Monthly Archives: March 2006

Roll Plymouth Rock

Oh dear. I just realized that I could actually relate to a lot of lyrics by Morrissey and the Smiths. It’s the oddest thing. Morrissey is on Logo, the gay cable channel, and I had the thought if Bill was here he could perhaps gain some insight into some things that I feel. Then that was immediately followed by the thought of how many times in my life I heard a Smiths or a Morrissey song and related to it.

How Soon Is Now really hit my sensibilities back in the angst filled eighties. The lines, ‘there’s a club, would you like to go? You could meet somebody who really loves you. So you go and you stand on your own and you leave all alone and you go home and cry and want to die.’ Yeah that was me a lot back then. I did go to the clubs but I guess I might’ve been putting out a disaffected vibe. But then again, I didn’t look like everyone else or act like everyone else.

Which is also very Smiths like. I saw them a long time ago at the Beacon Theatre with Hiroaki Kimura. We both found them boring and didn’t stay for an encore. Our seats, being at the Beacon and not in the orchestra, sucked. I saw Morrissey after the Smiths broke up and liked him very much. Where I was embarrassed when fans would rush the stage, both males and females running up to kiss and hug him during the Smiths, at the first Madison Square Garden show it was really funny. Gladiola covering the stage.

A year or so later I saw him at the Theatre at MSG, formerly the Felt Forum. The fans were really troublesome and it was no longer funny. Some of the fans near me were extremely agitated and kept stepping on Susan Sher who was naturally indignant. She was mostly un-naturally indignant, and this time gave her just cause.

We fled, probably back to McSwells, licking our wounds and chemically altering our consciousness.

I love the Sigur Ros song that Juan burned for me. A really cool song, HoppiPolla. Speaking of Song, he and Ray flew back to Australia. According to Song they had a really bad drive to JFK. Or at least the driver was bad. I wished them a safe trip and told Song I hope the pilot is better than the driver. I hope they come back sometime soon.

Now I’m sort of waiting for Julio. Told him I had an Almodovar DVD and invited him up to watch it. He was in a ball busting mood and also a bit ill with a head cold. I have Live Flesh and All About My Mother. I knew we hadn’t seen Live Flesh, but he laughably offended when I suggested he watch All About My Mother, a second time. Julio does not understand the concept of seeing a film more than once.

He thinks that because I might watch a movie over and over again that it’s a waste of my time. He should see Bill. Bill can watch stand up comedy DVD’s dozens of times. Sometimes on successive nights. I’ve been known to get sucked into Lord of the Rings on cable.

No think, me damage.

So I don’t know if he’s coming up to watch it tonight or what.
Not that it’s a big deal.
I can watch All About My Mother.

Too late. He’s at the door.

We watched Almodovar’s Live Flesh. Almodovar’s attempt at a Hitchcockian thriller. It was ok. Not his best. The wonderful Javier Bardem was in it. Liberto Ramal, who played Victor, the protagonist was way easy on the eyes. The movie is worth watching just to look at those two.

Then we watched Bil Maher who was merely ok with a so so panel of Seth Green (who I usually like but was obnoxious) and Erica Jong (who seemed quite ditzy) and a republican representative from California (who provided the right wing’s point of view). All rather tepid.

Julio was on a Beach Boys/Brian Wilson vibe which I indulged by playing the instrumental track to God Only Knows from the Pet Sounds Sessions. We actually sang along to it.

Ping Pong Affair

B Complex. Is it all that? I keep forgetting to take it. No visible results. But my sister recommended it, and I trust her more than I trust the Surgeon General whoever that might be. If the Surgeon General was appointed by the idiot in the White House, I definitely do not trust him, or her. I really cannot stand that buffoon.

Will and Grace. It’s time has come and gone. I enjoyed it for a few minutes a while ago but I don’t make an effort to see it anymore. It’s on right now, because I’m waiting for My Name is Earl. Briny Spears is the guest star. None too fond of her either. God it is such crap. Every stereotype about gay men is trotted out.

Earl is great, as is the Office, as is Scrubs. All three shows don’t have laugh tracks, which is great. It was odd the other day. They have been showing an hour of Scrubs and they had it again followed by a crap show called Teachers. After the humor of Scrubs without a laugh track, to watch a show like Teachers was really horrible. Bad script, stupid unbelievable characters, it’ll be a smash.

Then there is the horror show American Idol. Some friends watch it and I just don’t understand why. I am grateful that most of the winners burn out rather quickly and are rarely heard from again. Ruben Stoddard? Justin Whatshisface? I suppose that Kelly girl has some lasting power, but you imagine her in 10 years?

The Office is great. Steve Carrell is great. It is such an edgy show. It is unbearably close to home, or rather close to work. Specifically when I worked with my former supervisor, Bobby Aye. Not that Bobby was as bad as Steve Carrell, but he was almost as anal retentive.

Tonight on my walk to the Path train, smoking my cigar, I was playing the Slits, CUT. They say they could barely play their instruments but I love it and it sounds great. Dave Bell turned me onto them. I also have a specific memory of driving back from New Hampshire with Annemarie and I was playing Typical Girls. She must have wondered what a strange halfling her brother is. I think it was in Massachusetts, that what I recall.

The persistence of memory.

Just got off the phone with Julio. Been also chatting with Juan and Rand. Sending Juan tracks from Brian Eno and David Byrne’s My Life in the Bush of Ghosts. Very influential for me and a lot of other people like the guys from Public Enemy and a whole lot of other heavyweights. Like me!

Juan wants Gang of Four tracks. Sending Gang of Four tracks.

It was funny because I’ve also been chatting with Rand about Eno & Byrne. 26 years after it’s original release it is reissued with extra tracks. It’s an amazing record with all the effects coming from tapes and live musicians, all pre-sampling. I’ve been debating whether or not to get it, and I’m pretty much sure I will tomorrow. Which means some one who might get the original cd might be reading this. Any takers? No Qu’Ran though.

Sweetheart Like You

Nice day today. Finally felt like spring had sprung. Sprung enough for me to forego the overcoat and consider retiring it for the winter. Didn’t hustle again, took my time. No sweat. Nelson Neversweat, that’s me. Had an egg sandwich courtesy of Tony at Smilers. Had a nice short discussion with him about Bob Marley and the state of reggae in general. He laughed hard at my ragamuffin comment.

Walked up to work, listening to Bob Marley’s live version of Want More. Killer kick ass version. Heavy on the balls if you know what I mean. If you don’t, I meant heavy on the bass. And bass is an integral part of reggae music.

It was a nice day to wander around whenever I could, and I did when I had to get some fruit for the office. The temperature was climbing towards sixty. I got back to the office and Helen Devilakos and the PB were waiting for me. This was the follow up meeting to the meeting two weeks ago when we ‘sorted it all out’. The meeting lasted less than three minutes.

Helen: Everything ok?

Me: Yes.

PB: Yes.

Helen: You sure?

Me: Yes we’re cooperating with each other.

PB: Yes, we are.

Helen: Ok. That’s about it then.

A waste of time that allowed Helen to think she’s doing a bang up job as a Human Resources director.

I shrugged it all off. It was meaningless. I continue to be totally apathetic at the office lately. I still do my job and I still do it well, but I really don’t care about how things go. Their loss.

Hung outside a lot with Darrell, a guy who’s doing electrical systems in the building. He usually turns up when I run outside for a smoke. Nice guy. Likes cigars too. We swapped a Padron 5000 for a La Flor Dominicana. I have to say the Padron was in better condition than the La Flor. But he’s a nice guy and I didn’t say anything.

Got through the day when Song called. He and his boyfriend Ray were in Manhattan and were planning on having dinner. They invited Bill and I, but Bill had a wake to attend to in the Bronx. So I went. Ray’s a real nice guy. He and Song seem to compliment each other very well. They are a great couple.

We had dinner at a Thai restaurant on west 48th st. Pongsri Thai Restaurant they call it. Nice place. I was there once before in the nineties when half of it was a gay bar. Now it’s a Thai Restaurant. Funny how that happens. After dinner Song, Ray and I walked through Times Square where I regaled them with stories on how bad Times Square used to be. I told them of my St. Patrick’s Day story about losing my brother in the crowds and how I was the brave little 12 year old making my way through the madness to find brother Brian crying over losing me.

We walked over to the Hippodrome where they gave me a ride back to Hoboken. Quite nice. I told you they were good guys.

Outlaw Blues

There I was, it was almost midnight, and I had no money, with no idea where I was. Maureen dropped me off here, peeling off into the night. I must have said something to piss her off like that. But what it was I don’t know. Jesus, I’m only 24 years old and her I am in no man’s land. I wish I was still in college. It was all so much easier then.

What the fuck am I thinking? I’m free! No worries, nowhere to go. No money either which is worrying though. There I go thinking I can make a silk purse out of a sow’s arse, and then reality sets in, ‘Michael, you need to get your shit together pronto.’

