slice and dice…

"so, mr. bastard what seems to be the trouble?"

"well doc, I sliced off the tip of my finger on a mandoline"

"that's got to hurt"

"yep. and after about 45 minutes of direct pressure, I find that I'm still bleeding. so I decided that it was a good time to seek a professional on the matter"

"well you came to the right place"

"good, because I think i'd have a problem if I didn't"

so in a nutshell, the bastard sliced off a little piece of finger so I had to once again meet my neighborhood in an inconvenient way.

reminds me of the time in the fhillz when my v dub had a massive gas leak that introduced me to that hood.

only with more blood and less gasoline.

—the bastard

…the bridge

the bastard lives very close to the planet of Brooklyn.

so close, that corrupt eurotrash vacation rental websites call this place hunters point, Brooklyn.

those poor goddam Norwegians will never know that the soil they renting for the weekend is from that of the thourough borough.

its so close that there's a goddam bridge I can take to go to Brooklyn.

so I did.

in fact it's so close, they should call it greenpoint, queens.

except real estate developers wouldn't be able to get the good price for new apartments.

and hipsters would have to compete with strollers as well.

you see.

we has some children up in this piece.

anyway.

I went across the bridge to see the greenpoint.

had a good sammich served to me by a woman wearing very unfortunate pants.

and I saw a homeless man stripping the insulation off of copper wires.

then I went home and took a nap.

what?!?

we're you expecting the frikkin odyssey?

ok

it was actually a cyclops stripping the wire.

now go die

—the bastard

…leveling out

so it's been twice that the bastard has been out for a pint with the new crew.

which tells a bastard that he has become considerably less annoying than he thought

getting old blinds one to this otherwise obvious observation. almost as much as being young blinds one to this observation.

so I count it as a win of sorts.

so, we went to the knife for a pint and mystery science was there with some co's and was expecting more.

and the way he introduced me to his crew was someone I've known for a long long time.

which was kind of flattering in a way as his old friends from small times seem to go way way back and I've only know. the bloke for 5 years really up close but he counts me as an old friend anyway.

this is nice to know.

you see, the bastard has had a crisis of faith since some folks have left the fold. it's nice to have folks to chat to.

—the bastard

…in which my big mouth gets me into trouble

the bastard was in the paper recently.

no it wasn't for that string of liquor stores I robbed (whoops)

some guy from the daily news rolled up on me and wanted to ask me about my new hood.

so I took my hand off the knife and decided to answer his questions.

in said interview I complained about something that needed to be done with my shower that the owners wouldn't fix because it's too much work. but after my shower started leaking into the apartment below me. then they fixed it.

this is what dan in the daily news.

that was a month ago.

two weeks ago (3 this Friday) the story ran and they had ripped out my shower again because they missed the leak.

and the repair job is going much slower this time.

it's starting to piss me off. not that my big mouth hit the newsstand on the eve of this work in my place. no. it's because I haven't had the use of one of my bathrooms in fucking 3 weeks. damn thin skinned fuckers.

serves me right to be talking to reporters. well maybe I'm a little remorseful but, not as much as I could be.

there's always losing my shot and running around the owners office with a machete. that is IF the bastard had a machete.

—the bastard

…aftermath

…and the bastard isn't speaking of the rolling stones album.





at the end of Borden avenue.

three blocks west of my apartment is the sole evidence of any of the mayors warnings about last night's storm.

I could jab and jest about mayor mike's crap command of the Spanish language and talk about how this was most hyped storm of century but I won't.

jersey took the hit for us kids.

as they so often do.

and yes, the promise of a hurricane always fills this empty month of news cycles which has pretty much been preoccupied with president barry's vacation.

shit like this is a godsend for a politician on the ropes.

but I digress.

here I am

drinking a beer on my balcony,

which has been swept clean by a big assed rain storm,

blown dry by 25 mph winds.

and I'm still grateful that this is all here as I sit in my beach chair watching the east river go by.

—the bastard

the bastard ain't a man to put the cart before the horse…

… but I think the media is having us on








last night. the bastard sat in his living room with three fingers of rye on ice waiting for the world to end.

the news: there's a hurricane on yo!

the bastard: oh SNAP. rilly?!?

the news: yeah shiteyes. there's gonna be rain and shit and the east river is gonna run roughshod on your ass. and there's gonna be 100 mile an hour winds

the bastard: oh wow guy. I best shit my pants now

so there you have it. when I went to bed, there were saying 75 mph winds.

when the bastard woke up, the national weather service said 45 mph winds but the news is showing footage of the same block in Howard beach that flood when there's is any strong rain and saying 80 mph winds.

I'm seeing a discrepancy here.

stupid sensationalism. stop scaring the shit outta people.

—the bastard

…on the simple things

the bastard never looks a gift horse in the mouth

wait.

scratch that.

the bastard ALWAYS looks a gift horse in the mouth.

it's a deep seated issue he needs to work on with his parole officer.

anyway it's like this.

