Tag Archives: The Wire

I’m Housin’

Back to work today. Woke up with a headache from dehydration somehow. Despite hydrating and an aspirin, it went away slowly in about two hours. I wasn’t looking forward to going to work, nor was I dreading it. Still in the netherworld you see. The whole situation taxed me more than I realized. Physically I’m fine, emotionally I was spent. I’m getting better though, so thanks for asking. Though I was only out two days it certainly felt a lot longer.

I wore the suit I always seem to wear when it’s going to rain and rain it did. It was fine going into work, but coming home it was coming down in sheets. Between the morning and the evening, there was a lot of answering questions about how the funeral went. I explained as best as I could, the scramble for money to the playing of Taps. They were sympathetic to it all. The office ran fine without me, thanks to my taking care of most everything before I left on Thursday afternoon. Something resembling foresight.

Perhaps I did too good a job of covering myself since there was very little for me to do. It takes a lot out of you to be busy. Tom Chin had asked how things went and as I started to explain, he of course interrupted. I let him go on with whatever it was that he had to say, even though it didn’t have anything to do with what I was telling him. Yes, Tom Chin is still an idiot. That hadn’t changed. I am almost finished with the book, The Diving Bell and The Butterfly. It’s a little over 130 pages, but trying to find the time to read it has been a chore. I’m almost through with it. I could finish it in traffic tomorrow should the opportunity present itself.

The day finished quite slowly. 4:30 couldn’t come soon enough. It’s still raining, but I’m home drying off. Bill is with his mother. He took the day off. He was afraid to go to sleep last night, though he wouldn’t say why. I could guess a few reasons, but they’re only guesses and unless Bill tells me what the problem was, it doesn’t make sense to try to figure out those reasons.

SPOILER: Last night I watched The Wire which I missed since I watched the Academy Awards. We have HBO on Demand so I went to the last episode listed, thinking it was for this past Sunday. And just when they showed what happened in the previous week’s episode I realized that I had gone too far. Apparently HBO is showing next week’s episode as well for some odd reason. So I saw Omar Little, the homo-thug in a corner shop buying a soft pack of Newports and getting shot in the head by a nine year old boy who was just seen pouring lighter fluid on a cat. A violent end to a violent man, totally nonsensical. No showdown with Marlo on the street, no guns a blazing. What a way to go out, out like a sucka.

One Scotch, One Bourbon, One Beer

It’s back to work for me and millions of other people today. It wasn’t so bad. Last night was a definite chill out time, came back from seeing Cloverfield, and I finished reading the days papers. Almost done with the latest New Yorker so I might be up to date next week when the new issue comes in. The tooth still acting up a bit, not haywire like it was Saturday night but I took precautions. Bill had a bottle of whiskey, Canadian Mist that has been on the shelf since we moved here, and I decided to numb out the tooth with a shot or two. It certainly did the trick, took the edge off my mouth.

I settled in for the night, watching the Grammy’s which is something I hadn’t done in years. Just because the music I generally listen to doesn’t make the cut. But being it was the 50th broadcast I thought something might be happening. Kanye West was amazing with his Daft Punk single, Stronger, was just really good, almost as good as Ricky Martin when he blew the roof off. Not that I’m a fan of Ricky Martin’s music, but he sure is easy on the eyes. He’s also the second musician that I had an erotic dream about. The first was Ruben Blades years and years ago. Kayne West also did a number about his mother. It was written before she passed away a few months ago but it was touching nonetheless.

The Wire came on at 9:00 and I switched over while recording the rest of the awards program. The Wire was once again, intense. Just waiting for it all to come down. Marlo should be getting his, but since this show is relatively true to life, Marlo might get away with it all. Omar, after jumping four or five flights to the ground wound up hiding in the same building in the janitor’s room with a busted ankle. And McNulty kept getting drunk while the reporter kept making up stories though the noose is tightening on his neck with each keystroke. After that hour long trip to the depths of Baltimore, I switched back to the Grammy’s.

I did catch earlier, The Time who were great, playing with Rhianna who sang Umbrella, her big hit single from last year. And Amy Winehouse was very good via satellite from London. I went to bed after watching Herbie Hancock win his Album of the Year, River: The Joni Letters which are his interpretations of Joni Mitchell’s songs. I guess. Fell fast asleep, thanks to the one Advil PM and slept quite soundly. I woke up around 6:30 which is a half hour later than I should. I was in the middle of a dream where I was being chased around a beer hall/refugee camp by none other than Siouxsie from Siouxsie and the Banshees. Normally I’d probably stop and chat but she was pissed off at me for some reason and every time I would close a door on her she would blow the door down with her singing. I woke up groggy and tried to get back to the dream after texting Linda the receptionist that I was going to be late.

Plus it was 10 degrees outside and I couldn’t deal with that right away. No more Siouxsie dream as I lay there trying to get back to the beer hall. I got out of bed fifteen minutes later and that’s when the day began for me. I told Bill about what was going on with my tooth and how I opened the bottle of Canadian Mist whiskey, all covered in greasy dust. Even through an online chat I knew something was wrong and there was. It turned out Bill was saving that bottle for a special occasion. I wondered what kind of special occasion would it take for someone who rarely drinks, his limit is usually one pint of Guinness, to open a bottle of whiskey?

I asked why the bottle was for such a special occasion and he said that some guy he was trying to date/get laid/whatever gave it to him at a Hope and Remembrance gathering and that’s when he wanted decided to save the Canadian Mist for a rainy day. He’s still upset and trying to forget it. There is still more than 2/3 left and I lit a candle, pouring wax over the top of it so he could reopen and break the new seal should he ever cross paths with the enabler of Hope and Remembrance.