Oh how I hate that voice in my head. A conscience? It pops up from time to time. But what was it that I said that made Maureen to leave me here? ‘Fuck you Michael! I don’t need this shit!’ But what shit was it? I checked my pockets again. I found twenty dollars a few weeks ago, what are the odds of it happening again?

Turns odd the odds weren’t very good at all. No money in these jeans. I walked along the side of the road, heading towards the lights ahead. I guess that’s a town. If my wallet wasn’t in Maureen’s car I’d at least have a bank card.

A car drove by. I put out my thumb to hitch a ride. Not a good idea, but the town seemed far away. I don’t even have my fucking cell phone. Also in the car I bet. Fucking Maureen! Fuck me!

No more cars approaching. Hard to tell distance in the dark. Hard to see at all. So fucking dark I can’t even see my hand in front of me.

I should’ve stayed in the city. I hate the country, I hate the woods. Give me artificial lighting any day.

Shit, I just twisted my ankle. Could things get anymore pathetic?

Wait. What was that? Sounded like a wolf. Maybe a dog. Great. Someone’s lost dog is stalking me, probably rabid. A pit bull probably with my fucking luck tonight.

Wait. I was talking to Gwen Garicki earlier. Maureen hates her. Maureen saw us sitting and laughing, and Maureen probably thought we were laughing at her. Fucking Maureen. There is nothing going on between Gwen and me. She’s a fucking lesbian! What the fuck?

That has to be it. I should’ve listened to Raul and not have anything to do with that crazy bitch. Raul knows the score. He was even engaged to Maureen at some point, before the drugs wore off. I wish he was here right now. He’s a pal. Maybe if I ever get to town, (man my ankle is killing me) I’ll call him collect.

Fuck. It’s Friday night. He’s either working at the bar, or screwing his landlord’s wife. Shit. I could call his brother Alberto, but what’s his fucking number?

Damn. I’m never going anywhere with Maureen again. Never.

I Don’t Mind

Back to work. Stupid Monday. Woke up before the alarm clock. I really hate when that happens. It happened frequently a while ago and I thought all had returned to what could be known as ‘normal’. But no. Not this morning. I even thought it might’ve been Sunday. It wasn’t. Did my morning routine/ritual, only without much hustle. Didn’t really care much you see…

It was a pretty good weekend, now it was back to reality. I ambled on up to Washington Street, waited for a bus since I had seen 2 fly by as I approached. I didn’t care, didn’t curse, I just accepted my fate since I really didn’t have any choice in the matter. Read the New Yorker about some auctioneer at Sotheby’s. It was interesting to read about how other people’s work is to fly over the world and arrange for the sale of very expensive artworks. Me? I ride the bus and the art is wherever I can find it.

It’s like Marcel Duchamp and his Ready-made’s. Art is where you find it sometimes. Yes you can create it, sometimes it’s there already, like a Campbell’s Soup Can or a Brillo Box, sometimes it’s just the way trash falls into a gutter or the arrangement of leaves on a tree or simply graffiti. You just have to keep your eyes and your mind open. Not easy to do sometimes when you just don’t want to see anything at all. But it pays off in spades. Epiphanies abound. And it’s great when it makes you smile or laugh.

I suppose this could be the after effect of going to the galleries with RoDa the other day. The third eye gets opened and you can take it all in. I must remember to get other friends involved in the next jaunt. Perhaps when Annemarie is in the area over the summer we can do some gallery hopping. But given the choice of the beach or a gallery in hot and humid Manhattan, the beach will win out.

As I tried to leave work Song called. It was odd though because I couldn’t hear him, all I could hear was my voice amplified. That was annoying, the amplification. Song could hear me though. I called him back and we plan to have dinner or was it lunch sometime this week before he flies back down under.

Tonight was an evening with Phillip Beansprout. We’re making some progress, and trying to get to the ‘issues’ earlier in the session rather than get all heated to find out, our time is up. We talked about last weeks session and how we are communicating a lot better.

I expressed my desire to have more time with Bill though on the other hand I do encourage him, to drive his buses, go on auditions. You can’t have it both ways, true, but just because I can’t have it doesn’t mean I don’t want it both ways. I would like us to do things together but he’s working all the time, for the betterment of us. It’s a real Catch 22 situation sometimes.

Phillip didn’t seem as exasperated as previous visits, and Bill and I seemed to be in the same wavelength. It ended on an up note and we wound up talking quite a bit about it. Now we are home, eating chicken sandwiches made by yours truly on the George, listening to Laraaji. Nice meditative music produced by Brian Eno years ago. Not quiet new age stuff, but soothing nonetheless. And it goes well with chicken, though the poultry might beg to differ.

Nice Time

Woke up at 4:45AM this morning due to guests from a party on the second floor having an argument on the street. I was going to throw eggs at them but I was out. I stumbled over to the intercom and shouted to them to ‘Shut the Fuck Up!’ It worked and I was able to sleep for a few more hours. I felt bad for Julio who lives right above the party, apparently at some point they even broke out congas and were jamming in their illegal sublet. Luckily for them I’m not a snitch.

I did the bagel run this morning and newspapers. I even got Julio his bagel and paper. He bleary eyed not answering the door, but did call to say thanks and complain about his down stairs neighbors. Tierra del Fuego my ass.

Today was the day of my niece’s birthday party. It is very hard to believe it was 25 years ago that she was born. I remember being at the bowling alley that Monday night when she was born. Many beers were ingested and I wound up with the moniker of ‘punkle’. Punk/Uncle for those playing at home.

She’s a great kid, now a great woman. A teacher in her hometown. She was supported and encouraged by her parents and got good grades, ran track and participated in extracurricular activities. I’m her godfather, though with my atheism, I don’t know if the rules apply and since she’s 25 years old now I don’t think I would have to take care of her like a godparent is supposed to. I’m so proud of her and her sister.

My brother Brian and his wife, Karen with Hillary, Brian and Cassie were there. Lil Brian spent most of the time holed up in Cory’s old room watching the telly. It was good to have most of the family together. Took many pictures too. Too many for some.

Garfield was the usual battleship gray sky. A bit nippy which ensured I wasn’t going to go outside for a smoke. I prepared by having an Arturo Fuente cigar before leaving Hoboken, that a local shopkeeper laid on me in hopes that I would purchase my cigars from him. Very good cigar, but not at all like my Padron 5000 natural, and I wouldn’t get the great deal I get on the Padrons. So maybe in a pinch, but not for a regular supply.

And in a pinch, meaning, I’ll drink Budweiser only if I’m already drunk. Elaine really went overboard on the food, a lot of everything. She was pulling out all stops since my niece’s boyfriend’s parents were there. I guess we were all on our best behavior, but then again we always are when there’s company around. Elaine’s father was there, playing the role of wizened adult, interested in watching golf on TV. He’s earned the right. I do not begrudge him one bit.

Nice train ride home, back in Hoboken in no time. Had a nice Padron and didn’t leave a note in 2R’s mailbox. Now I wait for Julio to watch the Sopranos. Bill’s driving tonight so it’s just me and Julio and the telly.

Waiting On A Friend

Feeling a bit better. Actually a lot better. Slept about ten hours and woke up refreshed. Felt pretty good. Bill ran off and got bagels then did his errands in the city. I hung out, had a nice breakfast and called RoDa to see if we were still on for this afternoon’s trip to Chelsea. He was and we were headed to the Path train at 2PM. A nice walk down 23rd Street where we finally saw the Jean Michel Basquiat exhibition.

Bill from St. Patricks Night

It was great, not the big show that RoDa and I missed last year at the Brooklyn Museum, but still I was great to be able to see the work up close, inches away from your face. What a great talent Jean Michel was. There were 13 pieces total and 2 were amazing, one was very powerful. The powerful one was Untitled. The other was named ‘Self Portrait as a Heel’.

RoDa JOZ

Great stuff. I’m glad that RoDa and I were able to get it together, he’s such a great fan of Jean Michel Basquiat. RoDa is a great artist too, and of course suffers from self doubt like me. Am I saying I’m a great artist? Why not? My father would say more like a great bullshit artist.

After an entertaining stroll with a jazz cigarette we wandered through a few more galleries, really liking Shimon Okshteyn at the Stux Gallery. Funny and macabre, a perfect foil for our red eyed states. The Okshteyn show was paired with Martha Colburn, and she wasn’t as good.

We also enjoyed the Tom Sanford exhibition, which featured hip hop and rock and roll themes as well as a big portrait of Stefon Marbury from the New York Knicks. That was fun. He also did 30 draft pick portraits from 2005 all in pencil and framed quite nicely.

There was also an outdoor exhibition, a group show, called Survivor. It was set up rather haphazardly, almost like an outlaw show. A running theme I believe was Bin Laden Youth. RoDa and I made plans to go visit the galleries next week if possible, starting a lot earlier than we did today. And perhaps the weather will be warmer than it was today.

RoDa and I did a lot of walking, we wound up on the east side, he running into Forbidden Planet and me running into Farfetched so I could buy a present for my niece’s birthday party tomorrow. Jessica, sweet Jessica was able to help me pick out a mirrored jewelry box, despite the fact that I don’t know if she ever has any jewelry.

