Another day, another donut. It’s a Tuesday. So far, everything is going nicely, so good. I am listening to an XTC playlist. I saw them twice with my brother Frank. He adored them; I liked them. We saw them at the Capitol Theater in Passaic, NJ, and a week later at the Palladium on 14th Street in Manhattan, just a block or two from where I am right now.

The Palladium is gone, the Capitol Theatre is gone, and Frank is also gone. The first week we saw the entire bill, Jools Holland, Joan Jett and XTC. Jools Holland, while talented, was not my cup of tea. Joan Jett, though a few of my friends liked her a lot, I was not one of them. And I did not like the Runaways either.

I sat in the fifth row, Frank and Elaine in the fourth row directly in front, and we suffered through ‘I Love Rock & Roll’. XTC were brilliant and I just heard Roads Girdle the Globe in the playlist, and I always picture Frank in my head being so into it. I am not sure if Elaine had the same enthusiasm; it seems unlikely. She was a team player, though.

The next week the same lineup was playing the Palladium in Manhattan, and Frank and I had seats together as well as the brains to avoid the opening acts and arrive in time for XTC. Tickets were bought for the next tour a year later but that was not going to happen, what with Andy Partridge having a nervous breakdown or valium withdrawal or a combination of the two.

And thus ended the touring years of XTC. I was happy to have seen them twice. Frank saw them a year before at the Ritz, but I was preoccupied and Frank did not ask me though I was the one who turned him onto XTC. And Frank no longer with us, I can write it as history. Very McCartney-esque of me, if I do say so myself.

At the fruit stand there was a kerfuffle. There was a UK Hip Hop singer that came in with an entourage. They were fine but they brought their equipment back and forth in a passenger elevator ignoring the freight elevators which are there for that exact reason.

The superintendent of the building where the fruit stand is supposedly had words with one of the entourage and his feelings were hurt, though the lobby security said nothing like that happened and the superintendent is a bit of a drama queen. It added a layer of uncomfortableness over the rest of the afternoon.

I left on time and caught the Path train which was not as crowded as it had been lately and there were no ample bosoms to brush against, much to my relief. I walked up Washington Street and heard someone call my name.

It was Jason Stasium with whom I worked with for a few years in the nineties. Jason is a genuine good guy and we chatted as we strolled up the boulevard, promising once again to meet up for a coffee and a chat since neither one of us are drinkers these days. He was off to see one of his kids perform in a school concert, and I went off to vote in the primary.

This job at hand.

I have been at the fruit stand for over a year. I have my friendly coworkers. We check in on each other, sometimes when we are not working. I remember when I started at the fruit stand I felt I was being set up. Things were a little bit too easy. And there was still the recovery from the minefield of the oh so sensitive children at Barry McGarry.

This world is 180 degrees from that. And I was so worried I even tearfully called my brother Brian telling how unprepared I was for his gig and conessing my self doubt and lack of confidence. The odd thing about that was Brian is not someone I would go to for a confession or an ego boost. And neither was my brother Frank one to confess to.

No fault to them at all, it’s just not how they were wired to be, at least not with me. I’m sure they were both good with their offspring but with me, it was a whole ‘nother world that they would rather not deal with or know about. And once again, I am not finding them at fault.

And work is still the same. I don’t wake up with the dread I used to have. Even Barry McGarry was OK until the pandemic wound down and the crybaby millennials arrived. I suppose the bitch called Danielle Chieffo was/is a millennial. Not sure if they’re alive or not, nor do I care.

The Bicycle Ride.

Yesterday was Sunday, the last day in May. That means today is the first day of June. It had been a while since I last rode my bicycle. Perhaps September, maybe October. In the interim, I developed an anxiety of bke riding. And a fear of ticks.

The anxiety was overcome, after I got the bicycle ready for the road. Tires inflated, wrist mirror set. The speedometer/odometer was still working so no need to change the battery and the noise making device for the handlebars.

I decided to take my time, not racing down the street. I rode down Coles Street where Mike is fond of taking photos. Mike was not there as he was busy with his beloved Wade.

People are still terrible drivers. Making right turns from left lanes. Bicycle riders aren’t much better either. I’m sure the same could be said about me. I made it into Liberty State Park. A great swath of wildlands had been torn down, perhaps anticipating a golf course or some other eyesore for the rich.

I made it to my friend, Tree, just as a man and a woman and their Australian Shepherd were departing. I took some photos of the park, the wasteland and the back end of the Statue of Liberty, as well as myself jumping in the air. That took a while to negotiate the timer of my phone. Out of quite a few I deemed 3 to be worthwhile.

I got back on the bike, riding through more populated areas which was a bit annoying and I was rusty, in dealing with these pedestrians who walk en masse filling the pathways with elderly people and baby strollers. One good thing was that new pathways were newly paved, perhaps for the razing of the wetlands so that the equipment could move smoothly to the destruction of unspoled nature.

They also culled many of the deer that lived in the area. For those playing at home, to cull means to kill. And the fear of ticks was that the ticks usually attach themselves to deer. Now that the deer have been slaughtered, where will the ticks go?

Then Monday morning PATH train.

Last week, for the second time in two weeks, there was a fire in the AMTRAK tunnels to Penn Station, filling the tunnels with smoke and effectively shutting down Penn Station. That meant trains are diverted to Hoboken leaving the suburbanites to take the PATH train. These people are not used to taking that type of public transportation. Oh, dear.

This morning on the platform I had a good idea where the doors would open which would allow me to find a fast seat. Unfortunately a suburbanite woman was next to me and as soon as the doors opened I swept in brushing past her ample bosom, which I grazed with my hand.

She muttered ‘Jesus’ and I of course replied, ‘I’m not him’. She went to one end of the car and could not find a seat so she turned and walked to the other end. As she passed me I did offer her my seat but she just grumbled looking for another elusive seat.

I hoped she wasn’t getting off at my station and thankfully, she didn’t.