Yesterday was such a nice day. Nice enough that I don’t feel like writing today, but here I am writing again. If Truman Capote were around and reading blogs he might have said ‘That’s not writing, that’s typing’. That is what Truman supposedly said about Jack Kerouac. I can’t fill Kerouac shoes, he was a 10.5 and I am a 12. It would be painful and awkward and I would be in dire need of an orthopedic shoe. I just returned from busking again, not too busy a day though my guitar playing has improved somewhat. I hadn’t busked since last Thursday.
Like I wrote, yesterday was nice, really a top day. Pleasant weather, nary a cloud in the sky. I did some filing, my nails have gotten back to where they should be. I strolled the waterfront promenade once again, enjoying a cigar. I found a spot and sat and read Lucking Out by James Wolcott. I’m enjoying reading about his exploits with Pauline Kael, hanging out at CBGB’s and a fixation on porn. When I finished reading yesterday, AIDS was beginning to make its appearance. The grim reaper and it’s scythe taking out a generation of gay men and soon to spread to non-gay men.
I remember hearing about GRID- Gay Related Immune Deficiency, or the gay cancer as it was first known. It was the beginning of the paranoia of the pandemic and I was still deep in the closet, living the two lives that I led back in the day. One of the symptoms was a loss of appetite, a wasting away. I told someone that in the future, overweight men will be the desirable set following the death of the clones. It didn’t take into consideration that there would be two sets, the gym bunnies constantly fixated on chiseled abs and toned bodies and the other group being the bears, the hirsute, stocky men.
Having never set foot in a gym I lean towards the bear contingent though I consider myself to be a wolf, and a lone wolf at that. When smoking was permissible in Central Park, when I would have the time to check out the disco skate circle I would be either opposite the bears on Bear Hill or above the bears at the top of the hill enjoying a cigar and enjoying the tunes. Since the smoking ban I haven’t been in Central Park. In fact since I was dismissed from the cigar shack I haven’t gone north of 47th Street.
While sitting and reading I got a phone call from Billie in DC. It had been a while since we last spoke and we kept missing each other on various phone calls. He’s doing well, working and in good health thanks to the government of Washington DC. I told him the story about my dismissal, how the guy who claimed to have no ego was pissed off and his ego bruised by what I wrote exactly. Billie was great and laughed several times at my tale. He knew I was unhappy there and claimed it was god’s doing that got me out of there.
He mentioned that he was thinking about taking a Bolt Bus from Washington DC and having a day trip to Manhattan. That would be great and since I have the time it seems likely that it would happen. It would be easier for Billie to come up here than for me to get to DC since in DC we would need a car to get around where in Manhattan no car would be needed. Billie’s visit is something to look forward to and hopefully we will get together soon enough.
I walked around Hoboken afterwards, talking on the phone with Lois and running into my friend Roger with his wife Dina and their 3 month old son Kennedy. What a happy chubby baby. Dina looked great as did Roger. It was fun catching up with Roger for a while and I walked them back to their car before heading home. Bill was home when I came home, so happy to see me. He was in better spirits than he was earlier. He had gone to Philadelphia on Saturday and while there his wallet was stolen, pickpocketed.
He had enough to get to Manhattan but had to borrow some cash from the producer of the play he is working on. We watched the closing of the Olympics, annoyed with Bob Costas and Ryan Seacrest endlessly talking over whatever as going on. We surmised it was because Americans needed to have things spelt out for them, instead of just showing the images without comment. They cut out Ray Davies singing Waterloo Sunset, and also Muse while postponing the Who, who were mediocre. And still no Elton. What was that about?
05 All Night Long