I also picked up a book called ‘The Bridge of Stars’ containing 365 blessings. prayers and meditations from around the world. I know, it seemed like I’m encouraging religion, but I think Meg would like it, or at least accept it graciously and rolling her eyes later on when she got home, saying ‘Oh my Uncle John’.

RoDa and I took the Path back home, he headed for the Light Rail and me strolling up Washington Street.

Watching Basquiat on cable now.

The True Wheel

Oh the joy of catching a virus from a co-worker who kept coming to work while she was very sick. I left work today, all achy and clammy. Just woke up from a three hour nap. Had something to eat, now I’m tired again and feel like I could sleep a lot more. Friggin Christina just wouldn’t stay home, not out of dedication more out of stupidity. I tried fighting it off, we share a phone sometimes and I kept wiping it down but all it takes is being in close proximity to some germs and voila!

You wind up with me, under the weather on a Friday night. I haven’t heard anything from McMann and Tate, but may have seen a similar position posted online. Similar company, similar duties and a lot more money. I applied for this position as well.

https://www.glocapsearch.com/jobs.jsp?_page=detail&job_id=59875

I just visited the site and I was declined for the position. Now I hope I didn’t jeopardize the job I interviewed for yesterday. That would suck. Then again I’m trying to keep my hopes low.

Bill is off doing extra work on ‘Rescue Me’ the show on FX with Denis Leary. I don’t feel clammy anymore, just tired. I hope its just fatigue. I am supposed to go to see the Jean Michel Basquiat show in Chelsea tomorrow with RoDa. We were supposed to go last week but being the day after St. Patrick’s Day we were all waylaid. Tonight I’m not doing anything, but staying home and exerting very little energy. Not that I have much to exert right now.

All in all in was pretty much an optimistic week. Of course it would have to end in such a manner. The wheel lifts you up and also sends you down. How one manages the wheel is the key.

I listened to Me’Shell Ndegeocello ‘Peace Beyond Passion’ today. I forgot what a great and funky record that is. I was working at Right Track Recording when it came out and played it several times a day. Crossed paths with Me’Shell twice that summer. Once she phoned to speak with James Taylor when he was recording at the studio, and I gushed over the phone when I spoke to her.

She seemed embarrassed despite my compliments. Another time was at Summerstage, when Pedro and I scammed into a VIP area, and there she was sitting alone. I didn’t say anything to her then, just let her be. I’ve seen her a few times live. She puts on a great show in nightclubs, but at outdoor shows her music just dissipated into the atmosphere.

Two of the best times I saw Me’Shell was at the Supper Club and at the Bowery Ballroom. The Bowery Ballroom was fantastic, one of those great rock and roll moments where the music stops time and you are somewhere else in the multiverse. And coming back from that is almost orgasmic, just thrown back into your body after astral projecting.

I’d see her again, she still plays around, more jazzy than rock or funk these days, but she’s always interesting. Just don’t tell her that.

In Between Days

Ok today was another day. It usually is. Woke up tired because I went to bed exhausted, but was able to drag that big ol’ ass of mine to work, only a minute or so. Walked to work listening to the Cure. Played 10:15 Saturday Night a few times. Old Cure song, great hooks. Robert Smith’s hair wasn’t so big then. But who’s was really? The nice bus driver waited for me to get on the bus, as it was about to pull away.

I sat and pulled out the New Yorker. But couldn’t really focus since my mind was still fixated on Spamalot. It really was a fun and funny show. Actually brilliant. Eric Idle really did good. Also Mike Nichols directing helped too. The whole audience was in the palm of their hand. It was an sweaty, hair palm, but they had us nonetheless. Very faithful to the movie, which made it even more memorable. I was surprised at the fact of the Trojan Rabbit and the Black Knight who loses all of his limbs actually making appearances. The final limb-severing scene was hilarious as usual and deftly performed.

Bill enjoyed it greatly, laughing as uproariously as ever. I neglected to mention that my arch nemesis from the office, Linda Natale was there with her husband, a pinkie ring wearer. Linda Natale won a ticket from placing in fourth place in the office trivia competition. Another office drone, Mike sat between Bill and Linda Natale. The show was great enough to ignore Linda Natale and her Soprano-esque husband as well as ignoring Mike.

I am pretty sure Bill and I were exhausted from laughing so much and so hard. I was surprised I found the fortitude to write when we got home.

I woke up and put on the black Sean John 3 button pinstriped suit with the usual Paul Frederick French cuffs and tab collar shirt and a pink silk tie from City of London. I looked bangin’. Of course I did.

I had a job interview this afternoon at McMann and Tate, an advertising company in the western regions of Soho, right above S.O.B.’s. I looked corporate enough for a midtown investment bank yet hip enough for Soho. Clearly I walk the line. It was a beautiful office, with hip people in jeans and sneakers. I do love suits, but the upkeep is costly. Jeans and sneakers are so much easier. I can get back to that I’m sure. A suit every once in a while would be cool too. Keeps the fetish alive, says I.

The interviews went amazingly well. I was very comfortable and they were very nice. I was taken on a tour of the office and it seemed like the job was within my grasp. I even told them how I’d really want the job and how I’d love to work there. Who knows? They did tell me that they had a few more people to see, but they would get in touch with me. Surprisingly I’m not too worked up over it, having been down this road a few times before. Though I never expressed any enthusiasm for those jobs as I had today for McMann and Tate.

I wandered a bit through the village before heading back to midtown. Would’ve been so nice to just walk from McMann and Tate to the Path train to head home, but I went to west 4th Street like the automaton that Wanker Banker wants. I felt optimistic, odd enough been feeling that way most of the week. The glass was half filled indeed. Despite being confronted with the usual daftness of a few of my coworkers, it really didn’t bother me. Christina even offered to stay late so I could go home early and I took her up on her offer.

I did have a plan to go to the Townhouse and show off how good I looked, maybe Oscar Wilde’s, even called up Matt. But realizing that cash wasn’t much of an option having left card at home, I decided to head home to the plastic. Perhaps tomorrow. I could probably get away with wearing the same thing, I doubt that anyone would notice.

So I had my Padron and walked to the Path train listening to Massive Attack, Mezzanine. Having not heard it in a while, I forgot what an urban soundscape it was. It was cool. When I was about a block away from home, their cover of Man Next Door featured a sample of 10:15 Saturday Night. Full circle.

I had to go to the A&P tonight, and I’m pretty sure Thursday night is gay night. Not very crowded, and most of the guys were gay or at least, metro sexual and accompanied by fag hags. Very interesting, no?

Run Away

A pretty good day. Plenty tired from it. Woke up did my think, the usual walk to bus, get on bus, read or look out the window. I usually put some effort into writing it, but now, I am exhausted. Day at work started out shabbily. Got over it, not that I had much choice. After the mellow day of yesterday it would be hard to compare. So I won’t. I’m tired damn it.

There was a contest at work this morning, a trivia contest. Something I’m good at, and it’s known that I’m good at it. 25 questions mostly about entertainment, literature and some films with a dash of sports. What was Michael Jordan’s number when he played for the Chicago Bulls? 23. If it wasn’t multiple choice I probably would not have gotten that one. They were all multiple choice, all 25 questions.

I got 80% of them correct. I am still a B student. Actually I aspired to B status. I scored the highest in the office, and won a ticket to see Monty Python’s Spamalot. Of course I knew that Monty Python had a show on Broadway, just a bit pricey, out of my league. Mezzanine seats are $111.25. And they’re cramped tiny seats. But there is a happy ending.

I was fairly ambivalent about seeing the show, didn’t want to spend the money, but having won a free ticket, well that made all the difference in the world. I told Bill that I had won and he expressed an interest. I didn’t think I could get him a ticket but I would see what I could do.

2 of the IT guys had teamed up and came in fifth place with the trivia contest and I sort of knew that neither one would be able to go, so I offered to buy them lunch in exchange for their ticket. They agreed and I spoke to Jamie about bartering for their ticket. She was fine with the idea, so fine that she suggested that Wanker Banker pays for their lunch.

So we all had burgers! Surprise! Me, eating a burger? And I got their ticket and called up Bill to tell him he was going with me. He was thrilled and as the hour approached, I was getting more and more thrilled.

So after work we made a plan for dinner at John’s Pizza in midtown, a more posh place than the pizza joint on Bleecker Street. More exotic food for me. Bill felt that since I was taking him to a Broadway show, he could take me to dinner. I agreed.

The show was even better than I anticipated. I love the Pythons but feared that Eric Idle might’ve stretched himself too thin. I was happily proven wrong. The show was hilarious, and relatively true to the movie. The audience loved it, the songs were great and the acting was superb. I could probably say a lot more, but like I wrote earlier, I’m damn tired.

Mas manana.

