Monthly Archives: October 2005

5ive Gears in Reverse

The Halloween Story

In 1981, my best friend at the time, Perry and I decided to seek our fame and fortune in Los Angeles. Around the beginning of September we had a plan to drive. He had a van and relatives out there in Canoga Park. It was a terrible journey. I almost got myself kicked out of the van in Montana since my tape unspooled in the tape deck in the dashboard.

Eventually we made it. It was a disaster. His family were nice, east coast transplants with a shady uncle we had to pick up at the airport. We also went to Las Vegas where I lost a lot of money and swore never to gamble again, excepting big mega lotteries where I have nearly no chance in hell of winning.

We didn’t really take into consideration that everyone goes out to Hollywood/LA to start all over again. We also smoked a lot of weed back in those days so a lot of things are hazy. Perry’s cousin had a landscaping gig where he was paid in weed.

But money was running out and we had absolutely no prospects. Well I had no prospects, Perry had his family. Mine were on the east coast wondering what the hell I was doing. I started to think the same way.

So we drove back in October. We drove through Las Vegas, all the way back to Lodi and Garfield. Before I left work in September, I took a leave of absence from work for my little jaunt, whereas Perry quit. In order to get him back at work we told the big boss that he was strung out on pills and we drove across the country so that he would detox.

They bought it.

It was almost like we never left. We easily slipped back into the routine of our everyday warehoused lives.

The day we had gotten back was my brother Frank’s birthday so I surprised my brother by knocking on his door. At his party, in which I partook of the jazz cigarettes, I met a friend of his who had the most incredible weed. This was fantastic stuff. You can smoke a joint, and then eat a slice of cake and get higher. Real Lazarus weed.

I had arranged to get some more from him as it was my thing to do. I bought as much as I could. A half ounce, for 30.00. Outrageous. He seemed to have a nice supply and I kept going to the well to replenish.

A week or so later I was doing what guys in the suburbs do a lot, or at least they did then. Drive around while getting high and listening to music loudly. Whereas most of the other guys were playing Black Sabbath or Led Zeppelin, I was playing the Clash and Talking Heads.

The Saturday before Halloween, I found myself in the neighborhood of a friend from high school, Roger. The last time I saw Roger was when I told him I was leaving NJ to move to Los Angeles. Now I was back a few weeks later. I figure it’ll be a funny surprise. So I parked and rang the bell on his parent’s house. His grandmother opened the door. She was very upset. ‘Oh shit! Another one!’ and slams the door in my face. Now, I knew the woman, and I knew the family. This was odd.

Roger’s sister, Emily opened the door and told her grandmother that it was me and that I was always welcome there. Emily had a crush on me I think. She also had Down’s syndrome, which though it might account for the crush, she was still very much able to function like everyone else. She told me everyone was up in Roger and his brother, David’s room.

I go upstairs and standing around the twin beds are about 20 people from Rochelle Park. I’m from Lodi. They don’t know me, I don’t know them. They must be David’s friends. I am dressed in black. Black jeans, black sneakers, black sweatshirt under a black suit jacket. Very nihilist.

I stand there talking to Roger and telling assorted people that this isn’t my costume. After a joint gets passed around I decide not to share my half ounce in my suit jacket pocket. Too many people and I really only wanted to share with Roger. I start getting bored when all of a sudden, Peter Pan opens the door and starts screaming, “Everyone out of my house NOW!’ It’s not really Peter Pan, the weed they had wasn’t THAT good. It was Roger and David’s mother, dressed as Peter Pan.

I find out that Roger and David’s parents had gone to the Volunteer Fireman’s Halloween party and left explicit instructions not to throw a party while they were gone. So Roger and David, being not terribly bright, threw a party. They found out and in came Peter Pan and Captain Hook or rather, Roger’s parents.

Only instead of a hook for a hand, his father had a baseball bat and was shouting, ‘No one is leaving here! I called the cops. If anyone tries to leave my buddies are outside and will fuck up anyone who tries to leave!’ Nice.

Outside were a few beered up volunteer firemen with baseball bats looking to kick some teenaged ass.

The cops arrive. They start yelling at everyone, at Peter Pan and Captain Bat. Everyone. They start patting down all the kids. I’m about the fourth person and before they start, I make my big move of pleading.

“I just got back from California! I didn’t know there was a party! I was just driving by!”
Roger even chimes in, like that was going to help, though it was the truth. It doesn’t work of course.

Now it’s my turn. I get frisked, patted down. Nothing. Then the cop says, ‘What about the jacket’. I open the right side and say, “See? Nothing.” I pass the test. Do I need to tell you where it was?

More kids get frisked, more drugs are found. Someone else goes through the bedroom and finds more weed and more on the landing outside their bedroom window. The cops say that since no one is claiming the marijuana, everyone will have to go down to the station.

Oh I am so doomed. They will find it there. My parents will kill me.

I ask if I can go to the bathroom. After a debate and their realizing that they had searched me already I went to the bathroom in the cellar. I went in and made some noise while I reached into my pocket and tried flushing the incredible Lazarus weed down. Of course it wouldn’t go down as easily as it does in the movies.

I had to reach in with my hand and force it through. Just as I was lifting my hand from the eau de toilette, one of the volunteer firemen opens the door. Lucky for me he was totally inebriated and wasn’t quite sure what he thought he saw.

I make my way upstairs to join the rest of the potential felons. I walked in the room as they continued searching the teenagers. As I’m about to cross over to the side of the room where the already searched were, the cop says that I am free to go.

It turns out Roger and his sister Emily and Grandma intervened on my behalf to Peter Pan and Captain Bat, saying that I didn’t know what was happening, that I just got back from California.

Peter Pan and Captain Bat convinced the cop that this was the truth. So they let me go. Making a hasty yet respectful exit as possible I stood on the sidewalk outside the house and looked at the sewer grating, wondering if it was possible to jump in and retrieve Lazarus.

I just got in my car and drove off, never looking back.

Have a Talk with God

So they tell me you’re the all knowing all powerful deity. Tell me how does that make you feel?

I suppose omnipotent would be a good word to describe myself.

But isn’t that a bit egomaniacal?

Well after thousands of years of you people telling me that I do start to believe the hype.

So why do you go and kill all these people that adore you?

Well you know I wouldn’t give people more than they could handle.

Excuse me, but that sounds like bullshit.

Maybe it is. What are you going to do about it?

You’re a snotty little god aren’t you?

Maybe I am.

So tell me how do you get along with the other gods?

Other gods? Like who?

Zeus, Allah, Shiva.

Oh, them. They really don’t have much to say.

Why do you think that is?

Well the people that worship me fight the people that worship them. It’s a great form of population control when you really break it down.

Are you always this smug?

When I have to be, yes.

So tell me about your ‘son’. You sent him to earth to be murdered. Not exactly a nice thing is it?

Well he died for you.

Me? What did I do?

You were born. A most original sin.

I didn’t have any say in the matter.

Doesn’t matter. You’re born, you’re cursed.

Is this related to Adam and Eve?

In a way it is. You have to pay for their mistake.

The mistake of thirsting for knowledge?

Yes, I wanted them to remain ignorant. It really is blissful you know.

I’m surprised this world isn’t in a state of permanent bliss if that’s the case.

Are you so sure it isn’t?

So you kill a lot of innocent people. Does that do anything?

No, but it gives people a chance to wonder what is going on. I just let them think it’s no more than they can handle.

But babies?

Yes, babies. I really like ‘em. You know they’re not just for breakfast anymore. Lol.

You eat babies?

No, well not anymore. You know they used to sacrifice babies in my name. All types. That was fun but oh man, what a stink.

So, of all the groups that worship you, do you have any favorites?

Well they’re all my children. I loved the Jews, but man, they were so serious. Catholics really put on a good show, but oh the bureaucracy. Then with the reformation, man that was like splitting up the phone company.

How so?

Well from one company controlling everything, all of a sudden, you had many different variations on a theme. The Catholics had priests as operator assistance. Then Martin Luther introduced direct dialing.

What about the Jews?

The Jews have their own method of communicating. I don’t know where they got the idea if traveling to Jerusalem and wailing at a wall. But it’s all about me isn’t it?

And the Moslems?

Well they do like that big rock. And they throw rocks. They’re funny. But really don’t have much in the sense of humor department. Anyway, that’s all Allah’s thing, not mine.

When did you get into fashion?

Well it all started as a dare. I wanted to see if anyone would actually wear the things I suggested, and to my eternal chagrin, they did.

So the yarmulkes? The Burkahs?

All mine. Look out 7th avenue! Lol.

You’re a great big jerk you know that?

I know you are, but what am I?

Is that all you have to say?

Buddha has the right idea. But by endorsing that I diminish myself. So forget I said that.

One last question. If someone leads a good life, doesn’t hurt anyone, and doesn’t believe in you, is that a problem?

No, not for me. My followers, for sure though. I don’t exist. You’re writing this all by yourself.

Wise ass.

The Jean Genie

Despite what may have happened I have no idea how all this blood got all over everything. It is truly bizarre. Everything seemed to be going so nicely. I spoke to Mary Ellen who is usually so competent in matters like this, but when the parrot started squawking, that’s when she lost it totally.

I do have to admit that I never saw Mary Ellen actually attack the bird, though once it was over both of the dogs and the cat were silent, transfixed on the carnage. That’s when I supposed their blood lust kicked in and suddenly they all turned on each other with Mary Ellen in the middle.

What could’ve made the animals behave in such a manner? What made Mary Ellen freak out? And why attack a parrot that she had grown to know and love and occasionally take to bed with her?

