…on typography

as the bastard cracked open a bottle of smithwick's the other day,

I took a good look at what I was drinking as I usually do after the first sip.

but I noticed the typeface on the neck of the bottle.

this is grotesque monotype black and it was the cause of much design grief for me in 2010 and 2011.

but we redesigned the book over the last few months and now the only time I'll have to look at it is when I crack open a bottle of smithwick's.

I mean, who the hell puts serifs randomly on a san serif font? wtff?

well goodbye to all of that.

hello to the new hotness that is 2012.

—the bastard

to see a man about a horse…

the bastard is sad tonight.

and it's not because he lives in a van down by the river.

you see, it's about the past.

it's about my past.

the wife had asked me to make a run to the garage in the fhillz to pick up some stuff and to get some stuff for the house.

and when I turned down the wrong block I saw it was gone.

the stable.

the stable where I learned to ride horses.

the stable where I learned about community.

the stable where I learned to jump.

learned to respect creatures greater than myself.

where I broke my nose into 11 pieces.

where I met my people.

where I rode on tuesday nights in the summer coming back in the dark only by the good grace of an animal who knew the way.

then we drank into the night and swapped stories.

talked the craik.

learned about the land on my forebears.

learned to let people's shortcomings go by the wayside.

and most importantly, learned that I felt the most free when the wind was blowing in my face.

and alot of other things that I could never possibly remember because this is what time does to a man.

it robs you of your past.

now all that's there is a fucking sidewalk and some scaffolding.

and all I have is a broken nose to remind me that the barn was there.

thanks for the wind. thanks oh so very much.

the bastard never took it for granted for it was the greatest gift I ever received.

—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

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

please exit…

did the bastard ever tell you about the time he ran the same feature hes been running since 2005?

no?

well, tough tits jerks. it goes like this. so for the viewers just tuning in for the greatest hits package, this year:

the band got back together. and it fucking rocked.



it snowed like hell out.



otaku came back into my life...hahd.

it was like it never left.

i had decided that i could live without the thorough borough, only to find that the bastard could never really quit that place.

i went through the time machine many times. this one was more inneresting than most.

won some bullshit awards. only to have a little bit of dignity taken away from me. although, i;ve gotten better about the whole walking into work thinking that today's the day thing.

i ate a pig. it was SOME PIG.

i got married again. almost without my pants.

i discovered most importantly, that my son really gets me. and i feel richer for knowing this.

the bastard continues to rock the haterade for the bicycling community. because they still don't get it, son.

queens got laid to waste.

i did touristy shit...with real tourists.

got a mcrib. i will reiterate that it was good.

i made your asses street wise.

oh yeah...and it fucking snowed again...HAHD.

so there is is in a pile of frikkin nutshells.

also, the mofo skipped town, my daughter learned to walk and talk and drive a frikkin semi. and i got this thing done early so that at the time i usually do this, i can eat my damn ribs and wait for some jackass to get taken down by the po po's for trying to light up a suitcase while yelling some inane shit about the great satan. at least the bastard is going out with ribs in his gut and proabably a good tomorrow to go with it.

so in the words of sherman t., goodbye 2010, and welcome 2011, let's hope that your a sight better than the last one. have a good one jerks

—the bastard

the more I change…

…the more you stay the same.



"I'm gonna excuse myself for a sec", and my wife heads for the powder room.

and for a few minutes, it's the little lady and I.

I rock the stroller back and forth and tell her that her feet stink.

and who should walk by but, thing1.



SIDEBAR: thing1 and thing2 were my old neighbors from the fhills.


and since the bastard was in the fhills this made sense.


you see, we had to get out early and go to sing song singing and stay out of doors for a while due to the perils of open houses.


you see buyers and sellers can't meet up as some manner of matter/antimatter shit might occur.


so we went to some open houses of our own across the river in what we expect to be our new land.


this is most efficiently completed by getting groceries at trader joes. which puts us in the fhills.

AND WE'RE BACK: so there's thing1 walking away and my ladyfriend returns from the powder room and i tell her who I saw.

"did you say hi?"

"she was walking away and n0t wearing her glasses and knowing what I know about people with glasses and their lack of periphery, i assume that she didn't see me"

and no sooner did these words leave my mouth, did I see thing2.

and she saw me.

and the look was the look as if she had just stepped in dogshit.

you see we haven't really been friendly since the whole "doorgate". besides,  the lowe laid the groundwork for bad relations with her anyway.

and there she was, picking up her lunch at the panera bread, scowling at me.

which is how I will always remember her.

—the bastard

well it's a new decade

and boom goes the dynamite.

—the bastard

blinded by the light

well, the bastard likes to do this before the clock turns 12 and the apocalypse happens. it's been a busy fucking year for me. this year was the first calendar year i sat as the AD of killing stuff monthly but there's more.

some folks left the fold.

the bastard ran into sam watterston not once but, twice.

with a heavy heart, i left the thorough borough for a grab at happiness.

the bastard saw some shit about zombies.


i had some parenting moments that were hard.


i crashed the bike.

the bastard discovered that there is devil worship going on in fresh direct's ad department.

secret oatmeal alien invasions.

rolled it with the homies.

found the greatest happy hour in america.

i bitched alot about my loss.

shot some guns.

i got robbed.

the mofo and i drove to kansas city and back and if i kick tomorrow, i can go to ground saying it might have been the best ride of my life in a four wheeled box.

and it ruined the bastard for barbecue for the rest of his life.


but we got home in one piece.

the chairman reminded me of the memory of a good man and how we are rudderless without him sometimes.

i went shopping with a viking. and it made me wanna steal.



went on holiday with my lady and the boy. we felt like a family.

got back to nature.

met up with old friends and was surprised.

got a beer in st louis again.

i got my faith restored.

postponed the universe.

went shooting some more.

we had a baby. A BABY. again.

got a trident.

watched some guys make a difference.

almost got into a fight in the old hood.

and a place that was near and dear to the bastard went out with a whimper. or was it new management.

so it wasn't a bad year. pretty damn good by my standards except for the crashing and the down economy.



i ended the year going to the burg to see the chairman's new digs nd they were majestic. and there's more to come. see ya ten minutes ago jerks. some silicone sister with a manager mister told me I got what it takes.

—the bastard