Dirt Off Your Shoulder

Ok. Had a nice long talk with Bill. In depth, hearts on the table. A lot being aired out. It went well. I was pretty tired. We used to have big heart to heart talks a lot, so this was a return to form. It’s usually Bill on the couch and me on the chair. That’s our usual position. I was trying to explain it to Bill that’s how we usually sit, and how we don’t talk enough anymore and that’s bad. It’s actually hard to explain but I had to break it down, saying Talking Good. Not Talking, Bad.

That was humorous. But actually it all had a fantastic effect on today. I was actually in a good mood, having slept very well last night. I walked to the bus stop having missed one and caught one soon after. Walked up Eight Avenue and over to the east side. Bought a bagel, had some coffee. An easy going walk, playing Bob Dylan’s ‘Blonde on Blonde’. Juan and I watched the No Direction Home DVD. Juan not a Dylan fan, but hopefully got some insight watching the DVD.

Knowing Juan, I’d bet that he didn’t.

Lot’s of great footage from the sixties. Great live concert footage from the 1966 tour where every show they had played, Dylan and the Hawks were roundly booed.

I wasn’t that much into Dylan back in the day. I only knew a handful of songs. I do know some people that loved his music though. Ann Boyles would sometimes spend nights playing Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlands. That’s my main recollection. Back when I worked with Ann, I was definitely not into Bob at all.

Went with ex-roommate William to see Patti Smith open up for Bob in the nineties. We left during Dylan’s set. That’s something I regret, but I guess the timing wasn’t right.

Now I pretty much dig Bob and would love to see him again. He’s doing the rounds this spring and summer playing state fairs with Merle Haggard.

Work was a walk in the park. Not literally. I was fairly easygoing, nothing much pissing me off. Saw some various friends that I see smoking outside. Don’t really know their names, which would make it personal. We make it impersonal. Occasionally someone is out there furiously smoking about the usual office bullshit. Who am I kidding? That’s ME!

Now enjoying a low key Tuesday evening, some good shows on the telly, now I sit listening to Parliament’s Greatest Hits. Another band that totally escaped me before, but now, I do love what I hear. Tis truly would be a hollower world without the P-Funk.
Make my funk the P Funk, I want to get funked up. Make my funk the P Funk, I want my funk uncut.

Were truer words ever spoken? Feeling pretty mellow, funky. Now listening to The Grey Album, the fabled mix of the Beatles ‘White Album’ with Jay-Z’s ‘Black Album’. An illegal item to have. The Fabs sued Danger Mouse, the creator. Jay Z put out an accapella disc so dj’s could put their own shit behind it. Danger Mouse made it Grey. It really is quite an amazing thing!

It’s INTENSE.

Burn Down The Mission

Just had a greasy bowl of Penne pasta, Pesto sauce and chicken. Quite good, but winds up sitting in your stomach as a ball of greasy dough. Not very appealing but should stave off the hypoglycemic demons. Also taking the opportunity to write right now because I probably won’t feel like writing much after tonights counseling session with your favorite shrink and mine, Mr. Philip Beansprout.

Yes, the same Philip Beansprout who said that when I get upset I turn to whatzits. That’s funny because I’ve been quite upset lately and haven’t really gotten laid at all. Oh but he has that special magic paper that enables him to know it all, so I must be wrong. And Bill played accompaniment to Phil’s statement, and Bill would know too how often I turn to whatzits when I’m upset.

So far my own principle of not mentioning whatzits again to Bill has held up nicely. I haven’t said a word. The reason for that is, because it seems like nagging to Bill and his advisors, i.e. Roberta and who knows who else. Their advice? If he keeps it up, dump him. Brilliant and understanding. Written later: I later found out that it wasn’t primarily about the whozits but more referring to that fact that I keep bringing up the bad shit from 6 months ago.

There is an underlying question to myself, and that is, will I publish this? Doubtful. Or merely make it private so no one can read it? Private! Private! I did that last week, my pen full of venom, published for a few minutes and then withdrawn after Juan concurred saying that it was a bit standoffish. So it was withdrawn and replaced with something innocuous. I’d be so great under pressure!

It really sucks to be in love with someone and not actually able to say what is on your mind. Awww.

Oddly enough, we both share the problem.

The way I’m feeling is that the whole counseling thing seems to be exasperating for ol’ Phil. It is for me too, and Bill could have Monday nights off so he can go do his thing, be it going to seances, or auditions. Has it run it course? Who knows? The insurance is bound to run out in a few more weeks anyhow so maybe the natural death will be the way to go for counseling. Drama! Tune in tomorrow for another chapter of “How John Ozed? How?”

It was a noble attempt if you ask me. Ah, the falling on the sword.I am feeling a heady mixture of antagonism and ambivalence. And not operating heavy machinery I might add. I don’t intend to be standoffish, quite the contrary, I intend to really not say much of anything. Umm, isn’t that standoffish? Of course I could be provoked into saying something. I’m not going to sit there, mute. What are the odds? Got to get my money’s worth. KaChing!

3 more hours to the gallows. Oooh…drama! There isn’t really anyway to say how the session will go. Could be good, could be bad, it’s just after last weeks session I have become pessimistic (moi?) about the whole schmear. And money is getting tight, at least for me it is. I want results! PRONTO!

Did wake up wrapped in Bills arms this morning. That hadn’t happened in what seemed like a while and I had almost forgotten how nice it felt. Awww.

Now it is later. The session was the usual see sawing topsy turvy banana sinclair. (?)

Ol’ Phil must get quite exasperated. There’s a lot of contradictions in most things that we say and it’s a wonder Phil doesn’t throw his hands in the air and kicking us out of his office.

Talked about a lot and ran out of time just as we were getting somewhere. Ain’t that always the case? Aren’t we a pair? You here at last on the ground, me in midair? Where are those laffy daffy clowns?

Anyway, we’ve been talking for hours and we think adopting a baby is the way to go.

Yeah, right.

No, really

Flowers in the Rain

A better day today than yesterday. Though a bit under the weather and the weather is quite gray, the Piper’s Union Local 154 have finally departed. I was able to be more productive and able to mix with society with no ill will. Juan has gone back to school, Bill’s coming back from Mohegan Sun sometime tonight and Julio should be up to watch the Sopranos in a little while.

Back to work tomorrow. Don’t have the usual dread, no knots in the stomach. I’m sure they’ll arrive in time for counseling tomorrow night.

I neglected to mention that Song gave me a set of coasters with Aboriginal art on them. Very nice.

Right now the NCAA is on. A few years ago when I was somewhat more interested in basketball, I was watching a very good, fast moving game. I don’t recall who was actually playing. There was some fantastic move and then they went to commercial break. I picked up the phone and dialed Julio.

The other end picked up and I said, “Yo, can you believe that? That was incredible!” He replied, “Man that was unreal. Hope they replay it” I thought for a second and realized I might have dialed the wrong number. The other end started to realize it too. “You’re not Julio are you?” “ Nope” “Well that was some play though” “Yeah, sure was,” we said to each other while laughing. How often does that happen? You dial the wrong number and start talking and the wrong number knows exactly what you’re talking about.

I still get a kick out of that.

So the Sopranos will be on tonight and after last week’s cliffhanger Julio and I are on pins and needles. Most everyone who saw it was surprised. Many different scenarios from a few of my friends. I do love the show. I saw guys like the Sopranos crew growing up. And its gets weird for me sometimes because they do film certain scenes in Lodi, where I’m from.

A few years ago I scammed tickets to the Sopranos screening for the second season at Radio City Music Hall followed by a big party at the Hilton up Sixth Avenue. It was a very cold night. I had taken Susan from Farfetched and Bill and Julio. We all dressed as nicely as we could and fit in quite well. Saw the first two episodes of the second season, then everyone trooped up Sixth Avenue on carpeted sidewalks.

Susan blagged off saying she was too cold. Bill, Julio and I soldiered on, prepared to eat and drink and mingle with the cast. I don’t recall seeing James Gandolfini or Edie Falco, but creator David Chase was there. Aida Turturro took a liking to Julio, Bill and I took a liking to looking good, smoking cigars and hanging out with guys that looked like made men. The pinkie ring set.

Great food, much wine, a few cigars. A perfect evening. I even told Jamie Lynn Sigler that she was great. Also told Steven Van Zandt that his Sun City record was life changing. Didn’t want to go the obvious route of bringing up Bruce.

I hope to have lunch with Song, hope to go to the gallery with Roda and Tony next weekend, and I hope Juan has a splendid time at school.

“That was intense.”

Coin Operated Boy

Oh the prices one must pay for St. Patrick’s Night. Oh how I paid. The pipers union Local 154 was replaced by a fife players union for the holiday. I was relatively functional, doing chores and whatnot at my own pace, intersped with long bouts of napping.

We hung out Julio, Bill and I mainly on our own computers. I was drinking quite a bit of Guinness. Bill had a pint as well, with Julio drinking his Stella Artois. We unplugged to watch Bill Maher. Got to get some fuel for our leftist beliefs, even if we have to get it from Bill Maher. I admit I am tainted in my regard for Bill Maher, thanks to Rita who met him once at a comedy show and found him to be so Hollywood.