Yes, It was a strange sight to walk in on her and the parrot when I came home. Her cooing and the parrots squawking was unsettling to say the least. To hear Mary Ellen talking in her sleep, offering a cracker to the parrot was gut wrenching. I turned and shuffled and slept with the dogs and the cat.

At least I felt welcome there.

I should have seen the signs, yet it seemed all so innocent. I’ve seen people take parrots out on the street, exotic birds and what have you, but I’d never seen anyone go to the bathroom with a parrot on their shoulder. Not even in pirate movies.

I must’ve been blind when the night that was supposed to be ‘our’ night at the movies turned out to have been orchestrated by the parrot. So much so that Mary Ellen smuggled the parrot in her bag and when the lights went down she propped him on her shoulder and fed him popcorn that I had paid for. I could’ve made a fuss when she insisted on no butter or salt and the older popcorn would be fine rather than the freshly popped.

But I just kept my mouth shut. I sat on her right and the parrot had the left side. Thankfully no one sat behind us, but towards the end of the film, the usher shined a flashlight at the parrot and we had to make a hasty exit. To this day, I have no idea how the Passion of the Christ ended.

The parrot shit nearly hit the fan though when Mary Ellen brought the parrot to church one Sunday morning. When she approached the altar for communion with the parrot on her shoulder and insisted on a wafer for the bird, I could’ve sworn the priest was going to throw her and the parrot out right then and there. But he gave the parrot some Eucharist and they walked right back to their pew. The parrot turned it’s head and said ‘Body of Christ Squawk’ for at least a half hour.

And now, there’s no parrot, just Mary Ellen, two dogs and a cat all covered with the blood of a parrot. And cracker crumbs that I have to clean up.

Run Me Down

Last night, oh what a night. Bill and I in the apartment having deep meaningful talk. Bill seems to wish I was like every other gay man. I am not. I am unique. I told him he has a diamond and would rather have a cubic zirconia. I am the diamond if you haven’t figured it out. Now don’t go thinking, ‘what an egomaniac.’ If you know me you’d know that I wasn’t. Or am I?

It was a long talk. I came home and he had the TV on for the sake of noise. He correctly figured out that I would’ve freaked out without something making noise, because initially he wasn’t so chatty. I was stressed out when I came home, and he felt it when we hugged each other hello.

I found out that he spent a year and a half more in the playing field while he left me on the bench for 12 of those months. That wasn’t too cool. And still I forgive.

He mentioned that he was upset with me for rubbing my rendezvous in his face on Wednesday night. I did feel bad about that, but also told him that feeling bad for 2 and a half hours is really nothing compared to feeling the way I was feeling for twelve months. Homeboy does need to get over himself. But I still think he’s a good man. Flawed definitely, but a good man. And like my diamond comment, I too have flaws. Gasp. Clutch the pearls.

Anyway, I do want to work this out. I once again reiterated the fact that couples therapy is in order. This whole situation last night, was not a panacea. The problem is both of us and it’s bigger than both of us. We obviously want to make this thing work. And once again I remind myself that the road to Hell is paved with good intentions.

There ya go, the old me. Cynical and jaundiced. With a dash of wit.
Or a mote of wit. There’s self-deprecating me.
Hello, good to meet you. I’m John. I’ll be your baby tonight.

Looks promising, no? And there’s me, beating myself up. Something I do quite well. Yeah yeah yeah. Yes it was incredibly douchie for Bill to do what he did, but I too have done some incredibly douchie things in my life. The karmic wheel turns yet again, and it’s run over my foot.

He asked me if I wanted him to stay over, and I said yes. So after the talking he was doing something on his computer as I sat at mine writing last night’s entry. It was nice to have him in bed next to me, and I don’t think either one of us snored.

And there was no sex involved. Spooning, yes.

On a lighter note, I met someone who interview for at the Animal Farm I am employed at. Nice guy, handsome, named John O’Toole. And he didn’t look like Phillip Seymour Hoffman or Drew Carey. Or Robbie Rist, for those that have been playing the game called My Life for a while.

John was a grad student at Columbia and interviewing for some position at the firm. He nattily attired. Nice half Windsor knot in his tie. Darker complexion than me, and had dark brown hair. I stood up and shook his hand with a grin on both of our faces. I asked him how the O’Tooles were doing and he said he had no complaints. Which made me wonder if he was a bona fide O’Toole, because the O’Tooles I know are nothing but complaints. A joke

His interview lasted about a half hour. On his way out I told him to tell everyone I’ll see them for the holidays. I got a kick out of it. I wonder if he did? Everyone in the building security staff that mans the front desk were all a buzz about the ‘other’ John Ozed.

Now that I think of it, he was pre-interviewed the day before and they thought well of him to ask him and someone else for a second round of interviews. Did they bring him in with another candidate for a laugh?

But between John Ozed and the other guy, I would’ve picked John Ozed instead of the other guy, A. Hister.


Something In The Air

Last night Bill and I met up at 45th street and Broadway. There was an Anti-war demonstration at the Army Recruitment Center. It was crowded but able to move about in the triangle island. Would’ve been great if Good Morning America was on. That would’ve been the perfect thing to do. Probably some deal between the city and ABC so that nothing like that ever gets on the air. Not a private space like the Today Show has at Rockefeller Center.

There was one guy walking in the street outside the barricaded triangle calling everyone inside the triangle traitors. Not one for someone else’s free speech. Man, people like this have existed forever. The “You don’t like it? Leave!” set.

It was there that I dropped the bomb on Bill regarding the open relationship scenario, which thus far is a scenario, excepting last Thursday’s rendezvous. Talk with Julio last night occurred while drinking beer with a content of 10% alcohol, from where else, but Denmark! Hej!

Julio bless his heart, was looking out for my back. 10 years ago I would’ve wished that literally. But good kind friend he is, spent the majority of his time reminding me of what I felt and said less than two months ago. Yes I was hurt, and totally angry. He really did help, and I appreciated his cold-water wisdom as much as I appreciated the Fox Beer.
It did get quite heated and topped off with laughter.

But there is also love, not lost, but quite possibly regained.

A chance to begin again. Start fresh. A depth has occurred in this relationship that not felt before. Some friends told me when this relationship went aground that they were surprised at how strong I had become. I do believe that I am still that strong.

Bill has told me his fears now that I’ve told him of my rendezvous. His fear of me being with someone and falling in love with that person, i.e., becoming an emotional and not just sexual relationship is a fear I have lived with when he would suggest certain things like going to a club and such. And not a dance club.

No thanks. I’m no prude. I’ve been around the friggin highway, never mind the block. And I do mean that literally. Definitely something I am not proud of at all. The fact that I am alive and writing this in reasonably good health is really an amazing thing.

But I never did the clubs, the baths whathaveyou. Never any need. Which is probably why I’m here. I did bury a few friends and mourned others during the beginning of the plague years. But when I found Bill I felt I didn’t have to look again. Now, it turns out I may have to.

There is love there I know it, I can feel it. There is also pain and anger. A fine goulash, best served warm. Feeds two. Bittersweet perhaps. But we have a long way to go. And hopefully it will be a long trip.

I’ve always said to Bill that there is no guidebook really. Each relationship is different. There are similarities for sure. So it’s really up in the air. I don’t know the future, and I don’t think I really want to.

No prophesies of Nostril Damage here.

Be Brave

It is what it is. And that’s Ok. Went to work today. Major accomplishment. It wasn’t raining so at least not having to deal with that made it a little bit easier. On the way to work I listened to Brian Eno’s latest record Another Day on Earth. Very moody. Mitt vocals! I was going to turn it off, play another song by someone else but couldn’t get a reason to. It certainly is interesting.

I strolled into work before Christina, did what I had to do and waited for the day’s drama to unfold. It got quite odd when the lush locked herself in a private phone room with a door that doesn’t lock. She simply couldn’t figure out how to turn a latch. And she is currently in charge of the office with Bleedin Hope touring the continent.

Met up with Bill after work. We went to the anti-war rally, which now in hindsight seems most apt. I told him and I do believe this, that an open relationship is the way to go if our plan to stay together will survive. I do admit a certain gloating when I was telling him of the fact that my 14 month drought had ended. I had no guilt then and I have no guilt now.

He seemed surprised that I felt the way I did about open relationships, and he should be surprised considering how I was against them. But love is love. We shall remain a couple who love each other, though the fire of sexual desire for each other has cooled quite a bit.
I was worried because I thought he was still in his sexual compulsives group therapy, but it turns out he wasn’t, he was going on auditions.

I know what some of you are thinking…

So that’s what he’s been doing…and I believe him. I do love him, so I suppose like classic couples of the past a bohemian open relationship with me being the bohemian and Bill being, well, Bill. These roles can be interchangeable if need be.

After 14 months of me thinking, ‘What’s wrong with me?’ and then suddenly posting an advert somewhere and getting all these messages about how hot I am, it was truly a well needed boost to my ego. And I think most people that know me, know my lack of self-confidence and low esteem. And that’s just the charming bit.

Self-Effacing? Check please! And could you wrap this self-deprecation to go? Thanks.

Of course rules, boundaries will have to be put in effect. Bill for instance won’t bring anyone to Hoboken. Me? Hey, somebody’s gotta host!

I know that makes me sound like I cruise the net all the time looking for hookups. I really don’t. Swear to dog. I was much busier way before the Internet. Now it’s all about something that I don’t really know how to speak about. I can write about it no problem, but very few guys are into wit.

Where is the grace of an erect cock outline grabbed outside of a guys pants. The subtlety of a wanton gaze? Where is the lust?

