Woke up hugging Bill. That was a nice way to start the day. We talked a bit last night, but I think it’s best that Phillip Beansprout puts the match to the flame. Stirs things up. Things like emotions. Also good to use the place as a confessional of sorts. Not that I have anything to confess, but I’m not dragging around a lot of baggage. No that was last week. With time, the load gets lighter. Hugging Bill in the morning helps lift some of that load.
I neglected to mention that yesterday we had special guests in the office special, meaning Bobby Shriver who looks more like his cousin Christopher Lawford. Doesn’t look like Eunice, or his sister Maria. It was an odd thing. It’s probably as close to meeting a Kennedy, as I’ll ever get. Do Shrivers count? It would have been nice to have met John Kennedy Jr. he was a hottie and from what was said after his death, an aficionado of the herbal cigarettes. My brother told me that someone told him that John Kennedy Jr. would go up to Washington Heights and pick up some reefer. The cops would see him and they knew what he was doing but he was who he was, loved by all, the golden boy, so the police would simply look the other way.
Of course none of this could be verified. More than six degrees of separation on that tale. It was sad to have him die so young. I remember hanging out with my girl Miriam in Central Park, reminiscing of the times we never saw John John playing touch football, riding his mountain bike along the pathways, or asking us if we had any extra Rizla. Oh what good times we never had with him.
I recall driving down to Cape May with my sister to stay with our parents for a few days, listening to Kate Bush ‘Hounds of Love’ and talking about how it was to see Jackie get choked up after her daughter Caroline’s wedding. We both agreed that it was bittersweet. Jackie was probably wishing Jack was there while John walked her down the church steps. They all looked great. What can I say? Growing up Irish Catholic, the Kennedy mythos loomed large.
Work had the usual big wigs from Britain in. The CEO paid me a compliment, saying that I do a sterling job in the office. Awfully nice to hear from the man who’s running the company and signing my paychecks. I guess I am doing a sterling job. But I’m not the type to rest on my laurels since I have never had laurels before and wouldn’t know how to make them comfortable enough to rest on.
After work I walked a different route, down by the riverside. I was headed down to see the Eels, who I heard enough about to warrant seeing a free show. Granted I saw some pictures of E, the leader of the band who was smoking a cigar. I thought him handsome. I’ve learned a lesson tonight though, just because someone is handsome and smokes a cigar doesn’t mean they make good music. Man this band sucked. Not what I expected. Read some reviews of them at Town Hall last year, seemed like a mellow type show then. Now it’s was quasi grunge, smugness being driven around in a Prevost bus.
Third rate at best. I think the opening band Smoosh, played a better set and they only played 4 or 5 songs. Then I took the ferry home to Hoboken, into the sunset on a beautiful night.