The plan to go to the galleries was postponed due to the fact that Juan and RoDa both were in recovery from the previous night’s festivities. Unfortunately Juan goes back to University tomorrow. Unfortunate in the sense that he won’t be able to join in the art house visit. But Roda’s cousin Tony will be his replacement. And Tony owes me a few cigars, which could definitely be in my favor, whatever that means.

Juan is here tonight. Always good to have him over. We’re watching the Martin Scorcese documentary on Bob Dylan. With a bit of the hair of the dog for the both of us. Last night as I surfed after Bill went to bed, Juan instant messaged me. He had just gotten home and we both chatted hazily online.

For much to long perhaps. Into the wee hours. But he’s such a good guy I didn’t mind and enjoined him in chat for as long as my eyes could remain open.

I also had a good conversation with Bill about going to the gym with him. I had to keep reminding him that I was relatively drunk and what I was saying I shouldn’t be held to in the light of sobriety.

Amazingly enough, this afternoon Bill asked me if I remembered what we had talked about and I was able to recall most everything, not word for word but more like subject by subject. I was impressed, and I think Bill was too.

Does that say anything in particular? Probably not. It was St. Patrick’s Day night, I was hanging out with my boys, i.e. Bill and Julio. Juan provided the bookends. St. Patrick’s Day eve and St. Patrick’s Day post mortem.

Bob Dylan blares on in the background. Just put on Saturday Night Live so Juan could satisfy his Shakira jones. Alec Baldwin is hosting and both Juan and I find him appealing. Bill would too, but he’s asleep. Perhaps dreaming of Alec Baldwin.

Alec Baldwin is pretty funny. Doing a retrospective of sorts of his hosting the show many times, with clips. And Tim Meadows. Juan is nostalgic for Mean Girls, a movie he has yet to bring over in his visits, despite saying that he would.

Perhaps in May.

Running Around

Friday night. No Johnny Kemp. In Hoboken. Bill on the couch watching yet another episode of Law and Order. Me sitting in front of computer writing. Today was officially St. Patrick’s Day. In NYC that means a major parade. I walked up Fifth Avenue, the parade route before the parade started. Usually there are tons of firemen and bands standing around waiting for the parade to start, but being before 8:00 am they weren’t around.

I wore a greenish suit, a black tie, and a scarf that I bought in 2001 when Bill and I were staying at the Empire Hotel by Lincoln Center. We would make time to get away from prying eyes and ears in Weehawken. We had a good deal on the room. Something like 125.00 for Friday through checkout on Sunday. We wandered around midtown that year together, watching the parade. We both bought Kelly green scarves with the word Ireland and the Irish flag on it. So long ago.

This year, I walked alone mostly, wearing the scarf for the first time in five years. I was going to play My Bloody Valentine’s ‘Loveless’ but somehow it wasn’t on the Ipod. Too bad. They were an Irish band. Then I was going to play the Stones. A touch of rebellion. Greatest Hits of course, when they were still rebellious. But after the first chords of ‘Street Fighting Man’ I wasn’t feeling it. I decided on the B-52’s ‘Wild Planet’ Really a great record. My brother Frank reminded me of it a few weeks ago.

I’m sure someone in the B-52’s had some sort of Irish pedigree. Not that it mattered. I am usually proud of my Irish heritage on this day. How could I not be? It is everywhere in NYC. The green stripe painted along the parade route, shamrocks aplenty. I walked around the Public Library to see if the Irish Lesbian and Gay Organization, ILGO, were being arrested because they wanted to march under their banner. ILGO is proud of being Irish. The Ancient Order of Hibernians are not proud of them though.

The leader of the Hibernians was in the papers this morning, comparing ILGO to the Ku Klux Klan or Nazis. ‘Would a black parade allow the KKK to march? Would a Jewish organization allow Nazi’s?’ Who the fuck would want to march with stupid pig headed assholes like this anyway? Unfortunately most of the spectators would side with Hibernians. I grew up hearing there was no such thing as a gay Irishman. Despite the existence of Oscar Wilde and a few others I’m sure. They want us in the closet. They want the closet nailed shut. And they wouldn’t complain if it was pushed off a cliff.

Oddly enough in Dublin, Gays and Lesbians and probably Transgendered folk are allowed and welcomed. Must be a European thing.

A bit fuzzy brained this morning after a few pints with Juan last night. We watched My Name is Earl and The Office. Juan made for good company last night. What a great guy. I don’t want to sound corny, but I see a lot of myself in him. Only he’s way cooler than I was, and is ready to admit that fact.

I remember in the 1970’s, my mother allowed my brother Brian and myself to take off from school and take the bus into the city to see the parade. We were joined by some of Brian’s friends. Immediately after leaving the Port Authority, Brian and his pals made a beeline to a liquor store across the street and bought bottles of Blackberry Brandy. Brian offered me some and I took a sip, believing it was like candy as Brian said. It tasted sweet but not my cup of tea. Still isn’t.

Somehow we made our way past the whores and junkies and whathaveyou and made our way to the parade. We made it to Central Park and Fifth Avenue. In the park we could see the cops on horseback charging crowds of drunken teenagers. I snuck into the Plaza Hotel and used their bathrooms. I wondered if any of the Beatles used the same urinals. What do you want from me? I was a kid.

I made it back to Brian and his pals, drinking their brandies. The parade was the same then as it is now, cold, sometimes sunny. Bagpipes, fife and drums and cold ruddy faces. Somehow between looking at this, looking at that, I lost sight of Brian. I found his friends who could care less where Brian was. I don’t think I got scared, but I didn’t want to hang around Brian’s friends without Brian.

So I knew where the bus terminal was, 42nd and Eighth Avenue. I knew that I was at 63rd and Fifth Avenue. Somehow I did the math. Little me, really innocent looking wandering and weaving my way through the lowest caste of Manhattan in the 1970’s. No one tried to kidnap me or entice me into doing things much to my dismay. I might’ve had a return ticket, because I doubt if I had any cash.

I made it up to the gate and there Brian was, crying and certain he was going to get killed for losing his little brother, the baby of the family in midtown Manhattan. That’s probably where I got the idea of being kidnapped or enticed, from my family. I think even back then, if it frightened my parents or if they were against it, I wanted it. My father saw some of that low life scene from commuting to and from work. Perhaps he skimmed on top of it. Brian’s gratitude was shown by smacking me for losing sight of him. Him, with the blackberry brandy breath.

I don’t think we told our parents about that adventure. Brian out of fear of my parents, me out of fear of being clobbered by Brian.

It wasn’t clobbering time today. And no blackberry brandy either. Just fuzzyheadedness left over from Juan’s St. Patrick’s eve visitation. I had an interview with an agency at 1:00 and was okay by then. Breezed through the interview, was charming and looked professional in that greenish suit. I think I only wear it on March 17. It’s a two-button suit and I think it makes me look sloppy and fat.

After the interview I had a Padron and walked parallel to the parade. I got a phone call from Song. He made it to NYC. We hung out for a little while, he’s another nice guy. We watched the parade together, took some snaps. Then it was back to the drudgery. I asked him up tp the office for a cup of coffee but he didn’t want to.

It was also 4:00AM for Song since he’s been living in Sydney and only just arrived in Eastern Standard Time last night. So he was off to who knows where. I went back upstairs and watched the clock move. Oh. So. Slowly.

Received an email from surprisingly enough, the Persian Bitch. It read as follows:

John,

Have a Happy St. Patrick’s Day!

That’s it. The whole message. I mean, what the fuuuuucccck?

I know we’re supposed to be making an effort to get over the shit in the past and I’ve been doing my bit by avoiding her completely. She realized that she has no friends really anymore. So she turns to me? What the fuck?

I had to reply.

Thanks and the same to you.

Wrote it in a green font. But man was that odd. I did show it to other coworkers, the friendly ones. They laughed. I laughed. But seriously, WTF? Did someone slip me a blackberry brandy?

Now, hours later, Julio’s here on his laptop, Bill sits next to him on his laptop, I sit here on my desktop. The future I suppose. It would get weird if we just start chatting online.

Have a Happy St. Patrick’s Day in cyberspace!

Rebellion (Lies)

Back at home chilling out. Had a burger. If it wasn’t for the George Foreman I’m sure I’d be eating more pizza. Didn’t have one when I was living in Weehawken, and each night I’d pass by Monnetti’s Pizza and have a slice or two, or some other dish. I also wasn’t a block away from a supermarket. Hoboken has many good restaurants and I have many choices when I’m on my way home, but more often than not, I just come home and make my own dinner.

I think I saw Maya Angelou yesterday, and I said ‘Miss Angelou’ but whoever it was, was talking to another woman and walking down the street. Some guy heard me say it and he gave me a look as if to ask, was it really her? The pseud Maya Angelou kept walking in her direction and I continued in the opposite.

Been fairly tired, still not sleeping restfully. Spoke with Bill on the phone who thought I sounded depressed. I was at work so depression could be a factor but no, I was tired. Don’t know why I just didn’t tell him that, but I didn’t. Been dragging my ass around, still doing a bang up job at whatever duties I have to do, but my heart isn’t in it.