So it rules and boundaries and respect…

Another Day On Earth

Well today was a day of inaction. On every level. I didn’t want to deal with the rain, I was tired when I woke up. So I did not go in. I couldn’t even be bothered to get out of bed until 9:00. I did make it to the store and the dry cleaners. Two noticeable accomplishments. Oh, and a 2 hour nap.

I did get a phone call from work from Christina from her cell phone, telling me that the office phones were all down. That can’t be good. Glad I missed it.

I sometimes find myself looking back at my life, in the strangest signposts. Sexual, emotional, a varied sort. I remembered, after my sister told me about how I had to be pulled off the fence when I started Grammar school. Screaming and crying for my mother, not knowing why she abandoned me at this institution. I think that is where all my abandonment issues come from. Seems pretty obvious.

Presently I am on the phone with Julio, who is playing the role of a guidance counselor.
But as he hears me typing, he doesn’t want to hold me back from writing. Now he’s hung up, didn’t want to impede my writing.

I did watch some dvd’s of Six Feet Under from Netflix. Watched the ‘That’s My Dog’ episode. Still intense and more brutal than I remembered. Michael C. Hall deserved some award for that episode. And watching the repercussions on the following episodes makes me realize what a jewel of a show it was.

I definitely related to the David/Keith storyline. Reminded me of Bill and myself. My brother Frank complained to me from time to time how annoying it was to see them argue all the time. I saw that side, yet I also saw the tender side. I don’t think Frank did. Can’t ask too much.

Frank had an emergency trip to the hospital where a procedure was done on a major kidney stone. It’s been taken care of via procedure involving a camera going up his urethra. Ouch.

Had a lengthy phone call with Kathe Charas. We’re both going thru similar yet different situations. She’s been writing and I encouraged her to start a blog. She said she’s heard that from someone else as well.

I’m thinking about taking some things that I had written a while ago, some things I wrote for Lemon Custard, others from dusty notebooks that are close to 20 years old. I like to think I’ll take an active role and maybe edit, or find some priceless jewel that I wrote while sitting on a bar stool at the end of the bar in Maxwells.

But I was so inebriated and altered at the time it might be a cautionary tale for the future generations of people who ignore blogs such as this. The Lemon Custard stuff might be worthwhile. Just have to find where I put it. It should be fun to see how little my life has changed in almost 20 years. Real fun.

Rosa Parks died last night.

The 2000th GI was killed in Iraq today. No WMD’s were found.


Third Uncle

Stayed up later than usual last night, which put my day into drag mode. Drag as in slow going, not drag as in RuPaul. I was stuck for the name of a drag queen and RuPaul was the only one I could think of. Everyone knows who RuPaul is anyway. Don’t they? Or is it too Nineties? I’ve been waking up and the sun hasn’t risen, and I leave work as the sunsets. And it was cloudy cloudy cloudy today. More rain.

I made an arrangement to meet a ‘Robert’ outside of HSBC in Manhattan today. I met him as I was walking down Fifth Avenue smoking my cigar. I described what I was wearing, my double-breasted gray Givenchy pinstriped suit, lavender French cuff shirt with contrasting collar and cuffs, and a lavender silk tie with a paisley design. Very fly if I say so myself. You may stop laughing now.

Robert appeared and looked better than his photograph. Handsome and willing. But it was just a meeting, a how do you do. We walked eight blocks to 32nd Street. Lot’s of tourists, stopping right in the middle of the sidewalk. At 6:00, that could be dangerous. Robert sure does walk fast, but I maintained my pace. Paranoid me kept expecting him to bolt, but no, he just walks very fast.

I’m sure I can do a Snaporito on him, I just have to get the words right. We exchanged phone numbers and I walked thru little Korea to the PATH train. Got to Hoboken after reading Harpers, and climbed the steps into the makings of a monsoon. Hard rain and strong winds. Goodbye umbrella.

I also remembered to stop by the Library to pick up a book I ordered. Dry by Augusten Burroughs. No relation to William S. Burroughs.

I sort of enjoyed his first book, ‘Running with Scissors’, though some parts were disturbing even with my askewed principles. So I’m giving him another chance. Even if it’s a terrible book, I’m sure it would be a lot better than ‘Who Moved My Cheese’, which was given to me by Bleedin Hope as a way to help mold me into the new regime.

Work was pleasant with Bleedin Hope touring Europe for two weeks. Everyone getting along just fine, with the exception of Zilcha. I was shown an email that the wombus sent out, full of bad grammar. That was funny. It was all about the holidays for next year. Major mistakes. She’s an idiot. And she’s in charge. Very dangerous. I bet she voted for Bush.

If anyone wants to know what a Saporito is, just ask. It’s funny and I don’t mean him any harm. Came home and actually made the worst hamburger in history. I know, for me that is saying a lot. It’s so hard to ruin a hamburger but I certainly found a way. And that has found it’s way into the garbage pail.

Kept up the search for a new job. Not much out there. Got to hang in. Bonuses may be given out soon and I am definitely entitled to one. It’s a change from how I was feeling a week or so ago. The attitude of ‘If I get it I get it. If not, so what? It doesn’t really exist anyway, until it’s in my bank account. Ha! My feeble attempt at Zen Conciousness.

M Train

M Train

Hung out with Julio on Saturday night. We had planned to get a burger somewhere but at 8:30, all the pubs and restaurants were packed. We walked by Court Street and that was crowded. All we wanted was 2 seats at the bar, but no go. Then it started to pour, and we made haste to get to O’Neal’s. That was even more crowded and we were hungry, cold and wet. We made it through the crowded bar only to find the restaurant was full also, so we had to navigate through the swinging single Hoboken scene. Not much to look at on either front.

Situated right by the exit was Joe Schmoe and his sister/girlfriend. I tapped Schmoe on the back and said ‘excuse me’. He moved an inch. I accidentally grabbed his ass, which felt like grabbing a handful of cottage cheese. I made it to the door, but Julio wasn’t so lucky as Joe Schmoe tried to kick him. Julio feigned a kick in return and we wandered out into the now drizzly street.

We were standing a few doors down, in front of Mission Burritos, when all of a sudden Julio hears Joe Schmoe’s sister/girlfriend screaming ‘Fuck you you fucking asshole’. Apparently she would have preferred Julio to carry through with the kick at Schmoe rather than a fake out. She of course had to leave the bar and stand in the drizzle to stand up for her impotent brother/boyfriend.

We decided on Mission Burritos, by far the best in Hoboken. And I should know since I’ve tried three different Mexican eateries. We got the food to go, and walked back to my apartment where we ate and watched a Beatles documentary. Julio’s been digging the Fabs since we saw Macca a few weeks ago, me, still totally enthralled by them lads.

We had three beers apiece after we had diet 7Up with our food. After that a few minutes of SNL before I started making it known that I was tired and had to go to bed. Franz Ferdinand was very good and I’m seriously considering buying their records.

Woke up, fell out of bed, made some coffee and it was off to the bagel store and newspaper pick up, and eggs. I need my eggs on a Sunday morning. Called up my brother Frank as I was walking to Barnes and Noble to buy him something for his dinner party at 6:00. Dinner was still on, and I told him the train schedule, what time, I leave Hoboken and what time I arrive in Garfield.

I got him the Rolling Stones book by The Rolling Stones and The Partly Cloudy Patriot by Sarah Vowell. Everything going according to plan as I bought a round trip ticket in Hoboken. Got on the train and when the train was leaving Rutherford, I called Frank and let him know I was going to be in Garfield in about 5 minutes, and sure enough I was.

Garfield Sky and Train Tracks

Fifteen minutes later I’m waiting for someone to pick me up. 25 minutes later, still waiting. It’s getting dark and it’s cold, and still quite damp. I killed the time by listening to my Ipod and taking some arty shots of Garfield which aroused the suspicions of various Garfieldians driving by. Got some strange looks.

Finally the phone rings. It’s my brother Brian, asking me if I’m by Route 46. I say, No I’m at Somerset and Midland Ave. Brian’s’ on the other side of town, since Frank told him I was taking the bus. Yes calling someone when a train is leaving the station does make one think they are calling from a bus. I live in friggin Hoboken, major Train Hub. When I lived in Weehawken for 11 years I would catch a bus going to Garfield.

without heed

So I tell Brian I’ll see him at the house, since he has no idea where Somerset is, and I start walking to Pierre Ave. Pierre is pronounced PEER-E, not with a French accent like, ‘Bon voyage, Pierre, mon ami”. I see some guy leaving his house, he’s getting into his car. I ask, ‘Pardon me, do you know where Pierre (pronounced it both ways) Avenue is?” He says, “You speak Polish?” I smile, and say, “No”.

Red Sky at Night

No one walks in the suburbs. They drive to parks to jog. I am the only person walking along the sidewalks of Garfield, nasty jagged sidewalks, trying to find Pierre Avenue when I start to realize, there are no street signs in Garfield. And they’re not posted on Buildings either.

Now it’s quite dark. I’m playing Born Under Punches by Talking Heads on my Ipod when my cell rings again. It’s my niece Cory asking me where I am. I tell her I have no idea, there are no street signs. I mention some sports bar across the street. She asks me what I’m wearing, I say Black Leather Blazer, black jeans and that it’s so dark out she wouldn’t be able to see me anyway.

wonderful Cory

She says she can see me as she pulls up next to me in the street. I get in the car, a bit pissed off. She’s great, she’s laughing. She knows I’m pissed at her dad, but he gets a pass because he’s been so ill this week. So we park and enter the house, everyone is there, except for Annemarie, Rex and Earl, of course.

