

but she married jinx incarnate.

so a bastard can't help himself.

as I sit here rockin a coffee on the f train I tell you that the search is coming to a close soon.

this will no doubt lead to our next big heart attack.

which is the buying

the moving

the packing

the unpacking

and the frikkin job keeping too.

this economy hangs like the sword of damacles which leaves the bastard glad for the hunting and fishing populace of flyover country as well as the tobacco hawking creators of velveeta which keep us employed.

at least the anticipation keeps it inneresting while it slowly kills me.

—the bastard

…on traveling

last night, I met up with my Vegas family so we could engage in our yearly repast of ordering a meal and keeping a table occupied for several hours.

which always prompts the wait staff to look at us all cock eyed wondering when we're gonna leave.

but last night was a treat.

last night, the way back machine brought the traveller to dinner.

the traveller was one of the first people who I met in college that wasn't from my neighborhood and he was into traveling.

now traveling was never clearly defined to the bastard but sometimes it involved test driving ford probes.

sometimes it involved joining a fraternity to meet girls.

sometimes it involved telling others that they couldn't POSSIBLY be able to travel with the traveler properly.

and sometimes it involved keeping a bottle of scope and a bottle of vodka in you back pack along with some rice a roni.

but needless to say, whatever the sliding goal post that traveling was, it was never dull.

and these days he'd rather not travel anymore.

he'd rather see his kid grow up without licking the ashtray or some otherwise awful fate.

so perhaps three years ago was the journey's end for the traveler.

or perhaps the beginning.

either way, a good meal was had by all. and I'll talk about the restaurant some other time.

—the bastard

...the hitch

memories aren't what they used to be you know.

you think real hard and they never ever show up.

then when you least expect them to, they hit you right in the face.

you see,

an old friend of mine's mother passed away the other day.

we all found out by the good graces of the book of faces.

and all the bastard could think of was an expression of sorrow for his loss.

another friend remembered a time he sat next to her at his wife's college graduation.

and I still couldn't remember things.

I knew this woman. I've been to their house many times. I used to fix his dad's computer after he moved west.

this morning, I ask his wife for the info, so I could pay my respects. so other could pay their respects.

we ain't known each other since small times but we have alot of time between us. it ain't a shot show unless I see them.

and when I sent the note I remembered the night she picked me up for a concert because he was running late. .

I don't even know who was playing.

this was the first I had met any member of his family save his brother who helped get a full gas grill to Cunningham park in a dodge omni

bit I know we had to go to Astoria to get a buddy of ours after.

and she was stern.

a strong talker. a strong woman.

not like the last time I saw her when she wasn't so strong anymore.

and it just makes me think how frail it all is because,

all this stuff we accumulate between our ears over a lifetime just goes away one day.

and it saddens me.

—the bastard

not so distant shores

the bastard went window shopping today with the fam

then I went shopping shopping with them.

the convenience of our current window shopping spot is it would plant us close to family on wither side of this rock we live on.

it seems that the east river beckons our crossing.

let's see if it's gonna work out.

it'd be nice to not have to pick up and drop off the car for a change.

—the bastard

...on side projects

so, there has been a bit of a dearth of content these days.

the bastard and his not so merry band of magazine peeps were engaging in the yearly awfulness of producing the gun show daily.

sent the last of those pages this evening and with that poured out some whiskey to the crew with much thanks.

but what about the nighttime bastard?

you gettin lazy on us?

well young shiteyes, lemme tell you about my reoccuring ailment

robots.

yes robots are strong.

and when they get they claws on you, there's no breaking free.

I first started putting these things pictured in junior high school when a kid named Raymond hooked me on the otaku.

and I built until I discovered girls.

then I started again to divert myself from my inability to find work after college.

and now after the the bastard told the trustie about them and he got hooked.

so he bought me one for christmas.

excuse me.

the "holidays".

and it went so well, I think I might futz with it some more.

currently, the bastard has a munny from kid robot that my dear friend heavy metal acquired for me from the designer ( thanx so much h.m.)

and now the bastard gets to play with a new medium.

looking forward to it.

I'm never gettng this time back anyway.

—the bastard

...on karma

karma: is the concept of "action" or "deed" in Indian religions understood as that which causes the entire cycle of cause and effect (i.e., the cycle called saṃsāra) originating in ancient India and treated in Hindu, Jain, Sikh and Buddhist philosophies.

The philosophical explanation of karma can differ slightly between traditions, but the general concept is basically the same. Through the law of karma, the effects of all deeds actively create past, present, and future experiences, thus making one responsible for one's own life, and the pain and joy it brings to him/her and others. The results or 'fruits' of actions are called karma-phala. In religions that incorporate reincarnation, karma extends through one's present life and all past and future lives as well.

the other day, i think it might have been monday.

yes. monday.

i was waiting for the bus so that i could pick up the bike in brooklyn after work and karaoke john, my neighbor who lived above the restaurant that i have blamed for so much of my anger at times, shuffles over to me.

well really, he's heading over to talk to the regulars who hang out in front of the deli and re-enact hanging out in front of a corner deli from when they were kids but now, they are old and they just look like a bunch of old bald guys smoking in front of a deli.

anyway

karaoke john shuffles over and i say hi because while i am a ball of white hot rage, i also try to be decent to people in the hood who are...you know...decent people. john responds back to me that he won't be my neighbor for much longer.