I really like living in the liquid city.

nice view.

nice commute.

better quality of life.

but it ain't cheap.

so after almost two months of paying upwards of 24 bucks a bag every week not to mention the hefty tab for dry cleaning.…

our washing machine finally arrived and you guessed it bitches

I did me some laundry.

now if I could only get a handle on the job, everything would be easy peasy.

but that's tomorrow's problem.

hrm

wait

that's my problem in like 10 minutes now

god dammity damn

—the bastard

the bastard doesn't really mean to sound optimistic…

…but there's just something about sitting out on the balcony with 4 fingers of whiskey with a gentle breeze that makes him think,

"shit doesn't suck so much"

now all I need is respectable recipe for bul gogi tacos and shit would pretty much be complete for me for now.

what'd ya want some piss and vinegar?

ok.

I got lost coming and going from a birthday party in Yonkers.

Yonkers is good and all, but I can no longer trust my gps to do the right thing by me.

I mean seriously why does it make me go past a right turn on 31st so I van make a left on 32nd so Ivan make a left onto 31st?

what the hell is that shit?

oh

wait

bul gogi.

—the bastard

new and improved…

it seems that around 7:30,

the boy and I are excused into the outside world to hang out at the park while my wife puts the baby to bed.

and the bastard is finding,

a few rotten apples withstanding,

that the parklife here in el ay sí is decidedly better than it has been in previous places of residence.

sure mad square park was a goddam mile better than pot deals out in the open in Braddock park but,

there's something about watching your son play tag and tossing a football around in a park with a view of the river and the setting sun on the longest day of the year that says

"you may have chosen wisely for a change shiteyes"

not bad.

—the bastard

…on company

quite by chance…

and quite like some manner of secret record release party…

the bastard has taken visitors to his new spot.

I had forgotten what having company over felt like.

it's nice to have a reason to have beer in the fridge that doesn't involve sitting outside by yourself.

—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

…a sense of place

hey rube,

I don't know if the bastard has mentioned this but


I NEVER in a million years ever thought I'd end up here.

sitting on a balcony.

my balcony.

drinking a beer and wondering how the hell I got here.

actually I'm wondering if the pain in my legs will ever go away from all of this running around.

my legs are screaming.

but I'll settle for drinking a beer and thinking about the sense of place I'll have sitting on my ass and looking at the empire state building from the edge of queens.
doesn't suck

—the bastard

…on winging it

the bastard has some generous friends at the office.

and once in a great while some wild game falls into his lap.

sometimes it's just being in the right time and place for it too.

this time around, I had some pheasant I needed to get out of the freezer before it became a thing. which would then become a thing wasted.

and the bastard hates wasting things.

so when I found a recipe for pheasant banh mi in the "other" magazine's February issue I decide this was how the pheasant going to get done.

truth to tell it was more prep than cooking.


took some meats. don't get squeamish on me jerks. meaT isn't something that comes in a styrofoam container all the time.


added a jalapeño but I would have preferred a scotch bonnet.

zip zip zip. scare the crap out of the baby with the sheer screaming power of the food processor

make patties.

30 minutes at 300° and it's all good in the hood.

I also hooked up a sriacha mayonnaise to go with. 3-5 tablespoons to a half cuppa mayo.


and boom goes the dynamite. turns out that this bird while short on meat was the gift that kept on giving in the portion department.

on a side note, i've been keeping up with Sherman since the korilla truck day and I think I'm going to be picking his brain about food things asian with game. might be an inneretsing endeavor

the bastard is thinking about venison bulgoggi now. tah

—the bastard

today's weather report

tut tut.

looks like ewwwww.

—the bastard

i get along

last night it rained like the hammers of hell out.

and it made for a cabin feverish saturday

today was much nicer

went out to find out that the strand only buys back books on every day BUT Sunday.

the wife makes the nice suggestion that we drop them during the week when it's nice out.

you see, it was a hahd winter so, the presence of sunlight and heatwaves in the 50's have inspired us to wolf down our dinners and out the bebe in a stroller and look across the river at our future.


which brings me to the other side of the river.

went to the build today to measure the closets.

the wife wants to have a California closet style closet only without the $10,000 price tag.

and much to the bastard's surprise, we have a refrigerator.

we've been in the special bonus 3 month long closing process that was Taylor made for my tolerance level and we haven't had a fridge in the model we're buying until today.

or Wednesday

or whenever the hell they got the damn delivery.

it makes everything a little more real.

the kind of real I can come to like.

not like that "fake" real I wake up with in the middle of the night when the voices come.