Kisses and handshakes all around except for Frank who is wearing the crown of El Stiffo at this point. He’s also in such discomfort that he can’t sit down, so he forgoes the hug from me. Fine. I sit in a rocking chair and watch everyone watch a football game. The only things worse than watching a football game on TV is watching others watch a football game on TV.

sweet Meg

I go and take some pics of the TV watchers, my niece Meghan the only one noticing so she smiles for her picture. Hillary and Cassie of course were adorable, my sister in law, Karen looked good as well. Franks’ wife, Elaine was doing her usual bit of keeping everything together. According to Cory, Elaine was the one who realized that I wasn’t there. I guess Brian volunteered to pick me up using Frank’s faulty directions.


Leaving the TV watchers I sat in the kitchen with the wives of my brothers. They wanted to know what was going on in my life, i.e. Bill. I filled them in, explaining that I still love Bill and he loves me. They seemed to understand that. Karen apologized for being so short with me on the phone earlier in the week. Seems she had a lengthy talk with Little Brian’s math teacher, and then as soon as she hung up, the phone rang with me calling. I took it personal, though her apology did smooth things out.

We ate some Raviolis and had bread, and then cake for the birthday boy, who turned 54 on Wednesday.

It was all rather nice and sweet. I was able to get a ride to the train from Meghan and her boyfriend Rob. They are such a cute couple. I wish them many years of happiness. Though there is some really pure Catholic bullshit that they are going through which I won’t include here because it might fall into the wrong eyes.

It was worth the hassle.


The Jezebel Spirit

The Jezebel Spirit

Another dreary Saturday. Went to bed at midnight, which lately is late for me. Woke up it was raining, so stayed in bed and tossed and turned until 9:00. Basically I was tired of lying in bed. Got myself together somewhat despite the lack of caffeine. Showered, dressed, got bagels, went to A&P, where some idiot in a rush to get to the stop sign tore thru a large puddle and splashed my. I flipped them the bird. They stopped. I stood there. Decided it wasn’t worth it, and whatever karma comes of it will probably be visited upon their offspring. Genital slang.

I mean if you’re in a rush, why sit and wait for someone to do something after splashing them? Got my coffee, some meat, and the newspapers. Did a lot of laundry that never dries since it’s damp everywhere. Such ennui today. Very much like a song by the Smiths. Or more precisely, Morrissey solo.

Highpoint of the day was actually helping Julio pick out a suit to buy for a wedding next month. He bought a Sean John at Macys, much like I did last month. I did see a nice Navy pinstripe Sean John at another store in the mall, but they didn’t have my size, though the navy pinstripe was what I’ve been looking for a few months already. One of these days….

But I do have enough suits right now, perhaps I’ll get another one for the holidays. I do so love buying and wearing suits. 10 years ago, I had zero suits. Well one suit, but hardly presentable. Now, I can’t get enough. I think I have about a dozen. And maybe 5 pairs of dress shoes.

‘Clothes make the man. Naked people have little or no influence in society.’
Mark Twain.

Got to hang in at work, until the bonuses are given out. I’m not snobby. Some people are. I’m happy with the pittance I get. I earned it, not the 5 figures some get, not at all. But I’ve had jobs where I’ve gotten nothing. In fact one time, when I was working at Skyline Studios in it last days, I had to give out bonuses to everyone. They gave me a 10% raise. I said I’d rather have the bonus.

Of course they didn’t give me the bonus, just the 10% raise. A few months later when Skyline was crashing on the rocks, the made everyone take 10% pay cuts. Ergo, I got nothing.

At the present job it’s a weeks pay, which is better than nothing, though lately I’ve had to deal with so much nonsense, I sometimes wonder if it’s worth it. The president of the company, Mr. McGruff seems to like me, or at least, likes me because I’m the only one in the office that gets his sense of humor. For instance, during the week of rain a week or so ago, he walked past my desk and said, ‘Noah’. I said, “What’s a cubit?’. He was surprised I got it. I think to him I’m the court jester.

Sort of reminds me of a scene in ‘I, Claudius’ where Claudius is told that to stay alive he should play the fool. Though the courtiers are slowly killing the king.

‘What’s a cubit?’


Tempo House

Ok. Last night went well. Had a fun time with a fun guy, and no fungi. Came home, wrote, watched the Station Agent on TV. Love that film. Peter Dinklage, Patricia Clarkson and Bobby Cannavale. I really like Bobby Cannavale. Not only is he easy on the eye, but a great actor to boot. Watched John Lequizamo on ER and then to bed. Woke up at 6:00 and was so bored left for work at 6:45.

Started reading Harpers this week, probably going to subscribe. Enabling Lewis Lapham to buy more nice suits. Hey, if it wasn’t for his advice, you more than likely wouldn’t be reading this. So blame him.

Walked to work, listening to Scissor Sisters and got to work at 7:50. Nice, with no one in the office, I was able to wander and take my time, no hustling. Bleedin Hope was out on her vacation. Listened to her voice mail. Quite chipper. Not at all like someone who has just handed in her resignation. Brenda showed me an email that Bleedin’ Hope sent with bad usage of the word emphasis. Lucille the Lush seems to be in charge, or at least all important decisions are to be made by her, according to Bleedin Hope’s outgoing message.

“Hi, I’m traveling internationally and won’t have access to cell phone or email…blah blah blah” The wombus never said anything via in person, by sycophant or email, which makes me think once again Bleedin Hope never said anything, just expecting me to go, “No. Don’t quit.” I took matters into my own hands and asked a few senior vice presidents and managing directors if I could put them down as references for my job hunt. They all agreed, and some said I didn’t even have to ask. Nice guys on top, crumb bums in the middle, then me. I guess nice guys make the bread in that sandwich.

So I did my thing, just a lot of work, knocked most of it out by 2:00. From then on in it was reading newspapers, stocking the fridge with Poland Spring, and bringing some bottled water down to the guys at the security desk in the lobby. Look at a few websites for jobs and sent another email to Matthew Semegram the guy who placed me at Wanker Banker all those years ago. OK, three years ago.

There was some good news from Annemarie about her husband Rex. Rex had a procedure for his heart and it seems to have gone well. He might’ve been released from the hospital today, but they gave him a private room, and want him to stay one more night. So all is going good for Annemarie, Rex and Earl. I asked Bill to pray for Rex, but Bill being Bill, prayed for all three, which was very nice.

Saw Marcia, Marcus Rasta’s woman. That was nice. Indulgent I know, but helps out on wet indoor weekends. Tomorrow may entail a trip to Sym’s so Julio can buy a new suit. I enjoy buying suits, so I maybe of some assistance. We’ll see.

I got an email from MoJo Magazine. They were asking about favorite Mark E. Smith rants. I picked ‘Winston Churchill had a speech impediment, and look what he did.’, form Tempo House by The Fall.

The other night I had a few lines pop into my head about a couple that were having an open relationship. I wrote before I went to sleep. I wrote: A Play about a couple in a not so open relationship.

“You’ve fooled around before”
“Yes, but with many people! You’re seeing only one person!!!”
“So? I’m loyal….”

That’s about as far as it went. Perhaps this is the seeding. Or Sowing.

But I really have to say, I forgot how much I enjoy writing. Probably a lot more enjoyment derived by me writing it, than by you, dear reader, reading it.



Bananas. It’s all bananas. I believe today was my third anniversary at work. Of course, none of my coworkers from that period are there. They’ve all moved on and apparently speak to each other, wondering why I’m still there. To tell you the truth, I really couldn’t answer. I’ve been good, going to bed at 10:30 each night, waking up at 6:00 AM feeling well rested, definitely a marked improvement on my morning outlook. No, really. I have had discussions with Bill about his unhappiness with me not being a morning person. Of course, he chose to have these conversations in the morning. Generally not a very good idea. Perhaps it’s like going into a starving lion’s den and trying to convince the lion to go vegan.

I was listenening to Brian Eno’s ‘Taking Tiger Mountain (By Strategy)’ as I puttered along the street to work. 8:02AM, no one else there. I set about starting up the office, dropping off newspapers, stocking the fridge, turning machines on, stuff like that. All was going well, as I was quite busy. About an hour after that Bleedin’ Hope shows up and sits next to me saying that it would probably be a good idea to get a temp. The funny thing is, she had asked a put upon coworker, Brenda, to do certain tasks while Bleedin’ Hope flew off to Europe on vacation for two weeks, Brenda said, No, Hire a temp. Bleedin Hope says a temp is not in the budget.

Then Bleedin Hope comes out and tells me it would be a good idea to get a temp to work with me. I said there was no need. She mentioned that she had some complaints about the phones being unanswered. I told her that I sent her emails most of the time when I was away from my desk, telling her phones were being forwarded. I also mentioned that some of her Admins don’t answer their phones. She made it a point to say Admin, singular. I said, no it’s plural.

Zelcah, the bitch that started all this decides to leave in the middle of the day, not telling anyone that she’s off getting her hair done for an hour and a half. No one knows that Zelcah is desperately trying to get her old job back, calling the old office everyday. I also said that I answer Zilch’s managing directors phones more than she does. Bleedin Hope asked how I knew this, I told her because I see her.

Then she mentions that my ‘buddy’ Brenda doesn’t answer phones either. I said ‘well at least she has a buddy’. Brenda has been so put upon since Bleedin Hope arrived and took over. Bleedin Hope seemed unaware that there is still ill will between Zelcah and myself. Well Bleedin Hope’s head is so far up her ass you can see it when she opens her mouth.

Then she says, that I should speak with the great wombus, Helen Devilakos. I say, no. Why should I speak to her? Everything is fine, dysfunctional but fine. I come in at 8:00 and leave at 5:30. NO problems. Interaction between myself and Zelcah kept to an absolute minimum. Once again I express my disdain for the great wombus, when Bleedin Hope puts her coffee down, and with crocodile tears, gets up and says, ” that’s it. I’m quitting today’.

