...on other people&'s stories

now that the bastard doesn't take the subway to work, there is a great hole in his reserves of writing material.

i had considerred throwing down some tales from the past but, the chairman sent me this one from the subways this morning.

chairman: today a woman say down next to my friend on the train and kept elbowing him. after the 5th time, he asked her when she intended to stop. she replied, "when they find a cure for parkinson's.

not something you hear everyday.

—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

things the bastard overheard at an off broadway show

"oh mah god?"

"what?"

"dear god, please don't make me have to pee during the show?"

"oh my god?"

"what?"

"the second act like totally sucked?"

don't say that to brooke (the playwright) when you meet her?"

the bastard saw a little play called hunting and gathering with his ladyfriend last night and it was very promising. although since, we're obviously in the same age group as the author, and i've dealt with a playwright or two in my time, i can't help feeling that every quirky romantic comedy i see on a small stage is a future indy film in the making. maybe the bastard thinks cinematically because he watched too many movies (i'm still waiting for get carter, the musical), or maybe he just sees the ambition in the playwrights work. or maybe it's because the playwright i used to do design for always wanted to make a movie about her plays which were about her drug habits in the 80's but, always seemed rushed when written out.

don't get me wrong, hunting and gathering is quite good. the bastard had a good laugh. and the bastard got some insite but, sometimes, it was a little clunky. i know clunky probably isn'ty a reviewer term but then again the bastard doesn't review plays, so go to hell. anyway. it was good enough to develop into a film and brooke.

don't be fooled.

they totally didn't like the second act.

—the bastard

PS: there's this part in the play where the main character is housesitting in astoria. and more than one of the characters is creeped out by the notion of queens AND is put off by the notion that people from queens feel that queens is a "real" neighborhood because we have greek bakeries or somesuch. the bastard has said it before and he'll say it again, you TRANSPLANTS need to get off of the outer boroughs' dick (see staten island, i'm sticking up for you too albeit begrudgingly). now i'm not directing this at the playwright due to the fact that she's logged 20 years on this rock but, manhattan is only a shining crystal palace because you came from crapper out in the plains states and because carrie anne moss told you that all things taste better with manolo blahniks on your feet. manhattan is just a rock like any other rock, and brooklyn is not it's ugly step sister. eat it.