What a beautiful day it has been. Simply splendid. Nice weather, not humid, an occasional breeze.
I slept soundly last night. Bill didn’t. When we left East LA last night it was cool and breezy and the comment was made about having the windows open while we slept. I was hesitant, figuring it that it still might be too hot.
But when I finally went to bed, Bill had the air conditioner on. I decided to turn it off and open the window. I don’t know if the open window prevented Bill from a good night’s sleep, but I think it helped me. I suppose we’ll continue the experiment tonight and see how that goes.
I was up hours after Bill left, and after breakfast and showering I dropped off a suit at the Cary’s Dry Cleaners and went to the bibliothèque. On the way I spoke to Pedro who got back from South Beach the other day.
He had a blast and recommended that I visit there some day. Unlikely, but I did not say no.
In the bibliothèque, Diane the librarian, remembered a DVD she recommended the other day, Role Models starring Paul Rudd. So I picked that up.
But my main thing was the fact that a book about the Beatles, You Never Give Me Your Money by Peter Doggett finally came in. It was released earlier this month and for once BCCLS did not say it was too new, like the message I got when I requested Iggy & the Stooges Raw Power remaster. And I requested it from the Hoboken bibliothèque.
So far so good with regards to the Beatle book. The prologue was all about 8 December 1980, how Paul was shocked, George wouldn’t answer the phone and Ringo was drunk. Cynthia Lennon was staying with Maureen Cox, Ringo’s ex when she got the call.
John’s Aunt Mimi was in bed drifting in and out of sleep, listening to the BBC World Service and not know if she was dreaming or not when she heard about John’s brutal murder. That was the prologue, not I’m in chapter one, where Brian Epstein has died and the Fabs are starting up Apple Corps. The book promises to be full of Apple juice and so far I’ve been entertained.
I sat by the river and read, smoking a cigar. The sweet Karen Kuhl stopped by for a minute. She’s playing the Pier 13 show tomorrow night, but I won’t be able to make it since it ends at 10:00 and I won’t be getting to Hoboken after work until 10:00.
She’s also unsure if she could make the party in 12 days (!), and that’s too bad since I had hoped she’d sing a song or two from the Gutbank days. She’s unsure like I said so who knows? She just might. Then Karen split and Rand pulled up on his bike, and we had a nice chat as well.
It was almost like a talk show, I’m on a bench and a few friends stop by for a chat. Simple premise. It could be done I suppose. I’d be willing to do it on Public Access, even in the winter and in the rain.
It would be a surreal affair and with me being me, I don’t see how it could be any other way.
I always wanted to have a talk show. I remember way back, growing up and sitting in mounds of snow with Donna Foglio and playing talk show. I wanted to be Mike Douglas and she was a reluctant Totie Fields.