I say nothing and watch her go to the elevator and hit the down button. Is she going to the street? To the wombus? Who knows? Who cares? Not me. The office lush, Lucille joins her, followed by the wonderfully ignorant Helen PI. Bleedin Hope returns fifteen minutes later saying that the great wombus refused to accept her resignation until she returns from her two week vacation.

Yes, according to Bleedin Hope, the company will pay her for two weeks vacation then allow her to resign. Come on now. She goes to her desk, gets her bags, and leaves work six hours earlier than expected saying that she’s officially on vacation. She actually said this in my face, with tears edging her waterproof make up eyes. Oh boo fucking hoo. She gets to relax and shop and pack six hours earlier than she expected. Life is rough.

No word from the wombus though I did finally file my complaint with the Department of Labor. My complaint was about how a coworker, Christina, made a comment when I showed her a picture of Bob Saget that was sent to me by a former coworker. “You know, we used ta call him Bob Faggot.” Charming. Then a few weeks later, we were listening to some music, and she said, “You know, we used ta sing this as ‘la la la maricon’” Can she get any more charming?

Then she claimed when I said to her that that wasn’t good to say those words, this Puerto Rican girl from the Bronx said, ‘I didn’t know what maricon meant’. Oh yes, I’ve also gotten eight women pregnant. She’s also prone to calling Dominicans, Dumb In A Cans.

There also the time when Bleedin Hope, Lucille the Lush, Helen PI and Zelcah sang happy birthday to Christina in front of me as Christina and I share a big desk. A joke was made about someone being a lesbian. And they call me unprofessional. Knives out. So I had to put it in writing and send it off to Albany so they’ll have my complaint on file.

Yes it’s a rant, a venting if you will. I also had sex tonight.

Good night everybody!


out of my brain on the 5:15

Tombstone Blues

Ok. At the end of August the company that makes Gauloises, stopped making Gauloises. The people that were most identifiable, Sartre, Gainsbourg, Camus are all dead. The men that used to smoke Gauloises, (meaning me and old French men) have been declining in number though no one knows exactly why. So they stopped making them. At least in France. They supposedly are moving the operations to Spain, but so far I haven’t seen any products. I guess there is me and someone else in NYC that smokes them. Someone had hit the major tobacconists in my area of midtown. That left me with down town and surprisingly enough they are still available. So I’ve been stocking up, buying them a box of six at a time.

So tonight after work I hopped on the N train to Union Square and stopped by Farfetched on my way to tobacco heaven. Sharon Jorrin and Lois were working and it was good to see them. I was on a manic high and highly entertaining, or so I think. Lois looked great, as did Sharon. Lois said I should stop smoking, and I replied with all the drama happening in my life right now, I need as many crutches as I can get. Legal ones at least. Lois also wanted to know what was going on in my life and instead of telling her, I referred her to this blog.

I left and walked a few blocks to the store, and I expected to be disappointed. That seems to be a good way to approach my situation. Because I wasn’t disappointed. Only had enough cash for one box but that was fine with me. Made my purchase and rolled two cigarettes in the store and bid them a good night.

Then I walked over to 9th Street and 6th avenue to catch the PATH. Bowie on the IPod. Got in the first car, which turned out to be the car with no air conditioning. There were some very humpy guys in the car. That made me think of what else, Bill. I had an excellent chat online last night and it got me thinking, perhaps an open relationship is the way to go. We both love each other very much, but I am no longer sexually attractive to Bill. I have found that there are plenty of other guys that are sexually attracted to me.

A wonderful boost to the ego. I can play around with whomever I want to, and still come home to the one I love. And he can go play with whomever he wants to play with. Perhaps men aren’t monogamous. It was tough to maintain that monogamy. I did, Bill couldn’t. So this is maybe the way to go. And with the guy I was chatting with last night, maybe it really is. It was quite a hot chat and we barely got into the details. I tell you, I am coming out of my virginal year and 2 month period of abstinence.

Look out New York, this is your last chance.


Hey Hey My My Yo Yo

10.18.05 Hey Hey My My Yo Yo

Ok. I started posting my writings yesterday. Some trepidation, but I forged on ahead. I usually get hung up on names. How should I change them, who is who, etc. I mean, I’d really get hung up, but decided against it this time. Damn the torpedoes. I did entertain a paranoid fantasy that some child of Helen “Natalie from the Facts of Life” Devilakos would google her name and up would come all the nasty things (warranted of course) that I had written about her.

Then there was the Bill factor. I didn’t want to hurt him. He is being supportive of me, but I have written some of my innermost ‘things’ and they include him. So I expect him to be hurt or angry. Julio, threatened to sue me, but I think he came to his senses when he realized that I have nothing to sue over.

Pedro loved the idea. Of course he did. He is also supportive of me, and I am of him. It’s a nice situation. Don’t think he’s visited the website yet. Julio did and wrote some comments. One or two that I had deleted because they were just so mean. Let him get his own blog, I say!

Of course, I wondered about bleedin’ Hope. She’s vainglorious enough to constantly Google her name several times a day probably, so for her it’s merely a matter of time. Bill’s wonderful best friend, Margaret emailed me today, wanting to know what is going on with me. I mentioned how I miss Bill and sometimes hear his phantom footsteps coming up the stairs to the apartment.

Then I figured, “Hey! I wrote that already” and sent her the link. No comments thus far, though I haven’t checked yet. Annemarie, my dear sister, got the link also but couldn’t connect. I replied that the link worked for me, but half heartedly tried to dissuade her from reading it, saying it’s ‘just a lot of stuff you probably don’t want to know about me’.

Drugs, drinking and hopefully illicit sex. Of course, 2 out of 3 ain’t bad. Done the drugs, had enough to drink, but still no illicit sex.

Kissing Chris Hammer doesn’t really count, especially since he never showed up last night. No biggie, though I used to be so much luckier before the Internet. I don’t know who else has read it. I did send a big email and mentioned, but if there’s a way to tell how many ‘hits’ I’ve gotten, I simply don’t know about it.

The Rod2.0 blog that I read most days is a lot of fun. I sent him an email telling him so, and he thanked me for the compliment and looked forward to my blog.

If he compares his blog to mine, boy, will he be disappointed, but he does have quite a lead on me. I should’ve started this a while ago, right after bringing world peace and curing cancer, but I never got around to it. It’s all in the timing I guess.

Word on a Wing

10.17.05 Word on a Wing

Today is Monday. I now have a domain name. I am the master of my domain. Yesterday, Rand and I discussed while walking with Lisa, how I should blog my writings, and ‘hey why don’t I have a domain name too’. So after we parted ways, Rand and Lisa went home, I climbed my 4 flights of a five story walk up and wrote what I wrote yesterday. Eventually it will all appear somehow.

So I come home, in my charcoal gray double-breasted Givenchy suit, purple silk tie, black braces, tasseled loafers and TNT OTC sox. A bit sweaty. Also a bit later than I expected since I had an email from Chris Hammer who was in Manhattan and wanted to meet me at the Townhouse. Chris likes suits and also likes to smoke cigars. This is what started us chatting a few years ago. Things being what they are, we could never really hook up.

We were supposed to meet last week but there was nonstop rain, and he was traveling from down the shore. So that fell through. He was apologetic which was nice. Other times I was supposed to meet someone it didn’t work out, usually because someone flakes. Either me or the other guy.

Song2 was a nice guy and very sweet though he disputes this. He was also on time. But the weather was in our favor two weeks ago. Last week the weather was in the favor of waterfowl. I can’t really compare both Song2 and Chris Hammer, because both seem to be genuinely sincere. And in Gay.Com land, that is a very rare quality.

So I met Chris at the Townhouse. He saw me and made a beeline. He shook my hand and offered to buy me a drink. I had a Heineken, he had a Bombay Sapphire and tonic. I’m such a cheap date. He had some time to kill before his dinner with friends and wanted to meet and buy me a drink and apologize to my face.

So we sat on a sofa and chatted. Nice guy, handsome, reminded me of my cousin Joey Powers. It must be an Italian thing. It was also the first time in over a year that I’d been kissed. REALLY kissed. That was fun. I was surprised I remembered how. It certainly is nice to be with someone who thinks you’re really hot and good looking. Or ‘bangin’. No, Chris didn’t say ‘Bangin’.

That was from 3 girls a few years ago in the summer when I was walking home from Central Park. Three girls hangin out under a scaffold on 7th avenue and W50th Street saw me and yelled, “Hey Mister, you bangin’” That made my day, and still brings a smile years later.

Of course I told Julio this, who to this day has a laugh and says “Hey Mister, You bangin’” especially when I think I’m looking good.

But no, Chris didn’t say that. He did like the way I looked and the way he kissed me seemed to convey that nearly perfectly. He may be traveling thru Hoboken on his way back down the shore, and asked if he could call me when he got off he PATH train. I said yes.

He’s a handsome guy, about 5’6”, to my 6’2”. Some thinning hair, but that doesn’t bother me. Also some heft around the waist and that’s also alright with me. I think it’s cute.

This is the first entry for I hope you like it. Plenty of room for improvement I’m sure but hey, it’s something.


Crawling from the wreckage

10.16.05 Crawling from the wreckage

Another fine sunny day with the occasional cloud. It’s a windy day in Hoboken, leaves flying off the trees. Still damp in some places. Brisk autumnal weather. Nice day for a walk. And so I met up with Rand and Lisa. Always willing conspirators for cultural events in Hoboken.

This is probably the 3rd tour made with Rand. The previous ones were accompanied by Bill. Would’ve been nice to have him around. I do enjoy turning him onto new things.

