Sunday morning, I look out the window and watch a cat stuck on the roof a few doors down from me. How it got up there, I don’t know but it’s been trying to figure out a way down. He’s a black cat, looks like Zed. I took a few pictures, went out for bagels and papers came back and the cat was still there. Made some breakfast, and when I was done with the dishes I looked out the window and the cat was nowhere to be seen. I guess the cat figured it’s way down somehow. Don’t see or hear it anywhere.

Now on the phone with Julio who’s telling me about driving his mother to the airport for her visit to Spain. Apparently it all went well. He was understandably nervous, his mother being 78 years old and traveling alone. She made it to Madrid and despite her wanting to make it to the city itself, was met by Julio’s cousin. So she’s settled after a six and a half hour flight. No beach today, no bike ride planned with anyone. A little wake and bake entices me.

Bill came home around 11PM last night. I find myself wondering why didn’t I go anywhere at all? Why did I wait for Bill? Why did I wait for Julio? Neither was around. I should’ve gone somewhere, done something, but I sat around and waited for nothing at all. I should’ve gone to visit Juan and hold his hand while he went to the hospital, but then again I didn’t know he was in the hospital until later last night. He’s been in some pain and had to have it checked out and since it’s his problem and not mine I won’t mention what it might be, I’ll let him describe it at his own bat time on his own bat channel.

An early start for today’s blog, writing before noon, writing before 10:00AM. Previous years with my birthday being so close, this would’ve been my birthday weekend, a few days of debauchery and revelry. Not this year. It could be true that with each passing year the birthday thing becomes more and more tiresome for some. Never used to be that way for me, but then again since the awful events of five years ago my birthday has never been the same. A pall hangs over the day before with a hangover of mourning overshadowing my birthday the next day. I suppose that’s how it going to be. Walking around Hoboken yesterday I heard two different people talking about their respective birthday parties that they were planning for last night. Some girl telling her friend over and over on her cellphone that the friend should be ready to drink and that the party was going to be off the hook.

Bill did mention that he wanted to go to the Italian feast for the Madonna del Martiri. I thought he meant last night so I just sat around watching television, watching a documentary on Jackie Curtis called ‘Superstar in a Housedress’. Jackie Curtis was a playwright and a Warhol Superstar among other things. It was very good and sad to read that Jackie Curtis died at 38 of an overdose, joining Candy Darling and leaving Holly Woodlawn to figure it all out here on planet Earth. Turns out Bill figured that we could go to the feast tonight on it’s last night.

I threw in the DVD of ‘I Wanna Hold Your Hand’ a silly little movie from 1978 about a group of teenagers trying to meet the Beatles and see them on the Ed Sullivan Show. I’d seen it before, it’s one of those silly movies that I rented thinking that Bill would enjoy it. He enjoyed and afterwards I went to bed, waking up to watch a cat wander around a rooftop trying to figure out how to get down. I myself, wander around my apartment, around Hoboken trying to figure out, how to get down.

Well I figured it out and it wasn’t really worthwhile to get down since there was no one to get down with. Just got back from walking around outside, the sky is turning gray, very breezy on Pier A where I sat and read the New Yorker. I was there for an hour or so, no phone calls, no one I knew. Very much a dismal day. Nothing to do. Forget about bike riding since it looks a bit like rain, and the Path station at the World Trade Center which would’ve been my bike ride back to New Jersey is closed for most of the afternoon due to the Chimp in Charge making a speech at Ground Zero.

Just a lonely Sunday in Hoboken.

Here’s some pics.