Something’s going on this morning at Hoboken with fire trucks lined up, lights flashing, police cars lined up, lights flashing, who knows? Apartment fire on the west side of the 300 block of Hudson Street.

For February 9, 2026, a Monday, it’s certainly a Maryann Fuentes kind of day. Meaning it’s cold outside, and I am inside drinking ice water. She would be doing that, whereas I am merely hydrated. Those bloody Algerians. The last decent one was Doreen Galante, and she passed away a few years ago. She saw the way out and took it. Some rednecks claim it was the COVID-19 vaccine, but we tend to know better.

The weekend was another stroll through blase lands. I did go out on Saturday, much to my dismay. The trip to the supermarket was a difficult one. The temperatures were in the 10-degree range with a wind chill that cut right through. The leather gloves, which were a topic of my foibles last week, provided scant relief as the wind sliced through them.

I was planning on getting a cigar and shooting a video as I walked, but it was too damn cold. I also “had” to go to the dispensary, which sent me out into the dges of the wastelands of Hoboken. Where the land was barren back in the day, now it has construction, which will tax the overtaxed sewers and pipes, which were not built for more and more toilets and plumbing.

I spoke with my siblings over the weekend. My sister’s call was as expected, my brother’s call was a bit awkward. Sometimes we get in fine, other times it is like pulling teeth. I’m usually alone when I call, but I think my brother has an audience and speaks kindly to whoever is in the room at that time.

I also called my friends Connie and Jane. I last saw Connie in January 2025 before they shipped her out to California. I left her a voicemail in November for her birthday, but reports are that Connie is not doing too well, a bit of dementia, it seems.

As far as I know, Jane was doing well; she’s been taking care of her man, Duke. We last spoke a while ago, and things were shaky with regard to Duke’s well-being. I left a voicemail for Jane as well, happy to have checked off the connection boxes, though I would have preferred to have spoken directly.

Mike’s beloved flew back to the left coast yesterday. The boyfriend arrived Friday evening and left Sunday evening. I was taken aback when Mike asked if I could send his boyfriend in a ride share from the crib in Jersey City to Newark Airport. There was a plan for Mike to come over after the boyfriend left, which meant Mike would need a ride share as well.

I could not afford both and told Mike that. He said the boyfriend did not know anything about my being asked to foot the bill for a later reimbursement, but I am skeptical. I don’t know the boyfriend beyond photos and videos online, and I caught a glimpse of his left ear during a FaceTime thing on Saturday.

It turned out the boyfriend’s sibling was able to forward the cash for the ride share, and Mike did not come over anyhow, which was fine by me.

Bill is supposed to return today, so I guess within minutes of meeting again, he will proceed to drive me up the wall in a bus.

I have finished the Patti Smith book, Bread of Angels. Next up is Jelani Cobb, Three or More is a Riot. I have a crush on Jelani Cobb.

Friday, February 6th 2026, almost broke my neck leaving my apartment building and crossing the street, slid on some ice, but did not fall. Google interpreted that as ‘Dread did not fall’. Well, I have been listening to Bob Marley a lot lately, and he would‘ve been 81 today…

Now at my desk safe and sound, no bones broken. I am listening to Lena Lovich. An old fave from the days of stiff. I bought her albums when they came out in the states I saw her at the Meadowbrook back in the day and one night and the 90s during inner and outer snow storm and went up at a gay bar in Union City with two other guys that I did not know and I still don’t know and they were playing Lene Lovich and they’re quite surprised that I knew who she was.

She’s still at it and was recently on tour with Devo, and the B-52’s, and Thomas Dolby joined her for the Baltimore joint

It is hard to believe, but today is even slower than yesterday. I’ve been here for three hours, and it seems like a lot more than that. I am still reading the Patti Smith book, which I will probably be finished with by the end of the day. I have listened to Lene Lovich, Bjork, and now the Cocteau Twins. Google picked it up as cocktail twins, and Jet Watley used to call them cocktail shrimp. Oh, what a time it was.

Bill is on the road, Mike is at his crib, and I am at my desk at work. I slept very well last night and woke up before the alarm clock, and decided to become active before the alarm went off. As usual, the first thing I do when I wake up, and Bill is not around, I make the bed, starting the day off with an accomplishment. After that, it’s all downhill.

I’ve been snacking all morning, so I’m not hungry. I have finished my coffee consumption and am out earlier than I usually am, and I don’t know what to do for lunch. I do have an idea, but I am uncertain. I’m not sure if I will even be hungry when it’s time to eat.

I am missing an issue of Mojo magazine. I received two copies of the one with the Smiths on the cover, which should have been followed by David Bowie on the cover, but instead, I got the Small Faces on the cover.

Sad to write about Fred Smith’s passing away. In 198,6 Fred and Jim Mastro sold me my Fender acoustic guitar. That night I played at a bar across the street from where I worked. I didn’t do too well on the guitar, though. I sang Dirty Old Town by the Pogues and Walking After Midnight by Patsy Cline.

Fred Smith was also partners with Jim Mastro when the Guitar Bar opened 30 or so years ago. I was too intimidated to talk to him, though he seemed like a nice guy.

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