We met around 6th Street and Washington Street. I was smoking a cigar. Lot’s of people walking around, some participating on the Studio Tour. Others just brunching.

We went to Newman Leathers and dropped by Tim Daly’s studio. His work is always great. And the fact that he is such a nice guy is more than an added bonus.

Sheilah Scully was there too. She’s always a lot of fun. Totally engaging.

In the studio next to Tim’s was a woman artist who’s name I don’t remember. In her studio was this woman who’s I’ve seen for the past 20 or so years. She’s soft spoken, has a few kids, but didn’t know where I saw her from. Just one of those Hobokeners you see for years and never bother to introduce yourself to them nor they to you.

Such a small town.

Gerri Fallo made her appearance, which was the sign to high tail it out of there. Nothing against her, but it was time to move on. We bee lined thru the bottom of the building and came out on Newark St. We wandered over to my first real neighborhood in Hoboken, 201 Madison Street.

Hiro Takeshita lives there like he used to when I lived on the top floor. Hiro’s a nice guy too. Does some work that keeps getting better each time I see it. Now he’s into paper cutting. He used to do a lot of pastel work, but the cutting is really amazing. An added depth that he couldn’t achieve before. Very warm. His ex wife Terry was there. She was married to him when I moved out of 201 Madison.

They have 2 kids. She lives at 8th and Willow I believe. Very nice and she seems to be still supportive of Hiro. Maybe she’s paying him alimony, though the rent from living there is probably a little over $500.00 after 20 years. We chatted for a little while, Lisa, Rand Hiro, Terry and myself. Hiro and Terry’s kids are showing artistic talents already. One’s a teenager or almost 20. Scary how time flies.

Rand, Lisa and I left the apartment and walked up Madison, deciding to forgo the Monroe Arts Complex. That’s always pandemonium and not much fun. Too many artists in one building. Aesthetic sensibilities run amok.

I told Hiro’s ex wife Terry that artists should be spread out, not concentrated all in one spot. She smiled, but I didn’t know whether or not she ‘got’ me. Lisa spotted a computer tower that was being tossed away. Rand promptly opened it and salvaged some cards and a processor. He’s constantly amazed how people throw out all these good parts just because they got a brand new pc.

I told him not everyone is fortunate enough to have a Randy Hoppe in their lives.


Summer Days

10.15.05 Summer Days

Well after 8 days of non-stop rain, it has finally stopped. No covenant with god, no rainbow. A rainbow is light refracted through water, a prism effect. I’m sure that’s the basic explanation, not a sign from god. That is hilarious. I’ve found that there really is no difference between the Greco/roman myths and the god of the bible. The Greco/roman gods were so much more entertaining.

But now it’s officially autumn. Summer days and summer nights are gone. I’m playing a Bruce Springsteen song, ‘Incident on 57th Street’. I am reminded of a funny thing that happened this past summer.

Julio, Stine and I were coming back from Monmouth Beach after yet another splendid day there. Reading, drinking beers, just have a nice mellow time after swimming in the sea. We figured out where Bruce lives, and decided to swing by. Foolish and invasive but fruitless. The road in front of his house was under construction and after driving in circles of his neighborhood, Julio at Stine’s suggestion drove around the Road Closed sign and parked for a minute. Stine and I got out on the right side curb and Julio was getting out on his side. Stine and I lit some cigarettes, and then she started walking down the sidewalk.

Just then out of nowhere, a Cop Cruiser appears, and pulls up to Julio. The officer was younger than us.
He asked us what we were doing. Julio tried to deny anything, saying that we, Stine and I, wanted to smoke. Stine of course, was a dear deer in the headlights. He asked us if we knew who lived there, and Julio, then Stine said no. He looked at me and I said Of Course we know who lives here.

He looked at our ID’s and another cruiser appeared. This cop was hotter, but never got out of the car. We didn’t have any records so he handed our ID’s back, and let us be on our way. He did tell us that Bruce’s security team called him. Turns out Bruce gets fanatics and psychos regularly. Which sucks. It’s really too bad. He has to live a sheltered life. Someone said it seemed reclusive. I mentioned look what happened to John Lennon.

A gilded cage. It was fun but a little sad to be lumped into the crowd of fanatics and psychos. We’ll never go back there again though we do wave when driving past his street.

Stine was funny during the whole thing. She doesn’t deal with authority very well. She doesn’t become aggressive, quite the opposite, she gets very scared. On the way to get something to eat, Julio and I keep making comments about how the police following us. She started to freak, we laughed.

We went to Red Bank and ate at Dublin House. Nice town Red Bank. Lot’s of shops and restaurants, and home of the Count Basie Theatre. After a few beers and pints, we walked around a bit and got some ice cream. To Stine’s annoyance, Julio and I kept seeing undercover cops following us. Then it was back in the car heading homewards to Hoboken.


The Right to Write about Frank Lloyd Wright (B)

The Right to Write about Frank Lloyd Wright.

Why did I pick architecture rather than Aeronautics? What’s it all about Johnny? It’s about nothing Johnny, and it’s about everything Johnny. I am in love with Bill Vila. Who is a decent, good man and has done some bad things. My partner, Bill who we’ve committed to each other 2 years ago, who I’ve been with for 5 years, my partner and I have separated. It had to be done. Things were getting askew, to put it politely.

There’s so much shit (to put it impolitely) to deal with. Homeboy has got serious issues. I feel like I have been there already, or at least have a good idea of where his head is at. Usually it’s up his ass, meaning, he sees and cares for nothing but himself. I mean, he cares for me, he cares for his parents. He hates to be told what to do by them and he hates what is suggested for him by me.

Bill stopped finding me sexually attractive, and in feeling this way was compelled to find what was missing from our relationship amongst strangers in booth stores. Of course my friends told me he was fucking around, but I didn’t want to believe it, choosing to think it was our schedules. I made myself available to him 24/7. He made himself available to me for about 45 minutes a day.

But still I love him. He supports me I suppose, he supposes. But we both definitely need counseling. And it is up to him to arrange it, since he’s the one with the abstract schedule.

He is a decent guy. There is innocence to him that I find charming and irresistible. A lot of friends don’t see it. And he’s jealous of my relationships with Julio and Pedro. The fact that I’ve known them for almost 20 years doesn’t seem to matter. He’s jealous.

But as I’ve told him before, we have a different relationship than the friendship with Julio and Pedro. In fact it’s probably better. I want to be with him for the rest of my life and I think he wants the same thing.

And it’s about life. To share one’s life with someone is a great act of humanity. I don’t think he understands that. He just has so many damn issues. He doesn’t realize that when his parents or myself say something about what he should do, it’s all for what’s good for him, the best for him.

But he doesn’t see past his nose, and what he hears in his head is nagging and people telling him what to do. Jeezy Creezy, he’s 42 and still behaving like a rebellious teenager.

And I do love him very much. Relationships are work and this is where it becomes really hard work. We both need to put our shoulders to the grindstone.

Since August 30, and today is October 14, I’ve become stronger. I always felt, not superior but more knowledgeable in life matters when being with Bill. I am giving him one more chance and if it doesn’t work, then that’s that. I plan to make it work. I want him to make it work as well. I’m surprised that we’re not in couples counseling yet.

10.14.05 b

Dear You (A)

Dear You

Ok, so I didn’t remember to write yesterday. I was so damn tired. More rain, never stopping, made my bones ache. So tired. It was a washed out day. Interviews cancelled, then rescheduled. Dopey doofus me feeling. Lot’s of the usual bullshit. No way to figure out how to start. Had a meeting with someone on line who just exhausted me. I for once ran out of things to say, and if I wasn’t so tired, I would’ve run away.

We met at the Time Warner Center by Columbus Circle at Davidoff. We both smoke cigars, so that was out touchstone. But it didn’t go any farther than cigar talk, the basics, no gar sex talk, just, “I like blah blah blah. What do you like?” I wasn’t looking for depth, and certainly got no stimulation.

But Barry was his name and he was a nice guy. Not my type at all, but nice nonetheless. We wound up walking from Time Warner to 37th and 6th. He certainly talked a whole lot. I oddly enough ran out of things to say. So I said, ‘Really. Oh Yeah?’ a few times. He did drop a few phrases that I use that often, like ‘Doesn’t suffer fools gladly’. No one uses that one anymore.

The interviews which seemed so promising earlier in the week, no longer seem to be that way. I am writing this at work which could mean this item is the intellectual property of Wanker Banker, which accounts for my half heartened effort. No big deal.

The ridiculousness of my coworkers never ceases to amaze me. How they remember to breathe astounds me.
I received an email from B, William Vaseles Charas today. He’s still into Sinead O’Connor and wanted to know what I’ve been listening to. I rattled off Bowie, and quoted “freak out in a moonage daydream oh yeah’. I can see him smile at that. I lived with him for 11 years, believe it or not. As Rand said, 9 years too many.
It wasn’t all bad, but the bad parts showed more and more towards the end. I do look back fondly on the cheap rent.

Supposed to have a ‘date’ with Bill tonight, but haven’t heard anything from him. Perhaps he too will flake. We all do at some time. No response to the email I sent a few minutes ago, perhaps I’ll check again.

Just checked, and no answer. C’est la vie. I will be checking until 5:30.

I should get into detail about what is going on with us, but with intellectual property being what it is, I’ll save it for later.

It’s not easy working with monkeys. Just ask Mike Nesmith. This is day 6 of nonstop rain. Everything soggy. Hometown of Lodi, nearly underwater in the usual spots, Outwater Lane, Panamas, Route 46. Glub glub. Playing the game of nice nice everything fine. The roof is on fire, let the motherfucker burn.
Remind me to tell you of the interviewing fiasco with Office Team. Perhaps I should give up on them and continue my repertoire of being dazed and bemused.


