…leaving Las Vegas

and so… 

with a whimper and not a bang… 

the bastard unwinds away from the city of sin…

12 gun shows…

no screw ups…

not decent night of sleep in them…

but there's always the game of dice…

however…

the big night was a game of black jack I played with the dirty stay outs who were with me at 3am…

holding it down…

playing til 6…

straight on till dawn. 

best game ever…

I never tire of this place…

—the bastard

i'm feeling low… I talked to god in a phonebox on my way home

there was a time in my life in which banging out 20 pages…

sitting in two meetings… 

publishing two magazines to the iPad…

and being understaffed was easy peasy. 

but, it's notsomuch with all of that. 

and the big game hasn't even started yet. 

then again I've already thrown down a good chunk of that in my down time. 

what's that? 

down time?

well shiteyes… downtime is the time I spend playing catch up. 

heads down…

nose to the grind stone…

yeah… publishing… yeah

—the bastard

skull hurts…

…long day

sometimes shipping is a slow going process…

and sometimes spring turkey season makes the office into a desert. 

glenfiddich is coming to the office this evening…

and that hasn't happened yet. 

I think there will be a burger somewhere in there. 

but I could use a nap. 

—the bastard

…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 fire …and gasoline

once upon a time…

the bastard ran an art department…

and then he didn't.

you'd think that would be the end of the story but it was the beginning…

you see…

instead of going to hell…

it got better.

the bastard got some direction…

became part of something better…

and we fixed the book.

then we took the bigger book and made it better a year later.

and it was damn good.

these last few months presented a greater challenge to our little team of professionals.

one of the company's other properties needed a new look…

and their crew lacked the skills to pay that bill…

so it fell to us to build, as the clipper referred to this redesign as, "the little dream"

we started building the bike book which seemed to have not seen a new look since 1983 back after the gun show.

then we all went back to the business of our killing stuff books for a bit and we waited for the word…

which came right as I was to go on vacay to the elephants graveyard.

the bastard was to be the mechanic again…

as he was the mechanic that kept killing stuff monthly looking tight when the ideas were all done and the precision work had to be done.

"your layout will be the king", he said and with it, we built a great book.

I built the king for killing stuff with aspirations as well and aside from a few ad size cock ups, it all snaps to grid.

so when I got back from the land of hanging chads…

I built the bike book in earnest so that we could all begin the journey we all began two weeks ago.

and in all of my days of building templates…

and redesigning magazines…

never has something I've done been more hard won…

never have I had this level of pride of ownership…

of job satisfaction.

and I think to myself…

I'm a lucky man.

I'm lucky that the heads of state wanted me to stay on board more so than the toddler…

yeah…

up yours toddler. I get to have late nights with the voices thanks to you but I get to work on better things for it. fuck you. when I sleep, I get the rest of the just knowing where you landed. and I get to do better stuff than when I was in your shop.

I could have missed out on all of this if it all went your way.

I'm lucky that I got to work on something this cool.

I look forward to the finished product and hope to god the muppets we leave this with don't change too much after we hand them back the keys.

we've all been down this road too long to let the unskilled wrecked our good works

vroom

frikkin

vroom

—the bastard

semantics…

the other night the bastard spent debating an evening drinking overpriced whiskey…

arguing gun rights and Wayne lapierre's height with old co workers.

this was from further back in the day.

my old editor has since moved on to the times and other writer/ editors have moved to other things

and aside from a rewarding conversation I had with the first person I ran film for whom I gave my 30,000 foot up assessment of what black enterprise magazine needs to do to be competitive in the modern age…

it was a rewarding conversation…

everytime the half day would interrupt, excusing himself for interrupting to tow the flyers party line on guns…

I felt a great sense of a return to the joust that made me pay attention to discussing politics…

and it was still rewarding…

and I felt lucky…

that Out of most of the art people I knew…

I was still in the game…

for while the men of words can always find work…

the look and feel folk find themselves working at a cardiologists office because they gave up the ghost…

or worse…

they had to

so i feel lucky that I was still in it, even though one day I may not be.

—the bastard

it never fails…

you ever have one of those moments…

where you're about to go to bed…

so you can get up early to go on a plane ride with yer family…

and at 2am you remember you need to change something in a layout before you call it a vacay?

so you sit in your walk in closet working on it so that you can vacation with a clear conscience?

yeah

me too.

—the bastard

god is in his heaven and the bastard is on his earth and all is right with the world…

last week...

 or is it two weeks now, the bastard was talking with the singing copy chief about the past and since we were at the shot show…

and the toddler is rooting about somewhere around there that perhaps we'd run into him.

"I love to run into him, see how he's doing", she exclaimed.

"i wouldn't.", putting the kibosh on this line of conversation.

I mean, I don't wish the man ill…

okay, I do…

I'm a petty man.

petty is what I've got and if the toddler never makes it to the gates of the walled city that we are…

I'm a happier man for it.

the year he put me through, still resounds in me and I don't think I'll ever get around to feeling right about things again.

