M Train

Hung out with Julio on Saturday night. We had planned to get a burger somewhere but at 8:30, all the pubs and restaurants were packed. We walked by Court Street and that was crowded. All we wanted was 2 seats at the bar, but no go. Then it started to pour, and we made haste to get to O’Neal’s. That was even more crowded and we were hungry, cold and wet. We made it through the crowded bar only to find the restaurant was full also, so we had to navigate through the swinging single Hoboken scene. Not much to look at on either front.

Situated right by the exit was Joe Schmoe and his sister/girlfriend. I tapped Schmoe on the back and said ‘excuse me’. He moved an inch. I accidentally grabbed his ass, which felt like grabbing a handful of cottage cheese. I made it to the door, but Julio wasn’t so lucky as Joe Schmoe tried to kick him. Julio feigned a kick in return and we wandered out into the now drizzly street.

We were standing a few doors down, in front of Mission Burritos, when all of a sudden Julio hears Joe Schmoe’s sister/girlfriend screaming ‘Fuck you you fucking asshole’. Apparently she would have preferred Julio to carry through with the kick at Schmoe rather than a fake out. She of course had to leave the bar and stand in the drizzle to stand up for her impotent brother/boyfriend.

We decided on Mission Burritos, by far the best in Hoboken. And I should know since I’ve tried three different Mexican eateries. We got the food to go, and walked back to my apartment where we ate and watched a Beatles documentary. Julio’s been digging the Fabs since we saw Macca a few weeks ago, me, still totally enthralled by them lads.

We had three beers apiece after we had diet 7Up with our food. After that a few minutes of SNL before I started making it known that I was tired and had to go to bed. Franz Ferdinand was very good and I’m seriously considering buying their records.

Woke up, fell out of bed, made some coffee and it was off to the bagel store and newspaper pick up, and eggs. I need my eggs on a Sunday morning. Called up my brother Frank as I was walking to Barnes and Noble to buy him something for his dinner party at 6:00. Dinner was still on, and I told him the train schedule, what time, I leave Hoboken and what time I arrive in Garfield.

I got him the Rolling Stones book by The Rolling Stones and The Partly Cloudy Patriot by Sarah Vowell. Everything going according to plan as I bought a round trip ticket in Hoboken. Got on the train and when the train was leaving Rutherford, I called Frank and let him know I was going to be in Garfield in about 5 minutes, and sure enough I was.

Fifteen minutes later I’m waiting for someone to pick me up. 25 minutes later, still waiting. It’s getting dark and it’s cold, and still quite damp. I killed the time by listening to my Ipod and taking some arty shots of Garfield which aroused the suspicions of various Garfieldians driving by. Got some strange looks.

Finally the phone rings. It’s my brother Brian, asking me if I’m by Route 46. I say, No I’m at Somerset and Midland Ave. Brian’s’ on the other side of town, since Frank told him I was taking the bus. Yes calling someone when a train is leaving the station does make one think they are calling from a bus. I live in friggin Hoboken, major Train Hub. When I lived in Weehawken for 11 years I would catch a bus going to Garfield.

So I tell Brian I’ll see him at the house, since he has no idea where Somerset is, and I start walking to Pierre Ave. Pierre is pronounced PEER-E, not with a French accent like, ‘Bon voyage, Pierre, mon ami”. I see some guy leaving his house, he’s getting into his car. I ask, ‘Pardon me, do you know where Pierre (pronounced it both ways) Avenue is?” He says, “You speak Polish?” I smile, and say, “No”.

No one walks in the suburbs. They drive to parks to jog. I am the only person walking along the sidewalks of Garfield, nasty jagged sidewalks, trying to find Pierre Avenue when I start to realize, there are no street signs in Garfield. And they’re not posted on Buildings either.

Now it’s quite dark. I’m playing Born Under Punches by Talking Heads on my Ipod when my cell rings again. It’s my niece Cory asking me where I am. I tell her I have no idea, there are no street signs. I mention some sports bar across the street. She asks me what I’m wearing, I say Black Leather Blazer, black jeans and that it’s so dark out she wouldn’t be able to see me anyway.

She says she can see me as she pulls up next to me in the street. I get in the car, a bit pissed off. She’s great, she’s laughing. She knows I’m pissed at her dad, but he gets a pass because he’s been so ill this week. So we park and enter the house, everyone is there, except for Annemarie, Rex and Earl, of course.

Kisses and handshakes all around except for Frank who is wearing the crown of El Stiffo at this point. He’s also in such discomfort that he can’t sit down, so he forgoes the hug from me. Fine. I sit in a rocking chair and watch everyone watch a football game. The only things worse than watching a football game on TV is watching others watch a football game on TV.

I go and take some pics of the TV watchers, my niece Meghan the only one noticing so she smiles for her picture. Hillary and Cassie of course were adorable, my sister in law, Karen looked good as well. Franks’ wife, Elaine was doing her usual bit of keeping everything together. According to Cory, Elaine was the one who realized that I wasn’t there. I guess Brian volunteered to pick me up using Frank’s faulty directions.

Leaving the TV watchers I sat in the kitchen with the wives of my brothers. They wanted to know what was going on in my life, i.e. Bill. I filled them in, explaining that I still love Bill and he loves me. They seemed to understand that. Karen apologized for being so short with me on the phone earlier in the week. Seems she had a lengthy talk with Little Brian’s math teacher, and then as soon as she hung up, the phone rang with me calling. I took it personal, though her apology did smooth things out.

We ate some Raviolis and had bread, and then cake for the birthday boy, who turned 54 on Wednesday.

It was all rather nice and sweet. I was able to get a ride to the train from Meghan and her boyfriend Rob. They are such a cute couple. I wish them many years of happiness. Though there is some really pure Catholic bullshit that they are going through which I won’t include here because it might fall into the wrong eyes.


It was worth the hassle.

10.23.05