Let’s Panic Later

Let’s Panic Later

I have a problem with caffeine. Specifically Diet Pepsi drunken after 7PM. It will affect my sleep patterns later in the evening. Last night I fell into a deep sleep almost immediately and then a few minutes later I woke up and had difficulty going back to sleep. Narcolepsy? Hope not. Strange things happen in a deep sleep that comes quickly.

I heard a metallic gong-sounding thing, but looked like a frying pan lid. That is what woke me up. So I tossed and turned for what seemed to be a long time. Of course with day 5 of non-stop rain, waking up isn’t that easy.
Couldn’t really get started and missed a few buses, and once in the city, I decided to take the subway to 5th ave and central park south. I looked great in my Sean John suit. I know I know, but it’s looks so damn sexy. But without a raincoat, I was getting wet despite the umbrella. Wind blowing rain in many directions all at once, no matter what happens, you’re going to get wet.

That sounds like a video.

Took the shortcut thru Trump Tower and the IBM atrium, and still soaked. I guess this is how the weather is most of the time in Ireland and England. They can have it. Got to my desk and as usual really started working. I remember thinking about the bonus I may be giving up if I take a new job before November. But with the pseudo Zen rationalization that I uncannily possess from time to time, I figured that the money didn’t exist, and wouldn’t exist until I had it in my bank account, so what’s the big deal? And for once I was right.

People tell me I’m right more often than I think, but I guess I never stick around enough to find out.

Had some strange words with Julio, who believes in me, more than I believe in myself. And on the other hand was Frank, my brother, who can always find the wrong thing to say. Right now I’m scavenging for self-confidence, and with but a few words, only another O’Toole can cut me down to size. I forgot exactly what he said, but I was cut.

Maybe it’s an Irish thing. I’ve felt that a lot of the time, the Irish will not support each other, though if you say anything bad about the Irish….

So I left work at 2:30 for an interview that lasted about 5 minutes. BY that time I was soaked, tired and a bit angry with the Harpies at work. So I took the PATH home and walked to the apartment.
Even more soaked, I was going to dry out this once fine suit, but it looked a shambles. So I went to Center Cleaners, dropped it off, picked up another suit and shirts.

I was expecting to hear from a certain Christopher Hammer, who I’ve been chatting online with for a few years. Lives down the shore, wears suits and smokes cigars. He was supposed to be coming to Hoboken, or at least in the area, But I haven’t heard a stitch.
C’est la vie, it’s pouring out anyway.

Trampled Underfoot

10.11.05 Trampled Underfoot

Hope is a pain in the ass. Hope is a liar. Hope looks like Sandra Bullock. Hope is occasionally nice. She does seem compassionate. But there are the trails behind her. I used to lie a lot. I know how much energy it takes to maintain a lie and it is simply not worth it. But a bleedin brain? Oh c’mon! That’s one of her latest schemes. Hope approached me one day, “My leg is numb, and my arm is starting to feel numb.” So I told her to see a doctor. I walked her to a doctor’s office a few blocks away. She then supposedly had an MRI where they discovered her bleedin brain was bleedin’. She came back the office a day later after an emergency visit to Columbia Presbyterian Hospital with X Rays/. But how many office personnel would know how to read an X Ray? And why would she bring it to work?

Then there was the meeting. I get to work. There’s an email from Hope.
‘If anyone is looking for me I’ll be in a meeting until 9:30 am on the 31st floor’. Ok fine.
There was a power outage on the 31st floor prior to 9:30. At 10AM I was outside having a smoke with the fellas. I see Hope strolling down the street, shopping bag in hand. “Hey Hope, how was the meeting?” “Oh it went well.” “How did you all handle the blackout?”
“Blackout?…I better get upstairs.” One of the fellas who was working on 31 at that time said the people she was meeting with, Serge Lacroix and Helen Devilakos, were out that day. Silly little lying beeyatch.

She also felt the need to reprimand me a few weeks ago, telling me almost verbatim, that the big National Bank of Wishful Thinking, which is slowly devouring Wanker Banker, is looking to clean house. ‘And they have 3 people they want to get rid of and you’re one of them. Your head is on the block.’ So charming. I said, “Fine, they want to get rid of me, let them.” I think she was trying to scare me.

Then came the shit hitting the fan featuring the glorious wobbly nature of Helen “Natalie from Facts of Life” Devilakos. I was given a verbal warning from these feral beasts because of Zelzah Schaffer. That’s Persian for That Bitch. After working there for 3 weeks, she got all up in my face about me being unprofessional. Then Fat Helen and Bleedin Hope sat me down and told me to be more professional. I took it to heart.

I sent an innocuous email reminding the admin assistants to tip the delivery guys because That Bitch forgot to. Sent it to all 6 of them. It really was innocuous. Fat Helen and Bleedin Hope came down on me again. I sat across from Helen at the table and tried to make her head explode. Of course it never happened. Could you imagine the dry cleaning bill if it did?

So I started signing my emails with my full name. Bad move in Bleedin Hope’s brown eyes. The next day, “Why are you being so formal? I want to be your friend. Etc etc” I say, “Hope, you told me to be more professional. So I am. I sign my full name” “Stop it. I just want to be your friend” “Hope, you told me the other day my head was on the block. My job was in danger…” “I never said that! If anything my job is in more danger! I just got a major settlement so I’ll never have to work again…” Huh? “Hope, you said it in Jim Minnick’s office.” “ I never said that!”

I had to hug her and claim to be her friend in order to get out of there. She really thinks she’s getting over. Sandra Bullock can probably pull that off in a cute manner, but Bleedin Hope is sub par at best.

Anyway, I get a phone call from Christina Miro, a woman with whom I work. She calls on Sunday, “I fell down yesterday and I dislocated my knee. I’m on crutches and my leg is in a splint, but I’ll be in, probably a little late.” Ok fine. Feel better. True to her word, she’s comes in hobbled and splinted, only 10 minutes late. She basically sits next to me and doesn’t do much. It’s Columbus Day and it’s quiet. I say to her, “when Hope sees you, she will say something about something that happened to her, and it will be worse than what happened to you.”

I give a story in Hope’s voice, ‘I was swimming thru the Sahara desert when I was attacked by a great white shark. Bit off half my leg. They had to sew it back on with dental floss and a rusty can opener….’ Christina laughed.
Sure enough, a half hour later Hope appears, saying “Oh my god, what happened?” Christina proceeds to tell her, when Bleedin Hope, true colors flying says, “You know that happened to me…..blah blah blah, had to have orthroscopic surgery.”

Bleedin Hope.

If I’m right, and her brain isn’t bleeding that would be a good thing, no? If I’m wrong….I’m wrong.

10.10.05 or maybe 10.11.05…somewhere around there. Didn’t start dating these till after about 5 or six of them. Don’t ask me why. I don’t know.

The Selecter

10.10.05 The Selecter

An odd change of events. I’ve been sending out my resume for a few weeks now, ever since Bleedin’ Hope told me my head was on the block, which she denied a few days later. I told her to go ahead and fire me. She didn’t, so I’ve been surfing the web, sending out resume after resume and not getting much feedback at all. That was disconcerting. And a good number of jobs I was looking at all had pay a lot lower than what I was making.

It really sucks. I had been working at Wanker Banker, almost 3 years to the day. Tuesday. I started out working with Risotto and Jigglepuss. They both left for greener and browner pastures respectively. I saw a few people come and go, to the point where after 3 years, I was old school. I saw the changes in how things were being done, and basically became my own boss.

Old friends would probably chuckle at the thought of me being my own boss, after all, they’ve known the lazy and shiftless John O’Toole, who always looked for the get over. But that was me. It really isn’t me anymore. If you want to pay me to work, I will actually work. Gone are the days of Murdock, doing drugs in the slide room with the Queens Posse. They were actually from Queens NY, not part of Elizabeth R’s battalion, nor an offshoot of the Pink Panthers. They were fun, and we successfully killed many brain cells.

There were other jobs that I had were I measured my happiness at the job by looking at various workers and thinking, ‘Wow, that guy scrapping gum off the sidewalk has a better gig than I do’.

But it had changed the past couple of years and I really started to bloom at work. I did many things that were generally noticed and appreciated. Gradually the appreciation waned, to the point of where I’m at now.
So the big ol’ National Bank Of Wishful Thinking is flexing its muscle and nibbling away at Wanker Banker. And with me in their sights, it’s time that I started to look.

Lately they’ve been starting to look back. I had an interview last Wednesday that I thought went well, and then didn’t think it went well. Today I hear that they want me to meet the realty company, maybe tomorrow. Tomorrow I have another interview at 3, then the realty company at 5

Then possibly a 2nd interview with the Staffing Agency that I interviewed with today. That was a fiasco that worked to my advantage. I wound up sitting there for nearly 30 minutes until the counselor came out and saw me. I spoke with her for 5 minutes and her boss for 5 minutes. They want to see me, possibly Thursday. It would be working for them, manning their front desk. The sticking point can be salary. I want what I want, what I make now (being me I never sell myself at a high price) and they were thinking 4 to 7 thousand less.

I’m in such a holding pattern and the planes are stacking up. What the hell does that mean?
Perhaps, I should be an Air Traffic Controller. Nah, hate uniforms and love to wear suits.
Julio just called, and I told him what was going on. He believes in me, says I can do better. I believe him, though I don’t believe in myself.

‘Sometimes I think I’m god, but then again I’m an atheist, so therefore I don’t believe in myself.’