I was able to wander around midtown this afternoon. Had to get some keys made so I walked over to a store next door to Studio 54. I tell everyone I go there since the key makers in the neighborhood take forever to find the matching key to make the duplicate, and after searching for an eternity they almost always come up short. It’s true. So the time I’d spend waiting for them to tell me they can’t do the job, I use to walk across town.

Today I had the luxury of having to go to Crate and Barrel and by various items that have turned up missing or broken. That was fun. I was able to go to 54th and Eighth Avenue walk through the park, enjoying a Padron whereas ten years ago it would’ve been a joint, and over to 60th and Madison Avenue. The park was nice, not too many people on a bright and sunny yet cold day.

Felt nostalgic for Christo’s Gates. They were up around this time last year. That brought a lot of people into the park during the winter, a lot more than usual. It definitely stirred up a lot of ideas of what is and isn’t ART. A lot of people did not like it at all. It was in the papers for quite sometime. I thought it was magical and went a few times. Really left me with a good feeling. Left a lot of others cold though. Some people don’t get art.

I do though. I sort of organized a trip to a gallery in Chelsea with Juan and RoDa. And maybe Roda’s cousin, Tony (hubba hubba). Nice guys all. We’re supposed to see a Jean Michel Basquiat show. RoDa and I attempted at the tail end of the summer last year but being procrastinators of the jazz cigarette variety, we didn’t want to stand on a very long line on the very last day of the show at the Brooklyn Museum.

So this should make up for our loss somehow.

Juan is here now, with bottles of Guinness. Awfully nice of him to start up the St. Patrick’s Day celebrations. Drinking on a Thursday night in Hoboken is nice. Not worrying about how I am going to get home from the bars in the city near work. Juan is great company. Song is arriving at JFK tomorrow, in town for a week I think. It would be nice to get the two of them together to hang out. But with Juan’s schedule and Song’s agenda who knows?

Oh and I as I was walking to Crate and Barrel a woman driving rolled down the window and yelled at the woman next to me in a fur coat. Nothing like ‘Fur is Murder’, it was ‘We love you Miss Stritch!’

I was walking down Madison with Elaine Stritch.

At Juan’s Request.

Juan: I am Punk. I am the scene!

John: wow I wish I had your audacity when I was your age.

Juan: Why do you say that?

John: I’d probably be dead by now.

From A Window to a Screen

I slept until 7:00 this morning, which is the time I usually head out the door for the bus. It was great, the extra sixty minutes to just sleep. No hustles this morning. I had an interview at 9:00AM so I was able to take a lackadaisical walk through midtown. Of course the usual paranoia was there. The terrorist paranoia, not the paranoia from too many jazz cigarettes.

Got to another staffing agency early and filled out the paperwork. The agency usually works with law firms but somehow I had gotten in. I was polished and professional looking and also able to communicate effectively. Apparently this scored points. The agent and I did the tango, she introduced me to another agent and they both said they work to get me a new gig.

I thanked them and walked out into the once again chilly Manhattan morning. I listened to Mamono Mania, a cd made by Juan. It’s a great cd. He’s such a good guy. I love most everything on it, and what I don’t love, I like. He has some excellent taste in music. We have similar things in common about the types of music. He surprised me with the first track by Ani DeFranco. I like her but never really heard her until now.

I’m glad I transferred the music to my Ipod because it made a great soundtrack for my sojourn around midtown. Got to work around 9:45 and watched the day unfold before me. I didn’t see the Persian Bitch so I was able to avoid her ghastly visage throughout most of the day. I believe she is on the ropes. They really let her have it last night, being exposed of being such a lying, conniving bitch. I was fun to watch. Not one speck of remorse in the way she was brought down. Of course being a wounded animal she can actually be a lot more dangerous.

I didn’t mention that after last night’s meeting, the PB cornered me and stated emphatically that she wants to be friends and coworkers. I think she realized that her allies have dwindled down to one. Make that two since that one is so overweight. I just shrugged and walked away.

I left the office to get some fruit. Mamono Mania filling my ears with fresh sounds I had never really heard before though some of it is reminiscent of music I used to listen to about 20 years ago. Part of me, knowing what I know now, feels an urge to form a band with Juan and make something happen. But he wants the band to be named Keytar and I was pushing for The Penelope Tree.

It’ll never work.

Wandered back to work quite lazily. Not hustling despite the cold. I set about my usual drudgeries, having a smoke with the IT guys when they’d go out. I have a lot of laughs with them. And this afternoon we saw a truck damage the overhang at the Drake Hotel across the street. No one got hurt which made it that much more enjoyable.

Finally I left the office to head home, smoking a Padron and listening to the dB’s. I needed to wind down with something familiar and certain songs of the dB’s were floating through my head. An adequate ending to an adequate day.

Standing in the Way of Control

Ok. Back to work today. I didn’t really care about what was scheduled for me today. There was the meeting with the Persian Bitch and Helen Devilakos. It was supposedly the Persian Bitch’s wanting to put it behind us. So a truce was planned. I agreed to attend. How could I not?

It started late. The Persian Bitch and I circling outside the conference room, careful to avoid any contact. When Helen Devilakos arrived we sat. Helen thanked us for cooperating on the matter. She acknowledged there is a problem and she wants to get it resolved. Ok? She doesn’t want to hear any he said, she said things. That should really not be.

We’re both excellent workers. Helen pointed out that she’s not saying that I am an excellent worker and the Persian Bitch’s boss says she’s a good worker. Not at all. It is an issue of unsatisfactory team building performance. So she thought it would be a good idea to air out our problems.

The PB went first. She doesn’t personally dislike me. She just feels that I pick on her. She claims to be of utmost professionalism, and tries to present herself this way. I had blood in my mouth for I had been biting my tongue. She also was upset because certain people, not me, felt that she was being ultra sensitive.

She doesn’t want to deal with it anymore. Helen threatened with disciplinary actions if it doesn’t work.

Then it was my turn up at bat. I spoke about how often I tried to help her, because it’s my job and each time I was rebuffed. I’m sure they had to do a quick scan of their mental dictionaries trying to find the word ‘Rebuff’. I mentioned how when she first started and I was trying to help her out cleaning a conference room and she insisted on being able to do the job alone, telling me she didn’t want or need any of my help. I said, ‘each time I put a hand out to help, she bit it.’

Oh what a great line. There are a few other good lines but I don’t want to go there. It ended with Helen Devilakos making us shake hands. My hands just cringed when I wrote that. Helen said that once we left the room we were new employees. Nice. The PB went her way and I went mind not looking at each other again. I try to not even see her when I am next to her. I have even gone so far as to have the lobby security call me when she’s coming in so I could just be away from my desk and not have to look at her.

It’s really better that way.

Things got more interesting at the afternoon meeting. Too many names to write, and yes, I’m being lazy. Pseudonyms can be so exhausting. But the gist of it is that the PB got reamed by a few people. I didn’t partake since I had made ‘peace’ with her a few hours before. Even her fat ass accomplice got a piece. Of course Fat Ass turned on the tears but someone, not me, told her to knock it off. Everyone knows she’s a different person in here, out there she’s a beast.

It was great. Then there were ideas and a poster board where we all wrote a word on what we want out of the company. I forgot what I wrote.

That’s where my head is at.

It ended with more of Helen’s insistence on shaking hands. I got out of there as soon as possible and washed my hands.

14th Street

Monday again. Followed the advice I heard as I was leaving the office early on Friday that it would be understood if I called in sick today. And sick I felt so sick I called. Unfortunately no one was around to play hooky with, all I could do was play with myself. Chatted a few times with Juan and a few other irregular regulars on gay.com.

It was somewhat productive in the sense that I was able to scan some job search websites and send out the resume. Yes I am hopeful but wary of rejection, which is always a possibility. The glass is neither half full nor half empty, this vessel seems empty. But there is always a chance, it has happened before it might happen again. Where’s Lou Christie?

Ran a few errands, got some bagels, a woman behind the counter on weekdays, surly bagel makers have Mondays off I suppose. The woman looked and sounded like Edie Falco but it wasn’t. Maybe it was merely a hangover from last night’s episode of ‘The Sopranos’. To top it all off I got a haircut after that. Risky business for me since I hadn’t had a cup of coffee yet.

The barbershop on the corner usually has a few paisans in it and this morning seemed like a convention of the pinkie ring set. Fine with me. I told my barber that I hadn’t heard talk like that since Lodi. He laughed saying they talk like that all the time. Nicky and Vinnie and don’t forget Tony. I felt like an extra on the set of the Sopranos.

I didn’t have much hair to cut so it took about 15 minutes with the Three Stooges playing in the background. I did consider get a cut like Moe’s but my hair simply wasn’t long enough and they didn’t know where the bowl was. Made some pasta for lunch and then headed into the city, with enough time to wander around, perhaps have a cigar and read the New Yorker. Of course I stopped once I got in the city to see if there were any British music magazines out this week having bought Mojo last week. There was Uncut magazine which I snapped up fairly quickly and I turned and headed to the counter, where behind the sales guy was the wonderful blue color of Gauloises.

