A roller coaster of emotion this day was I tell you. First off wound up sleeping later than I wanted to. 6:30. I had to hustle and hustle I did. Quick shower, quick coffee, blue jeans and a Guyabera with a suit jacket. Hip but somewhat self effacing much likes how I am. It was pissing out once again as I walked to the Path train, everything wet and miserable which was my milieu. I stood on the train waiting for it to start moving as it got more and more crowded. I don’t know if the conductor was being courteous or what but the car I was in was the only car with open doors which because of that I was able to get on the train. So who am I to complain?

Got into Manhattan, got a bagel and hot footed in the rain to the office, as I approached the kitchen I could hear the caterer and Terri the office assistant that comes in and helps when she can. They were talking about where the hell I was. I walked in and told them that I am right here and not having a good time of it. I soldiered on having set things in relative place the night before. It was just a shuffle here and a shuffle there and things were in motion. The guest came in right on time when I received a specific request. It has been a year since the clients visiting the office first started working with McMann and Tate, so it was asked that someone, meaning me, go out and buy a birthday cake.

And not just any cake. It had to be close to the colors of the clients company. If this was midtown at Wanker Banker, it would be no problem. But this was west Soho where it is still somewhat industrial and hasn’t been gentrified too much. So no bakeries, or supermarkets or convenient things like that. In the Village there are quite a few trendy bakeries and cafes but none of them would sell me a whole cake as I trekked from storefront to storefront. In the pissing rain. I had an umbrella. A rather big umbrella at that. A promo gift from Wanker Banker, a big golf umbrella in red and white. Company colors.

I finally found a bakery about a half mile from the office after wandering around aimlessly for an hour in the rain. I stopped off and picked up some dry socks and changed when I got back. Then it was out again for this, then out again for that. That’s how it was a lot of the day and when I finally sat down and dried off I was tired. Terry was a big help and I couldn’t have done it without her. Felicia was sick again, this time not from food poisoning as she originally suspected but rather from the mix of meds that she’s been on. It all comes back to the mysterious thing that she’s sick over.

I was able to head out earlier than I usually do. It had stopped rained and the temperature dropped about 10 degrees. Still very windy and I walked to Ninth Street rather than go to the World Trade Center. I got to Hoboken and had my cigar as I walked down Washington Street. It was good to be home and even better to be alone for a few hours.

Today is my brother Frank’s birthday. He’s about 11 or 12 years older than me and we both have a lot in common. We like a lot of the same music, we have similar teeth and we also look alike somewhat. Ok, we look a lot like each other. I remember a few years ago I was walking down St. Mark’s Place past Coney Island High, a rock and roll club that one of the Smithereens was performing at. Dennis Diken, from the Smithereens is friends with my brother Frank, both big Beach Boys/Brian Wilson fans. I know what Dennis looks like and he’s giving me this look that shows how dumbstruck he is, trying to figure out who I am, this guy that looks like Frank. I go right up to him and say, ‘I’m Frank’s brother.’

‘Damn you look just like him.’ ‘Nah, Frank’s better looking’ I say and keep walking. Frank is a good friend and a great brother. He’s been on the radio, WFMU for years. Now he does web casts on WFMU, not broadcasting on the air. That’s a shame, he was one of the last of Mohicans. He used to play back in the seventies, Grateful Dead and Bruce and Steely Dan and all that sort of thing. I was into Punk and New Wave which he was slightly interested in. We made a plan where he would borrow some of my records that I had recently bought and he would play them on a segment of his show called ‘My Brother’s Records’.

The segment grew from 15 minutes at the end of his show to gradually encompassing the whole show, with Frank buying his own damn records, or getting them for free since he was a DJ at a radio station and record companies send them out all the time. We saw a lot of shows together throughout the years, Peter Frampton, The Who, Elvis Costello and the Attractions, Devo and many others. Frank was the one I went to see the B-52’s and then two nights later, Talking Heads at the Dr. Pepper Music Festival at Wollman Rink in Central Park in 1980.

That was a fun night. Afterwards we were walking down to the car and the Winter Garden theatre, when the new smash Broadway musical ’42nd Street’ had just opened. People were streaming outside after the performance, crying and dabbing at their eyes. Frank and I stood across the street laughing thinking that it must have been a terrible show with so many people crying. Frank and I found out the next day that after the opening night performance it was announced from the stage by the producer David Merrick that Gower Champion, the show’s director died that afternoon. The show must go on indeed and it was that announcement that caused so many bereaved people to file out into the streets.

Like I said we didn’t know. What would you think if you’re walking by an opening night show and everyone is leaving the theatre in tears? I just called Frank up to wish him a Happy Birthday. I mistakenly called him during one of his shows. Whatevs, I’ll be seeing him on Sunday for cake.