Well they said that today there was going to be a heat index of 100 degrees which is insane, yet it didn’t actually feel like that. It seemed hotter the past few days. I judge this by the amount that I sweat, and today I simply didn’t sweat as much as I had. There were still sweat stains but I didn’t look like someone threw a buck of water on me. I sweat at night in bed, since I’ve been putting off getting the air conditioner and placing it in the window. I always feel like it’s going to fall out and seriously injure someone. I wrote something like that a while ago.
Last night I went to bed after the news, deciding to put off the Daily Show until the next evening’s broadcast. That way I could get some ‘actual’ news instead of the ‘real’ news from Jon Stewart and company. I went to bed around 11:30 and fell asleep waking up at 3:00AM when Bill told me to turn off my alarm clock. I was right next to it and didn’t hear it, yet Bill did. That set me off a bit and had me waking up every hour on the hour.
Still, I woke up at 6:00 with Bill leaning over for a kiss. Shuffled along, singing my song, side by side. Got onto the bus on time, rode to the city again, reading the New Yorker and trying to pace myself because I wouldn’t have anything else to read for my return trip back to Hoboken. (Sidebar- I just went and check to see my alarm clock, set at 6:00 and the air conditioner was still in the window so there is no need to go downstairs and see to whomever it might be splayed under the air conditioning unit)
The office was a bit odd, with various people coming up to me and complaining about Vivek screaming and yelling throughout the day. Apparently this what it was like at his last company, the Orange Lion Investment Bank. But this is a smaller quieter office. So quiet it felt like people in the office could hear Pedro on the phone with me, all ‘nigga this and nigga that’. It’s his term of endearment for me. I never use the word myself, in fact I’ve been called that more than I have ever called anyone else that.
In fact, the first time I believe I was ever called that was when I was online at the Burger King in Harmon Meadow in Secaucus in the eighties. Maurice Menares, an old friend was on line as well and I hadn’t seen him. It was very crowded and most everyone was of a color that wasn’t white. I felt compelled to fall to my knees and offer 20 dollars to the nearest black man so that I could blow him, I was that intimidated. No wait that was Florida State Representative Bob Allen, not me. Anyway, there were many people of color and all of a sudden I hear, ‘Yo, John! What’s up nigga?’ Oh the looks I got. Not menacing or anything like that, just that I think it was the first time any of us in that Burger King ever heard a white person, me, called a nigga. Good times.
Republic of T, (to your right in the blogroll) has more of the story about Patrick Atkins and Brett Conrad, who I wrote about last night. You can cut and paste, can’t you?