This was the same store that told me in January that they didn’t have anymore. I’m not complaining, and bought what I could and left somewhat satisfied. Immediately rolled one up and it was heaven or at least something that brought me thismuchcloser to heaven.

Sat in Washington Square Park listening to production assistants and avoiding the point of view of various cameras making student films. So if you’re watching a Sundance Channel short student film and see someone that looks like a cross between Philip Seymour Hoffman and Drew Carey in the background chances are, it is Drew Carey or Philip Seymour Hoffman smoking a Padron.

I met up with Bill and we headed over to see Philip Beansprout for our Monday night therapy. I mentioned the hobgoblins at work and how I played hooky. I also brought up my bad handling of taking compliments. Low self esteem issues that would be better handled in individual therapy rather than couples counseling is what Philip Beansprout said.

Initially when we started the therapy with Philip Beansprout the first session left Bill feeling he was ganged up on. Tonight I knew how he felt.

Last Wednesday I mentioned how horny I was to Bill as we were going to see the Dave Chappelle movie. Bill didn’t want to hear it. At least didn’t want to hear how he thought I was saying it. I didn’t mention the fact that I saw this gorgeous man, 6’5”, dressed right out of GQ magazine, wearing a fedora and smoking a nice cigar. My type of man. Untouchable, unhaveable, but enough to stir up the loins.

That’s why I had mentioned how horny I was. Not to rub it in Bill’s face, so to speak. But he heard it as that, I saw his reaction and decided to swallow whatever it is I was going to say. I had a shit day, saw a hot guy. Let’s talk about the shit day.

So we saw the film, Bill and I had a deep chat before he hopped on the train to stay with his cousin that night. I didn’t mention the fact that I was more than likely hypoglycemic as good doctor Sunshine pointed out since she is my sister and had the same symptoms.

So what I learned tonight is not to nag, not to mention if I am horny. If anything happens it will happen. If it doesn’t, there’s always somewhere else to go. Do I need to keep reminding myself of that fact? Because I feel I might be going elsewhere more often than not. That’s how it is. That’s how it’s gonna be.

Nobody’s Fault But My Own

I was told it would be understood if I took a sick day tomorrow. Jamie, the office manager said that. I don’t know whether or not I will. Julio just left and said I probably will. I don’t know. The job is driving me nuts. Just got to hang in there until Tuesday. That’s when I have a sit down in the morning with the Persian Bitch and Helen Devilakos. Then in the afternoon the staff support meeting where it has been told to me that the Persian Bitch will get her comeuppance.

It would be an interesting meeting. I do know that Helen Devilakos wants the staff to leave their prejudiceness behind and go to the meeting with an open mind. I also know that Jamie wants to expose the Persian Bitch for the horrible person she actually is. So it should be interesting either way. In any event I don’t plan on saying anything. I do plan on recording it.

I really do want to be out of that place. Why am I bothering to stay in such a sorry situation like that? If this is how they treat good employees like myself, then it’s like a wake up call. My mental health and some aspects of physical health are being affected by this job and it’s time for me to go. One of the problems with getting the new job is that I get paid more than what the jobs that are out there are offering. I’m priced too high, and I don’t want to take a pay cut.

I have 2.5 agents working on my behalf, or so I’d like to think. Having worked for a staffing agency I know how these companies run. A good agent will make you feel like he or she is working just for you. You just have to stay on top of them and cultivate a good relationship, just don’t be too pushy or annoying.

I supposedly came close a few times last year from interviews but didn’t quite make the cut. The job search actually started in November 2004, when both Sarah and Fay, two women I worked closely with decided to leave at about the same time. I immediately sprung into action, not wanting to work without the two of them, and got an interview for a position at the Time Warner Center for about 500 dollars more a year. I aced the interview and the job was basically mine, but then I found out I’d have to wear a uniform at the front desk.

I was told this wearing my double breasted Givenchy charcoal gray pinstriped suit. A fave suit of mine, very classy. I couldn’t see me wearing a suit with Time Warner Center embroidered on the breast pocket. Especially for 10 extra dollars a week. Sorry no can do. So I passed. Perhaps it would’ve been a different type of misery than the misery I am up to my neck in presently.

I really wouldn’t know. I’m miserable at work but I do look good, despite wearing my misery on the sleeve of a Hugo Boss suit.

Poses

Last night was a blur. Apparently Bill came home around 2AM and saw Julio and I just chatting away. Total time displacemnet. A good time. Bill went to sleep around 2:30 and I guess Julio left at around 3AM. Talked about writing a script. Just need an idea to write about. I do remember saying that I would write the dialogue and he could write the direction. It could be cool, but we did try this once before and it ended badly. So once more into the breach I suppose. But then again it was drunk talk.

I slept the sleep of the drunken dead. Arising to rehydrate and take a gel cap. Had to get out of bed due to the wonderful bright sunny day. Bill got the bagels and the papers so I staved off the outside world, full of people. I didn’t want the beautiful day go to waste, mind you. I mustered enough energy to take a walk with Bill who was going off to drive his bus.

On the way I spotted a face from my past from McSwells. Midday. Nice guy partied quite a bit with him back in the day. He asked me if I was still working it, and I didn’t know what that meant. ‘You know, people, places and things’ I said sure. Then he was off to get a six pack for he was doing work on someone’s apartment. Midday really didn’t acknowledge Bill, who found Midday to be dismissive. Then again, I was someone he never expected to see at 3:00 in the afternoon.

Here I was on Washington Street, 12 hours after I drunkenly crashed into sleep and still a bit buzzed form the Absolut. I maintained composure, or at least I’d like to think it did. At least I didn’t mention Midday wearing spandex back in the day and sporting what could have been a grapefruit and banana combination. But of course, Midday is as straight as six o’clock.

I picked up dry cleaning for Bill and myself, almost crumbling underneath the sheer weight of clothes. Then I made it home and slept for about two hours. That was quite necessary and paid off.

Now Juan is here. We just watched ’24 Hour Party People’. It was my umpteenth time, and Juan’s first. He loved it. Most all of my friends do. I remember when it was in the theatres, I went on a winter afternoon with Pedro and Bill. Neither one knew of the story of Factory Records. I sure did. They both really loved it. It appeals to music geeks like myself and people that just want to be entertained by a good flick. It’s certainly a left of center film. I recommend it.

Now Juan and I are watching the Rufus Wainwright DVD. He is also into Rufus despite his earlier misgivings. Rufus is another subject where most of my friends that hear him, usually start to really dig him. He really grows on you.

So just a mellow night, a little hair of the dog. Cheers.

Damaged Goods

Ok. Somehow I made it to work. Found a substitute for Gauloises which are officially over and me being so stressed lately I’m not ready and I’m not in any mood to throw away any crutches I might have. So don’t ask. Man oh man oh man. I walked to work after getting off the bus into the city not really caring if I was going to be late. For me to not care if I’m going to be late is a big deal. I hate being late (which shows a difference between me and brother Frank), and for me not to care woo hoo! A big deal indeed.

Found a reasonable substitute for my dearly departed Gauloises, a Danish tobacco with a cartoon of the Prophet whosawhatchamacallit on it. No, not really, but its Danish and from Virginia, Mac Baren. Almost as dark as Gauloises, better than Bali Shag and way better than Drum or American Spirit. With this frame of mind, under stress, under attack I really don’t care. Mac Baren they call it in Copenhagen.

I never asked for your crutch so don’t ask for mine. Dylan Fourth Time Around. I felt so beaten up by the day that I could only find solace in the Beatles and it was so far gone it was the first three Beatle records. Primitive and happy and looking so cool in their suits. In times like this I turn to the Fabs for comfort.

And today was like that. I actually left work at lunch and had a cigar and listened to Please Please Me, their first record. I needed the innocence of that first record. Happier time for me, good memories. A security blanket if you will. I was leaning hard on the Fabs, that’s how my day was.

Today being Friday, for most a good day, for me not so good. I tried I really tried but at lunchtime which was a refuge from the reality of the hell I was in, I had an epiphany. I realized, why should I be fighting to stay at a firm that treats me like shit? Very dysfunctional.

Much like an abused wife who puts up with the bullshit because she has nowhere else to go. I have been looking for somewhere else to go unsuccessfully. Fellow blogger Ron has been somewhat helpful, suggesting that I get an attorney. He’s been through harassment claims before. Though I don’t really know him ZI take his suggestions under consideration.

Now I am drunk. Julio has been here egging me on. Discussing ideas stories, he has some very good ideas about certain things going in inside and outside my mind right now and a few things I will take under consideration. It’s all good as Julio comments on how things will turn out throughout the night. El Diablo he is.

“How you like me now” he says and I just add and try to correct him. It’s a mess yet a happy mess.