"rilly, where you goin'?"

"howard beach"

"was it the rent? or the noise?"

"neither. the mayor of the block is selling the place." (quick aside: the mayor of the block is the woman who owns this piece fo fresh hell next door to me and she's in everyone's business, thus, the mayor)

"rilly?"

"you should be sad, the restaurant is closing too. here's your bus"


so with my mouth agape, the bastard gets on the bus and tells john that we have to speak again on this. i was curious because there had been a sign that the restaurant was closed due to kitchen renovations which i found suspect as the place hadn't been open more than 8 years or so.


god damn. 8 fucking years. i just let that wash over me.

8 fucking years.

8 years of uncontrolled noise that was totally random.

8 years of inconsiderate drunken patrons never having the common sense to keep their drunken goodbyes to a minimum of 30 minutes.

8 years of pacing back and forth, not being able to control the ball of rage that that miserable man put in me and scared the shit out of friends and family alike.

8 years.

so much fucking hatred.

i could cry.

i am crying.


i can't believe how much time i wasted on this feeling. it kind of gives one a sense of what charles dickens was talking about when marley spoke he forged the chain that was his life link by link. and it feels heavy. i mean, hell, this was half the reason i started this stupid blog.

i needed to get it out.

i saw the fact that i was slowly self destructing and taking everything with me and i got it out. and i gave it all to you. all of you. and the bastard is a better man for it.

wow, that's a load off.

anyway, where was i?

yes.

the restaurant was closing, i went to brooklyn, rode a motorcycle back to queens and ate thai food with the chairman. the next day, my ladyfriend had bookclub so, i went straight home and, right in front of the drug store was karaoke john talking with one of the mofo's former customers from when he worked at mike's whiskey bar (another story and really, it's HIS story to tell, quite frankly) and so i rolled right up to get the rest of the deets from john.

apparently, danny (the owner and object of my disdain) hadn't paid his rent in 8 months (wow, said i).

apparently, he has pancreatic cancer as well (ouch, said i).

and apparently, he may also have multiple sclerosis (holy fucking CRAP, said i). and i really DID think these things in the parenthesis. also the kitchen renovations sign was widely believed to be a ploy to not show up as his kitchen was practically new anyway. it is rumored among the deli hanger on-ers that he's trying to sell everything in the place which now makes me wonder how long before there is a fire in the building to get the insurance money as well.

hrm.

this makes the bastard wonder if it's indeed time to move his belongings right the hell out of his apartment. stupid brain. be less paranoid.

but i digress, what i actually said out loud to karaoke john was how incredible this was on it's sheer scale and how somone who believed in such bullshit as feng shui, didn't believe in the concept of karma as well. and it got the bastard to thinking about his own karma and how, now that this cup has passed him, it is time to make his own amends to the cosmos. how, he needs to be less angry.

and don't get me wrong, i've gotten better. hell, i've been a new man for a little while now. it didn't stop me from asking a man on the train this morning if he could POSSIBLY step on my foot more than he already had already. but hey, i'm trying.

—the bastard

...on petty fiefdoms

so there's this woman that works in the office.

and the bastard uses this term loosely because all i see her do is walk around these days and tell the bastard where he can and can't eat his lunch.

it's like this. after we got sold to a bunch of swedish people, they turned us over to the fucking hayseeds that they bought first. mind you they run their branch of our fair business from the second floor of a strip mall which ALWAYS strikes the bastard as good business sense.

anyway, they decided right from the get to redesign the offices which has met with disdainful results, dare i say, morale sucking results. one of these results was the loss of our lunch area. also known as the killing stuff monthly africa wing. but we discovered these conference rooms to eat in. and when one was free, we'd eat in it.

it got to the point that the exec assistant was booking conference rooms for us to guarantee us a place to eat.

now let me interupt by reading your mind: yes i am aware that the bastard can just GO OUT to eat like regular folk. well it's like this young shiteyes, the bastard works with people who like to take an hour out of their day to bullshit with one another over food. this is what you call GOOD FOR MORALE. it helps foster good work relationships. so there it is.

but the old bat caught on to this and put a stop to us booking the room. she sighted very logical reasons and we all collectively didn't disagree and we ceased booking for lunch. and when the room looks empty, we sit down and eat lunch.


well today we looked in, and no one was there. so we sat down and ate lunch. upon finishing, this ancient creature darkens my door and proceeds to give me grief about it. says that

"someone was training a new employee in there."

"you didn't look to see if the room was booked."