—the bastard

scenes from the end of an era

the bastard's time on this island started with a bike crash on a damp February night in 2009.

which culminated in a surreal evening in the elmhurst hospital emergency room.

that was my last night as a queens resident.

in a hospital that had become more known for where inmates from riker's island go when someone stabs them with something they made in the machine shop.

this later turned into a whirlwind of baby preperation.

baby birth.

and making my summers with the boy work for myself, the boy, and the family in 340 square feet of alternative family fun.

we had some laughs.

and we had some times where it wasn't so goddam funny.

but we're getting towards the end of our time here on the rock.

and soon we'll begin our sojourn across the east river, back to the borough which is thorough.

and like my initial crossing into manhattan, the bastard finds his crossing back to the hunk of mud he was born on to be equally bittersweet.


so I've been popping off pictures.

sneaking off on secret food missions to sample fare I may not make the time for anymore.

and thinking hard on my brief time in this manhattan

'the city' as those who are old school call it.

nah kids, manhattan is just part of this fair Gotham and don't ever forget that as you old rusticos look over the east river towards the spires of the island.

know this, you kids from oklasota and wiscotucky as you pile into my city that we are five boroughs not a city surrounded by new yawkahs. it's a greater whole

and the bastard is gonna take pictures while he gets all nostalgic of walking these streets at night.

with his kids

with his wife

with a big assed whiskey on.

not necessary at the same time.

but nostalgic either way.

—the bastard

…on faith

flashback: it's pissing out and the bastard is happy to arrive at the office.

not dry but, not soaked so it's ok.

I get in the elevator and a woman says to me in a big voice, "isn't it a great day? isn't it just glorious outside?"

"it sure is something out"

another gets in and she pipes up again, "isn't it a great day? isn't it just glorious outside?"

"yeah…great"

and we ride up the elevator and when it stops on her floor this big voiced woman whispers, "thank you Jesus" and steps out.

the bastard feels sheepish mocking her earlier words because to a woman of faith, every day is glorious.

flash forward: today was not a good day.

shit is bringing me down professionally and personally

and on top of that, baby's first plane trip is this morning.

the bastard had to pick up some 11th hour stuff for the baby for the trip.

on a whim I got onto twitter to see if the waffle truck is near union square. and fortune finally smiled upon me in her fashion.

I wanted a pick me up and I know like alcohol, food is never to be used as a crutch

but, fuck you.

my day has been wave after wave of negativity which bookended a really pleasant conversation about gundam I had before going once more into the breach.

so i got a waffle and I think it dam near saved my life tonight.

and that's about as much faith as I can muster these days.

—the bastard

off mission…

parenting is one of life's great equalizers

it is also one of life's great ironies.

you're always told that you're going to grow up to be just like your mother or your father.

and the bastard doesn't know which one he falls more in line with.

because neither of his parents grew up to sit alone in the dark while drinking whiskey and watching anime and complaining to the Internet about the whole lot of it.

my brother would tell me I'm more like my mother because I'm more of a reactionary.

more full of gesture and loud talk over others.

more in you business…because…well I'm in your business.

make your peace with it. the bastard has.

but I was thinking how my own kids will turn out for starters.

you see, the little girl has become an early riser.

a demander of things.

this doesn't sit well with my late night whiskey drinking and truth to tell is the young lady has to start sleeping in more often or shit's gonna go badly

mostly for me.

but on Sunday it was raining.

and the wife and I are in the midst of a big move

with big paperwork

and 350 square feet makes for big cases of cabin fever.

so upon her highness' afternoon nap I explain to the wife that I was going for a walk because if I don't shake off my cabin fever, there was going to be fucking murders.

so I set out into the pour.

which let up actually for my hour outside ( I set a time limit to be fair).

and I went in search for lunch.

now when cabin fever sets in, the solution to what ails me is always comfort food.

you see, by and large, the bastard gave up cigarettes and he doesn't use booze as a crutch.

he uses it as a tasty beverage instead.

so he relies on comfort food to take the blues away.

or the blahs.

or the "I'M GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU ALLs"

so headed to dukes and without a menu I got me blackened chicken sandwich and a dukearita.

because that's what the bastard finds comfortable.

my time on this rock is growing short and I know I can come back any time to enjoy these things

but it won't be the same for me as I can't just roll out of bed in the middle of the night and get a banh mi sammich ( unless of course I find a place that has) from my local spot.

so I'd like to spend this remaining time enjoying these simple things I like about the rock I live on.

clocks a tickin' shiteyes, make the most of your time.

—the bastard

ice station zebra

from the railroad this is the view of the frozen tundra that us Hollis queens.

moms cookin chicken and collared greens



getting off by the rents in qv last night was like getting off at a suburban queens hood only if it was on the moon

the snow was still there.

hard packed from this guy my parents have been telling me about who has been piling it up on the corners.




which creates it's own host of trouble.

the frozen rain had done it's work

creating a glass landscape that was like a currier and ives card gone horribly wrong.

the bastard had to walk past the rents until he could find a driveway to cross the street.

I hope my leg won't break

walking on the moon.

—the bastard

big dig…

now the bastard hates alot of things.

sex and the city,

most kinds of seafood,,

fair-weather friends,

your mother.

but one thing I've never developed disdain for has been the snow.

mostly because it's never pissed me off much.

a lot of that gas been built around the notion that there wasn't too many hard winters before leaving home and when I did, it was the landlord's job.

I've only had to dig the car out and that in the worst snow is no great shakes if you don't care about getting anywhere.

but I have to get the blue roller-skate out of the garage and I expect some fresh hell when I get there.

so today might be the day.

but I'll no doubt blame it on the asshole lawyer who rents the garage next to me and the snow will get a free pass.

i'm magnanimous that way.

—the bastard