Everything’s Gone Green

I think I’m hypoglycemic. I don’t eat and it all goes to shit. The good doctor Sunshine, aka my sister has the same thing when she doesn’t eat. My mood, my sexual frustration yesterday can all be tied to not eating. So I will eat when necessary. Work, which has been pissing me off, is a major factor in the stress level. Today the Persian Bitch insisted that I meet with Helen Devilakos and the guy that the Persian Bitch supports.

So we sat in the conference room and I was presented with the Persian Bitch’s accusations. I book conference rooms when needed. The Persian Bitch told Helen Devilakos that I change rooms that she has booked without telling her. That is not true. If it does happen I find a different room if the room that was booked runs over from a previous meeting. She says I do this to make her look inept. I don’t have to make her look inept, she IS inept. She insists that it happened on more than one occasion.

On another occasion as I’m doing my daily drudgery, stocking the fridge with Poland Spring, her Louis Vuitton bag was in the way and I said, “could you please move your bag?” With heavy sighing and huffing and puffing she did, but I cannot believe she complained about having to move her bag. This chick is a fucking bitch!

Next up was the accusation that I block her way, or jump in her way if I am walking down the hall or through a doorway. More fucking bullshit. I try not to have anything to do with this bitch, why would I want to be in her way and see her freeze dried face? I explained that I try to minimize any contact with her. I mentioned that I was advised to avoid her by her former coworkers.

Now this made Helen Devilakos think that I was doing research on the Persian Bitch. I explained that I am not doing research on the bitch, just that my partner, Bill had worked with her. And one night while hanging out with them, the coworkers found out that I was working for the Persian Bitch and they had advised me to stay the fuck away from her.

Helen Devilakos proceeds to say that this has got to end. I agree. She mentions that the Persian Bitch is willing to sit down with me and get past this. I say that I don’t want to be alone with this woman. Not for what I may do, because I wouldn’t do a thing, more like what she would say that I did. Helen Devilakos says that she’d be sitting in on this meeting. The two of them. Helen and the Persian Bitch. Two women that have knives out for me.

A team building exercise is on the board for Tuesday at 4PM. An outside team builder is going to come in and tell the support staff how to get along. And if it doesn’t work then whoever is not getting along will be fired. The guy the Persian Bitch supports finally chimes in and says how fed up with the situation. He hasn’t seen shit like this since he graduated in 1993.

He says it’s too cliquish. He gets paid a lot of money. Not for this, but for making money. He’s good at it, but his personal observation skills are mainly for stating the obvious. He is a nice guy though. Just don’t hire him for any detective work. Not even in a Clouseau sense.

So there is a team building thing happening and the guy who the Persian Bitch supports suggested we go to it, meaning the support staff, without skepticism. Helen Devilakos agrees and says we should go into the meeting without predjudice-ness. Yes, really, an exact quote. I recorded the meeting with my pocket tape recorder.

Army of Me

Jeez. Such pain, such exhaustion. Work was nearly a meltdown. Just so many people wanting things from me which I have to give, tasks, supplies, phone numbers, conference rooms among others. And give I do. I need a break and I need a new job. I should take a break before I get a new job. That is if a new job ever materializes.

Bill and I made plans to see Dave Chapelle’s Block Party tonight. I was into it, and then I wasn’t into it. Last night I mentioned I’d rather see the movie next week and Bill was cool with that. He was going to the Bronx tonight and his parents tomorrow night so I wasn’t going to see him until Friday. I understand that 48 hours is no big deal and it really isn’t. But with the day I was going through I needed to see him, to be with him, so I suggested seeing the movie as originally planned. Tonight.

I knew it would entail sitting in the dark and not talking to each other but I needed some comfort, some hand to hold mine and perhaps tell me everything was going to be ok. I walked down to 42nd street to meet him and he was happy to see me. I was pissed off since people weren’t walking the way I wanted them to walk and kept breaking my stride. After the day I had, the little things became big things. Oh how a joint would’ve helped. Or a drink, or something to alter my consciousness.

I saw Bill and he knew how I was. I mentioned my libido, which is out of control yet under control. So friggin horny lately and not doing anything about it. And there have been quite a few men that trigger the libido. Not doing anything at all about it. An attempt at being master of my domain.

Bill didn’t seem to want to hear it. He brought up the old try/do situation and it started to break down into semantics. And of course that led to a few words and ended with me shutting down. I was exhausted from the day and not sleeping properly (writing this while a fucking commercial for Lunesta plays in the background).

I know Bill was really into seeing the movie and I didn’t want to ruin it for him but probably affected his enjoyment through my passive aggressive behavior.

I probably should’ve eaten something but didn’t. Just became morose. The big theatre was empty as we took our seats and by the time the movie started maybe a dozen people were seated. Don’t ask me how the movie was. I couldn’t focus. Having difficulty focusing on big screens for the past couple of years. I mean, the movie was ok, but I was in discomfort in my mind and body. The job has been stressing bodily functions, and I was getting a headache from lack of food and my mind was distressed over the fact that I couldn’t get from Bill what I wanted to hear.

Oh my own personal hell, how nice. I sat through the movie, wanting to go to the bathroom, but just couldn’t bring myself to walk out during the showing. So I sat and got more uncomfortable. I don’t know why. I wasn’t terribly engrossed. I even tried to close my eyes and catch some sleep but there’s a lot of rap music playing, which doesn’t really lend itself to soothing, relaxing sounds.

There were some scenes of Dave Chapelle in Ohio, his hometown and I felt I wanted to be there in Ohio. Not New York, not New Jersey. Ohio. Like I’d last more than a month there. The novelty of living out there would probably wear off after awhile, and it’s a red state anyway.

After the movie I went to the bathroom, which filled up and caused me to be pee shy. So like I usually do, I feigned peeing and walked out and waited for the men’s room to empty. Once it did I was able to pee with no pressure except for the pressure on my bladder.

I walked Bill to the 2 train so he can head to the Bronx. We talked and Bill was supportive and understanding. I was tired and felt like I was losing my mind. Hungry from lack of food, tired from the day I told him about how I felt everything was out of control and how I felt like I was losing my mind.

We hugged and parted ways after a few minutes. I did luck out and caught a bus but of course that wasn’t comfortable since I was wedged into the last seat on a crowded bus. Julio called while I was on the bus and asked me something. He said something about a repeat and I thought he was talking about me. He was talking about the TV show, Lost.

Some sort of irony.

Now I’m home, I’ve eaten, I’m alone and I’m tired. I know Bill will be back in a day or two.

I’m just so exhausted.

Lonesome Day Blues

Ok. Not a day to write about but things being what they are, I feel obliged. I had a better attitude today that’s for sure. Appreciating Matt the temp a lot. Cool kid. Lives under Webster Hall. Has a cabaret act at Don’t Tell Mama this month. Also has a blog, which I linked to. Film reviews. Nice style. We had a talk about Brokeback Mountain and I played the soundtrack, which started to bum me out.

The song by Teddy Thompson is great. I put his two albums in my shopping cart at Itunes. Of course he’s down with the Wainwrights. I think he used to go out with Martha. He’s the son of Richard and Linda Thompson. Oh these children of talented parents. I try not to get jealous.

I also recommend David Rakoff’s ‘Don’t Get Too Comfortable’. It’s almost as good as his first book, ‘Fraud’. Wandered around midtown for lunch. Nowhere in particular. Instead of the east side I went west. Exotic. Just to get away from the office. It wasn’t so bad out. Had the Ipod going and walking in the sun. Quite nice.

The other day, Sunday, I was on line at Hoboken Bagels, getting the usual when who is online in front of me? Senator Menendez, who replaced Corzine, when Corzine became governor. I didn’t say anything to him, some customers were deferential, not me. I sent him a nasty email telling him off after he sided with the credit card companies with the bill that makes personal bankruptcy difficult. I was fierce and rude. I told him a great majority of his constituents fall into that category. I’m sure he never saw it, though it’s possible since he was Representative Menendez then.

I also didn’t to trip him on the way out since he was heading down to Belmar to march in Belmar’s St. Patrick’s Day parade. He announced this before he left the bagel store. What a hard working politician. Walk down the street and wave at the people you’ve screwed.

My loins are behaving like spring is here. Why not, the weather’s been so wacky or rather nutty, that the trees are budding. I think it’s happening all over the metro area. The men are getting better looking and bears are coming out of hibernation. And the amount of hits that I’ve been getting are a lot more than usual, which means I’m getting hits. It’s flattering for sure, but then again nonexistent since this is the Internet after all.

I was talking to a fellow blogger Rod and he mentioned that since the Internet most guys (read: gay guys) tend to see sex as an all you can eat salad bar at Wendy’s. That’s almost a direct quote. It’s true. A lot of guys do. Sometimes I’m in the main chat room at gay.com and it’s cock cock cock. Oh my. Then Juan and I will disrupt the natural order of things with our surreal repertoire.

So I am home. I am not the master of my domain. That ended a few days after I wrote it. I’m not complaining. I will be master of my domain once again, maybe next fall. It was Philip Beansprouts’ suggestion anyhow. Oh this frustration.