To write again. Oh, I’ve been avoiding it or putting it off all day. Yesterday too. I had a job interview on Wednesday and it was lackluster. I did well but I may have done too well. Too much personality. They were kind enough to let me know within 24 hours that I was not wanted for the position.

My heart wasn’t in it though I answered their questions with something that resembled enthusiasm. And if they offered the job I may have taken it. But they did not and so I will not. I found out before hooking up with Mike so I had that to talk about as we walked through Jersey City.

It is a bit unnerving, me talking all the time and Mike not saying much, just taking it all in. We had a very good time yesterday though with more good times a comin’ round the bend. The episode of Lawn Hors d’oeuvre that I was an extra in was broadcast last night.

Unlike the episode Bill was involved with a few weeks ago where he was on for a few seconds and recognizable by me, I did not make the cut and wound up on the floor of the editing suite. That was always a possibility and I got paid for it nonetheless. It would have been fun if I made it onscreen but such is life.

There might be other opportunities but who knows really? I have been asked for my availability and when I answer yes, that I would be available, they withdraw their interest. Mike told a few people that he knows about this casting thing and they seem to be getting more time on sets for movies and whatnot.

That’s show biz I reckon.

Today I gathered my steps again, same route as most days. I did have a plan to go meet up with Mike in Manhattan but he put that aside since it was cold and windy and we really didn’t have any idea on where to go. Gone are the days when I’d be hanging with Julio with no particular place to go and stumbling into one spot or another which was almost always a comfortable spot.

Bill doesn’t really do that these days. Pedro would on occasion but he had a car. I don’t think the temperature mattered with Julio. If it were cold we would just hustle along faster. But most of those memories are from spring or summer times.

After Mike put the kibosh on the afternoon in Manhattan I talked myself in and out of going to the city for the cigar social. Bill was home and going to bed early so he egged me on going. I was in I was out. Finally put a sweater on, and a coat and grabbed a bottle of water, and headed out.

I bought my ticket and activated it on Washington Street and waited for the approaching 126 bus to the Port Authority. We had our phones out and signaled for the driver to stop. The bus was empty as he rolled on by, seemingly signaling to catch the next bus. The thing is, there was no next bus coming, at least not within eyesight.

I called Bill and told him of the bus fiasco and he told me another bus would be coming which was a known fact but just not a bus that was visible and no buses seemed to be adhering to the schedule.

I walked a bit to the next stop and if I saw a bus coming I would get on it, but nothing was coming down Washington Street. I walked home thinking the Universe was telling me not to go, which I accepted as I climbed the stairs to my flat.

Zaire Millet. I liked Zaire Millet and I think she liked me. She called me her ‘Guncle’ which meant ‘Gay Uncle’ We had many a laugh and Zaire had a distinctive laugh. She played the Bratty McGrotty game better than this old dog could. I enjoyed her company which existed in the office only. The mailroom staff could not stand her though.

It was more than likely racism. A white Jewish/Italian guy from Queens who lived in his mother’s basement as well as the immigrants of color who in their rush to assimilate, latched onto the worst parts of American culture which was the denigrating of Black people. I did try to contact Zaire when I left but it had no response.

Michael Dissa. He passed away recently. My friendship with him was through Charlie. I first knew Michael when Charlie was working the CD store wing of Pier Platters. I DJ’d Michael’s wedding I did not do a good job. I think of him singing along to The Smiths ‘Stop Me If Think You’ve Heard This One Before’.

When I was working for the Algerian Financial Managers I would see him on the platform for the PATH train. He saw me, I saw him and it never went any further than that. And I regret doing such an awful job playing records at his wedding reception.

Noel Guzman was a guy who I initially filled in for while he was having surgery and recovering from the operation on his broken neck. He would commute from Pennsylvania to work in Jersey City for the Algerian Financial Managers. He had an awful posture, much like a hunchback.

When he was training me before he was out on medical leave I would shadow him and wound up walking slumped over like he would walk. I caught myself doing just that. Not to mock him, just following his lead that intensely.

MaryAnn Fuentes was another gnome from Algerian Financial Managers. She would drink a tumbler of cold water, and complain about being cold. She was nice enough but also one who was quick to drop a dime in a company filled with people loaded with dimes in their pockets. She had a hairdo that resembled Lisa Lisa from the Cult Jam days and was about 5 feet tall in heels. She gave me a bottle of Maker’s Mark as a Christmas present for a few years which explains the unopened bottles of Maker’s Mark in the pantry.

I’m fairly certain that Zaire is still alive, while I am uncertain if Noel or even MaryAnn can be counted among the living.

I’ve known Noah Vale for a long time. He’s seen the best of me and the worst of me and I think he mainly remembers the worst. Mainly things that I had said in the past and regretted saying almost immediately after.

The horse has left the barn and I don’t know where that friendship stands. I guess it’s a day to day, week to week thing. When we see each other it’s pleasant but who knows where it really stands, though I do remember Noah Vale fondly.