I know I never sleep right unless I have some help.

but I did get some recently at the show in the form of news.

a friend of mine ran into him at a function who knows him and knows where's he landed and told me

"he's doing great. says everything is awesome and super angine. which is a lie. he hates the man he works for and that is his lot for now."

and with that, the bastard felt a little better because someone is making it suck for him somewhere in the world…

and that's real good to me…

because I'm petty.

perhaps I'll talk about the other characters who made my 2010-2011 suck a lot and how their doing since we've parted company.

that makes me feel good too.

—the bastard

dog-ged

it's the little things in life one appreciates…

whiskey on tap…

waking up in the morning to find out you're not dead…

and freelancers…

the french guy has kept it rolling this last week and change…

which has made my home working less pronounced…

and has allowed me to get more done on the other two books…

thus keeping it all well rounded.

which is nice.

the clock is ticking

no sleep till shot show

—the bastard

bodies…rest…motion…

the Frenchman…

who freelances for me asked for the body count on this project…

and the bastard guesstimates..

400 pages total…

with ads…

which is over 200 really…

which still isn't a small number for one man…

and it ain't…

but this is the first Saturday in weeks that I didn't get cracking on the daily after the wife turned in.

this is a bastard at rest…

until I get cracka lackin on other bidness.

so tired.

—the bastard

monkey see… monkey do…

it's a dogs life in the mag biz…

…and the bastard is not made of iron.

straight out of the office…

…full of the tunnel vision

I see a guy book across park avenue and the bastard thinks to do the same.

mistake.

here's a protip kids:

look both ways lest you dance with the cabs.

and then sleep with the pavement.

— the bastard

let me google that for you

once upon a time there was a guy the bastard used to know who would roll his eyes if you asked him for some technical assistance...

...he'd reply, "google it"

and if you didn't know what to do about something he had an expertise in...

...he'd reply, "google it"

and on some days where i was feeling cranky, i'd take it the wrong way.

today i understood why.

there is a person on the team who needed something from this month's issue of killing stuff monthly for the web and i answered her question with a procedure.

export the page as an eps...

open it in photoshop at 300 dpi...

res it down in image size...

done.

she replies, "that would be great if i knew how to do that".

and the bastard had to fucking sigh.

didn't they teach you kids anything in upstairs hollywood web design school?

"SIGH"

and in the expanse of time it took me to type the email telling her how to do what she needed to do...

it was done...

"SIGH"

—the bastard

caged…

don't get the bastard wrong.

he likes his vacation and all.

but he goes home tomorrow and he can't wait to get back to his perch on the east river.

so he can drink whiskey.

and dream of magazines he could make.

lots to do.

fresh hell to have.

I'll take two helpings you dirty fucks.

thanks for playing.

—the bastard

outta doors…

… in the swamp

first vacation I've been on in a bit where I'm not completely paranoid.

it's a step in the right direction

—the bastard

jet lag…

… makes it hahd to type

been back a few days and it's taken me some time to get it together.

staying up til 3 in Vegas doesn't do right by an east coaster.

so I've been run down.

trying to get back I the groove with the dead animal books.

yeah, the bastard works for all ah they now.

I will say this though.

consolidation has done wonders for my office creativity.

now if I should only sleep like a normal person.

oh well.

go to hell.

—the bastard

perhaps a bit early in the morning…

but a bidness trip means a bidness drink

doctor whiskey…

he's not just for breakfast anymore.

—the bastard

its go time…

well my bag is packed…

the gear is charging…

the bastard lies in wait…

like a caged animal.

ready for the big show.

wondering what mayhem will be wrought…

wondering if I will punch the toddler if I see him…

and if the bastard will have enough for bail money after the craps tables bleed him dry.

6 and 8 are great…

whoa peaches…

pants are off…

it's go time…

geronimo

—the bastard

and 400,000 pages later…

the gun show is next weekend

time to tie up loose ends.

this will be less easy than it has been before.

so much to do.

and so much bad timing.

the bastard wonders of he'll ever not have to work on work after he gets home from work again.

so tired.

but I had some dope ass gnocchi for dinner and that has to count for something.

— the bastard

lucky…

lucky old man lives by the river

lucky old man walked down to the river tonight to think about things

lucky old man dodged a bullet

lucky old man wants the voices to stop

lucky old man has a loaf of bread under each arm.

lucky old man gets to keep his job.

lucky old man is lucky.

lucky man wonders when his luck is gonna run out.

lucky old man will drink whiskey later and think more on the subject.

—the bastard

…on watching ones back

the bastard was seized by paranoia this afternoon.

he doesn't like it much

it's been a few months so he almost forgot how bad it felt.

I'm kind of sick of it actually.

when did I become so mentally ill?

it wears one out.

I just hope it's just the voices. the bastard can deal with the voices.

stupid voices.

—the bastard