"so you people cant eat in any conference rooms, anymore."

and then she left. you know come to think of it, i could have sworn the room we ate lunch in was absolutely TEEMING with activity when we all collectively sat down and proceeded to eat. funny thing was, the bastard spoke with the people who had the room booked (because i can't seem to let sleeping dogs lie). they were done for the day. and then it hit me. i must have done something to piss the old crone off. oh well, i guess tomorrow, we'll have a picnic in our area.

people are petty, and i'm not excluding myself from that phrase. because the bastard is petty. very fucking petty.

—the bastard

...on snapshots

so in a nutshell, the bastard went to a wedding on the north shore of long island with my ladyfriend. and the bastard almost got swept away (see the giancarlo giannini version, not the crap madonna version) across the greater peconic bay in a kayak,


we met up with the boy at the wedding, and then we took two ferrys across shelter island to avoid 90 minutes of driving (which i highly recommend to get from one shore to the other during the summer. crack open your wallet you cheap bastard and avoid pretencious dicks coming from the hamptons),


to get to montauk where we spent alot of time at the beach, and had alot of fun, and went to a lighthouse, and bought some comfortable shoes,


and saw some sights,


and then the boy's mother came to pick him up,


and then the boy went home,

and i couldn't be more unhappy. but now i'm back. so go to hell.

—the bastard

the bastard has to axe you

you ever have one of those days?

you know.

you split some really expensive tickets with your brother so that our mother can go see her favorite artist perform at her favorite venue before it closes?

and then you go out to dinner for your cousin's birthday?

and drink like.....three martini's and have a good meal?

and then we completely didn't almost die in a car wreck because your cousin has a superior braking system in his car?

and then you get home to open the mail and find out that your accountant fucked up and now you owe the government even more money?

yeah me too.

it never fails. every time the bastard feels like he's starting to get ahead, starting to be able to sock some away and some other fucking expense comes up.

—the bastard

the bastard wins

the bastard wins!

you lose!

fuck you publishing!

daily is done.

feb march is done.

tequila is mine.

—the bastard

...on immortality

you know.

every year, while working on the daily and all the prep for the gun show, i pend most of the time feeling like this:


but today.

it's a little different.

you see i came in today and page one was on my chair.

well.

rather the proof of page one. of day one.

i am a new man.

seeing page one, or the cover especially that cover i get to do once a year with the silver ink, is when i feel like it's all worthwhile. now the bastard knows that in the long view, this stuff doesn't matter to the ages but, on days today, i feel like part of me will live forever.

and one day, part of me just might.

—the bastard

...the haul

today, the bastard set up the last of his pages.

the pages from his monolith.

his albatross.

his yearly herculean labor.

and it was no more.

and when the bastard had saw the breadth of his domain, he wept for there were no more worlds to conquer.

and truth to tell,

all poetry aside, every time i finish this fucking mountain of work, i feel like weeping a little bit. it's hard. and i still have a pile to do. i owe the devil his due. i still have to finish the february/march issue. and the end isn't in site but for a minute, the bastard feels like he won a little today.

i'll lose some more tomorrow.

but on to bigger and better. the end of the road. it leads to vegas. we booked some dinner. we'll throw some dice. we'll fuck some shit up. but most of all. we'll lay the live half of what i finished today. maybe i won more than i bargained for.

—the bastard

...on the obligatory end of year post

...special what happened this year post

this year the bastard flew out to arizona alot to visit the boy

the mofo moved back to new york and then stopped writing for us altogether

the bastard made himself poor after making himself comfortable doing the devil's work. shoulda formed that llc this year.

the bastard threw up on the job and realized that he still won't let the machine break down. that's fucking team work.

jonny airplanes skipped town to join the coast guard and to become a midwestern land baron.

the chairman and i discovered barbecue down the road a piece.

a 7-11 opened up down the road. and we were very happy for it.

the apartment flooded not once but twice.

there was some road construction in tucson and it disrupted imaginary prostitution rackets on the highway. so much for jet lag.

the bastard wrote some poems.

the boy couldn't come out this time for his birthday and that made me sad but, at least i still have my health.

so that's what the bastard's got in a nutshell. maybe next year i'll finally catch that prize mullet. maybe i'll go on that boar hunt. but tonight, i'm going to have italian food with my ladyfriend and toast the future. cause that's what i got. a future. see you next year, chumps.

—the bastard

POSTSCRIPT: one night while the bastard was out of doors, at the mad russian's, the teacher told me that she red this crap and looks forward to my batshit ranting. and for the last few weeks, i've thought about giving it up. i'm not as angry as i used to be and i've been working alot and i've been unhappy alot. also, i have members of the family who don't like the whole thing altogether and i've dwelt on that as well.

then the teacher just sent me a text to come out this evening for new years and while i have plans to eat in manhattan tonight, i remembered that night, down on my luck, marriage falling apart, and drunk off my ass and someone told me that i could write. granted, left hand rob told me i wrote like e.e. cummings on speed but i didn't know the teacher as well as i knew lobster. either way, i remember the nice thing you said that night. and it meant a lot to me at the time. thanks teach. and yeah, i'll still keep writing this horseshit. it beats the crap out of therapy.

—B