Rainy day in Manhattan, and it’s the same for Hoboken. Grey day, not much to look at. And the rain slows down the time, which makes the day crawl even more.

Bill is on the road once more. Right now, Bill is gathering his things for a four-day excursion. He leaves tonight and maybe back on Sunday, though Monday is probably more like it.

I am back at the fruit stand that I usually sit at. There was a camera meeting this morning, and my two cents lasted about 30 seconds.

IDK is in the studio. IDK stands for Ignorantly Delivering Knowledge, not I don’t know. Handsome bloke, friendly entourage. Handshaking is a way to measure how the artist and entourage are. They put their hand out, it’s all good. They don’t, then who knows what the hell is going on? Some think they’re better than everyone else, and while it’s true that one must have a strong ego to succeed in the business, but being nice certainly oils the machine.

Daylight saving time is this weekend. Moving the clocks up an hour means a loss of one hour of sleep. I like to think an afternoon nap on Sunday would set things straight, though I am not so sure how true that is nowadays. I suppose I will find out on Friday.

Mike plans on coming over to babysit me, that is, if his boyfriend does not make the trip back east. It’s good to have him around, as I have stated before. He mentioned coming over tonight, and I suggested tomorrow as a better day. But we shall find out one way or another, as it depends on the boyfriend from the West Coast.

Hoboken Bon vivant Jack Silbert is interviewing one of the Bongos tonight for the Hoboken Hysterical Museum. It’s not Rob, it’s not Frank, and it’s certainly not Jim. It’s the one that I met early one morning in Union Square, awaiting a free bus ride for a March on Washington. Being a fan of the Bongos, I approached this particular one, who recoiled in horror or shame at being recognized. I guess he did not want his career jeopardized by being seen as gay. Did it work?

Memory from the 1980s. My brother Frank, my sister Annemarie, her friend Patty, and I went to a CBGB matinee that featured Let’s Active. My memory has this matinee as not being crowded at all, and as we walked into CBGBs, Frank swore he saw 2 Bongos making out. I didn’t see it, but Frank did, and it was frankly traumatic for him.

This was before the March on Washington, probably early 1980s, as I may have been living with my parents at that time and in the closet myself. I certainly did not see what Frank said he saw.

Dismal and gray, that is the way of today, or so I say.
And it was now revealed that the interview from the Hoboken Hysterical Museum will be postponed until December 31, 2026.

Me and Yancy. Yancy and me. For the first half of the day at least. It wasn’t comfortable, but I somehow got through it. Now he’s in a class on picking fruit somewhere in the hive, and I am with Kimberly. She’s a darling 26-year-old—just a breath of fresh air. I also met her boyfriend at the Holiday party a few months ago and he was the other half of a beautiful young couple.

Things have been proceeding slowly, quietly today, especially when compared to yesterday. I mainly worked with Janis yesterday. She filled me in on the alcoholic shenanigans that Lex Luthor was getting himself into. It wasn’t pretty, especially hearing of the seizure he had in Penn Station. Jimmy Chile did tell me of the barf bag Lex was carrying one night, a few weeks ago, when a group of coworkers went out for drinks after work.

Kimberly is just a love, though. So sweet and endearing, and I am as old as her father. She mentioned that her father and I had a similar sense of humor. I joked that her father and I could do a tour as Salt and Pepper.

Mike and his boyfriend had been planning on going on a cruise in May, but Mike’s new parole officer put the kibosh on that. Mike is disappointed, but he was told he could go anywhere in the Continental United States, so Las Vegas is the next plan, though the parole officer can flex her muscles at any time.

Mike has a little over a year on his parole, so he has to play it cool because the alternative is going back, and nobody wants that to happen, especially Mike. Bill and I don’t want that either, and we’re certain that the boyfriend doesn’t want it.

The day at the major fruit stand has been better than I anticipated. I’ve just made friends with a bloke named Hongki Min. For real. Nice guy. I think he is Korean, but he worked in Singapore, and I really don’t know, and it might be rude to ask. I remember an old friend, Hiroaki Kimura, had words with an Asian bicycle shop owner who did not believe that Hiroaki was Japanese.

I saw an adorable photo of Ysmael Villanueva and Daniel Chieffo on the street. Daniel looks pregnant, perhaps having a Filipino baby with Ysmael. I hope that if baby makes three, the three is safe and sound and loved.

Trains have been crazy crowded; tonight, it was sardine city. It wasn’t so bad. I was at the big fruit stand, and that is the end of the line or the start of the line, depending on which direction you’re travelling. This morning was bearable since I had a seat. This evening, not so much, but not so bad. I am not complaining.

Bill is heading home from Poughkeepsie, and Mike is in Harlem. I am chill in my crib.

Heart of the Country by Paul McCartney, which led into Keith Hudson’s Pick A Dub . There is usually a songplaying in my head, and if it is a dub song, it makes for an interesting stroll down the street. Tonight was Keith Hudson, Pick a Dub. It took a few minutes to know which dub song it was, but I sussed it out.