Man Out of Time

10.9.05 Will You Still Love a Man Out of Time

It has been quite an active week for me. On Monday afternoon, I met Song, who I had been chatting with online for sometime now. We met by the fountain outside the Plaza Hotel and walked into the park. We sat on a bench and talked for about 45 minutes. Song was born in Taiwan I believe, lived in Tokyo, NJ and now in Sydney. He and his boyfriend have been back in the NY metro area for a visit of sorts.

Song is quite handsome and intelligent. He feels his English isn’t so good, but I tried to reassure him that it was a lot better than people that were born here. I walked him to the Disney Store, near where I work, and gave him a friendly kiss on 5th Avenue. We made tentative plans to meet again on Wednesday for lunch. Meeting him that day made my afternoon that much better. Having had such a nice time made me forget all the bitterness that has been occurring with the rearranging of the deck chairs on the Titanic, which is how work has been for me lately.

Tuesday was the big day. Though I wasn’t really into it until I met Julio who reliably bolstered my mood. I was thinking of Bill a lot that day, and a bit blue about it. We were supposed to see Paul McCartney at the Garden, though a week before we agreed it was best that he didn’t go with me. I asked Julio if he wanted to go and he naturally said yes. He called me up to finalize where to meet, and sensed my mood in the tone of my voice.
When we met in Herald Square he was ready to perk up my spirit. We walked over to 8th Ave to what used to be a dive bar, now it’s Charley O’s, a shopping mall bar. It was crowded and we waited for a seat at the bar. And when we did sit, the guy next to us turns, looks at me, and says, “Drew Carey”. So charming. He claimed to be mistaken for ‘dat guy from NYPD Blue’. Nick Turturro. He didn’t.

Julio of course was laughing through out this.

Got to the Garden, sat near our seats, but finally we decided I had to at least take my seat on the aisle, Julio sitting on the stairs. McCartney came out, starting with Magical Mystery Tour, and it was off from there. Non-stop hits. 1000% enjoyable. Tears flowed from my eyes several times from the show. Many beers and two pretzel sticks each for dinner, we were in heaven. I have seen 100’s of Rock and Roll shows, but this was number One in my book. Paul even did 2 Beatles/Lennon songs so that was definitely Gear Fab.

Wednesday I had an interview that I thought went OK. But now that this is Sunday, and I hadn’t heard anything, not even a response to my thank you email, I’m sure the connection I made, was all in my head. I saw Bill for a few minutes outside the office building where he works, and talked about meeting later in the day. He went back inside, I went on my way.

I went to Bryant Park where I was supposed to meet Song, and called him. He was there already, and after sitting for a few minutes went to Moonstruck Dinner on Madison, loud overpriced and boring. But Song was excellent company and afterwards we went back to Bryant Park to sit down and so I could smoke a cigar. Many good looking men too, checking out Song and myself it seemed. He was going to Toys R Us in Time Square and since I had never been there, I decided to tagalong.

Upon walking into the store, a young woman offered to take our picture so we said yes. We posed in front of the Ferris Wheel, and picked our pictures after Song purchased an MP3 toy. Nice picture, we both looked good.

We parted ways at the Port Authority, Song getting on his bus, me on mine, back to Hoboken. I called Bill and told him I wasn’t going to make it to see him after work.
Thursday was hellish at work. More of the same nonsense, and more deck chairs. Very stressful. I saw Song for about 10 minutes as that was all I had to spend with him. It was sad to see him go, he’s such a sweetheart. He flew away on Saturday.
He took the following photo on Thursday:

nuts 4 nuts

Bill called and asked if I wanted his cousins ticket to a show at the Society for Ethical Culture. I said sure, since I had never been there before, but walked by it hundreds of times.

It was weird, being on what seemed to be a date with Bill. But the evening turned out better than planned. Art Buchwald, Paul Krassner, Bill Crimmins, Lewis Lapham and Kurt Vonnegut all did readings after being introduced by Sarah Jones. Mr. Lapham had some excellent advice, ‘to write everyday, much like a piano player practices everyday.’

I thanked him for his advice afterwards when he was out having a smoke after the reading.
Friday was a breeze, having resolved to write everyday. I mainly laughed and smiled though out the day. It was Friday, after all.
Saturday was fun despite being hung over from Friday night, where I was up real late or too early, chatting away on line, doing an occasional hit and the stray bottle of Heineken.

I was able to get it together and go out into the monsoon. I was off to Cheryl Welch’s wedding. That was a lot of fun, mainly hanging out with Meghan and Jim Mastro. I took the ferry to the wedding and was the only one in Hoboken waiting for the ferry. It was quite choppy and there were a few moments I was wondering if the dock was moving under me, or was it merely a mixed up equilibrium caused from the night before. Most likely, a combination of the two.

A few Coronas helped out, and despite the howling wind hitting the tent situated on the Hudson River, a fantastic time was had by all. Meghan and I couldn’t believe how Perry and Molly Brody had grown. Perry is definitely going to be a lady killer when he gets older. He played a number of Beatles songs on the keyboard on stage and was highly entertaining. Molly played a few versions of Beethoven’s Ode to Joy on a piano located in the hull of the lightship, next to the pier. Such talent and beauty.

Meghan gave me a ride home with the 2 Supergirls, Lily and Ruby in the back seat, getting me home by 9:30.

It’s No Game Part One

10.8.05 “To be insulted by these fascists, is so degrading….”

Well here it is a gray day in Hoboken. Had fun all by myself last night, and now paying a price, on the installment plan. Have a wedding to attend in Chelsea, on a boat. Cheryl Welch, former neighbor and widow of Don Brody, is getting hitched. Jim Mastro is officiating so that should give it a fun vibe. That means Meghan will be there with her Supergirls. It is pissing outside right now. Not a good day for a boat, though it will be docked. I was tempted to have some hair of the dog, and made arrangements, which I wisely cancelled. The problem with that particular dog, is that while you are feeling good, mind dashing all over the place, the crash is full of self-loathing and boy did I feel that last night.
I did sleep for about 6 hours, and then I ran some errands but not operating at 100%. But considering all I have to do is eat, and drink it should be no problem.
Bowie is screaming at me about Scary Monsters, which gives me a fast flashback to 1980, and sitting in the first row, watching Dave in The Elephant Man. Little did I know that 17 years later I’d work with him. That still gives me a tingle.
Have to get in my suit. Decided on the Andrew Fezza, with the tie and cufflinks Bill gave me for my birthday. And rubber soled shoes because of the bleedin rain. Talked to a few hot men, including the one who is probably going to read this. That was a fun chat, started out very hot, ended up with a literary chat. That never happens. I do hope his luncheon went off without a hitch.
I also chatted with Rocky who accidentally sent me a cock pic. I may go see him after the wedding, or I may not. Could be trouble if I go, and he has no phone to confirm his whereabouts….so common sense would dictate that I do not go.
Just go to the wedding, have fun and come home. Simple and safe plan, no?
“Ain’t got no money and I ain’t got no hair…”
I am not going to be Major Tom. Not me. No sir.
Just taking my time. No waiting for the man, so no need to hustle. I don’t have to be the first guest at the wedding. I could make an entrance, though by just showing up in this rainstorm would be dramatic enough. I am debating whether or not to take the ferry or the train. The ferry though costly is nearer to the function, though the water is probably very choppy. And after the Lake George boat tragedy last week, it might not be a good idea. The trains would drop me off 6 city blocks from where the wedding is. But I’d rather be above ground….yet on the water. Time to get active. Spent enough time fartin around and lickin my wounds. Wish me luck.

The Return of the Crazy One

10.7.05 The Return

Last Night, Bill and I went to The Society for Ethical Culture on the Upper West Side. The event was “An Evening of American Satire”, with Art Buchwald, Barry Crimmins, Paul Krassner, Lewis Lapham, and Kurt Vonnegut. Bill’s cousin who works in publishing originally had the tickets and he and Bill were supposed to go. But his cousin couldn’t make it, so I was next on the list I think.

It definitely turned out to be a pretty good evening. All the speakers were good and were introduced by Sarah Jones who was in an off-Broadway show a few years ago called “Bridge and Tunnel”. She was excellent and I made a note to catch her next show, whenever and wherever it may be.

Each writer was entertaining in his own way, and Bill and I agreed that Lewis Lapham was the best dressed. Good to see someone on the left being a great dresser. Lewis said during the Q&A following the main part that a writer should write everyday much like a piano player plays everyday. It struck a chord within me.

Afterwards walking to the subway, we passed a side entrance where we saw Mr. Lapham steeping out for a smoke. I had just lit my cigar and we stopped. I thanked Mr. Lapham for his advice for a writer. He mentioned how Balzac and Kipling and Greene wrote. Totally different styles, yet the main thing is that they wrote everyday. Some wrote 500 words and that was all, some wrote a page. But the main part is to write. Everyday.

And so, that is what I resolve to do. Hence this being the first of many pages of things to write.

Earlier in the week I had gone to see Paul McCartney. Paul was unbelievably fantastic. At several points during the show, I found tears streaming down my face. Tears of joy, to be able to see the man who co wrote so many songs that are part of my DNA. Julio who came to the show agreed that it was quite the fantastic show. The rest of the week was all about Beatles and Macca songs.

I also met Song2. A friend that I had been chatting with online thru I think he has a thing for me, but the feeling isn’t mutual. I like him a lot, he’s a real sweet guy, though he denies this. I have yet to see the other side of it.

I’ll write more down the line about Paul McCartney and Song2, but I do thank Mr. Lapham for his inspiration. Just a few syllables, but they certainly had gone a long way and rest in my heart. I intend to keep this up. I really do.