A beautiful Saturday. Yet with nothing to do. Last night I was so achy what with the rain and everything and I slept like a log, woke up refreshed which is how it should be. Did the usual thing, which according to Harpy, you don’t want to know about so for your sensitive soul I shall refrain from writing about it. Instead I write about how I am avoiding writing about the mundane things in my day to day life. You want flair, you want drama. Well it looks like I seem to be all out of both. Deal with it, yo.

It was a beautiful day, and I definitely didn’t want to sit in the apartment or for that case, I didn’t want to stay in Hoboken. Of course, no one is around to do anything with. I called Roda, but he was busy. Same with Julio. Bill was at his vocal classes and then to his folks, and Juan was working in goddamned Edison NJ. And I missed Song totally, since he flew back to Sydney today. I decided to head into the city and perhaps go to Summerstage. Some New Orleans thing was going on and it was something to do. I fortified myself with things to read, and bought two bananas.

Suit Seller

I spoke on the phone with Meghan Taylor Mastro for quite a while on the phone. The Guitar Bar All Stars are playing a make up date at Sinatra Park to make up for their original show which was rained out. Meghan told me Jim was touring with Ian Hunter in Europe. I’m definitely looking forward to seeing Meghan and Jim and Lily and Ruby. Lily, who’s been working at the Guitar Bar may even jam with the All Stars, though since she works there, she’s an All Star to begin with.

Flyer

The bus ride was uneventful as was most everything in the day. I stopped by Bryant Park just to see if I could connect with the wireless set up there and I couldn’t. I did call Arcata and spoke with Earl for a spell as I walked up Sixth Avenue. Walking into the park I was surprised at the amount of people roaming about. I wound up on the rock of course, listening to some New Orleans music, getting a little too jazzy and watching various other jazz aficionados.

I got tired of that after the first act. My back was aching and certain parts of the rock don’t lend itself for comfort. I walked it off, finding a bench for support. The Soul Rebel Brass Band took the stage and I could hear them quite clearly as the horns meshed with an Asian drum group beat their percussion not too far away. Soon I made my way out of the park after hanging out for a few hours, doing things that I could just as easily done at home. Not that it would have been the same. On the contrary, there’s a certain energy in Manhattan, and a certain energy in Central Park that I simply cannot duplicate in my apartment, or in Hoboken.

As I was getting ready to head into the city I was seized by an absurd sense of the surreal, or it may have been a surreal sense of the absurd. I had my camera and took some interesting photos. Or at least, I’d like to think so.

Asian Percussion

RIP Tony Wilson 1950-2007

Last night turned out to be a lot of fun. It was a magical evening of sorts. It was an ok day and that’s where I’ll start. I left my phone on the windowsill on Wednesday leaving the window open overnight and when the violent rainstorm hit, my phone was drenched. I figured it would take care of itself and dry off and start working again. But no, that didn’t happen. I couldn’t dial 3, 6 or 9, and what’s worse, I couldn’t answer any incoming calls. I had to get a new cellphone due to my ineptitude. I use T Mobile so I had to go across the street where I had a run in a few weeks before.

I knew it was the late afternoon shift that gave me grief so I decided to go before they came in. I wound up getting a new phone, re-upping my contract and I went WiFi. It seems to make sense, they say it’s the wave of the future. So basically my calls will be made over the Internet and there’s supposed to be clearer reception, but no one has called and I’ve been busy trying to find a working WiFi spot. Bryant Park wasn’t really working today, and neither has most Starbucks. Not that I’ve gone into Starbucks, mainly lurking outside the door is where I could be found.

I met up with Billie after work, the plan being, meeting Bill at the concert at Asser Levy Park in Brighton Beach, next to Coney Island. Billie and I walked up to 57th Street and 7th Avenue, Carnegie Hall, on the way, me smoking a Padron and making Billie laugh while we both scoped out the menfolk. It was Bill’s good idea to go to Carnegie Hall, what with all of our practice, it would be a shame to see our talents go to waste. But the hall was under repair and we walked down to the waiting Q train. It filled up at the next stop and even more so at Herald Square. Bill’s idea was that if we got on at the first station, we’d at least have seats for the hour long train ride ahead.

We rode the train from beginning to end, last stop Coney Island. Daft Punk were playing Keyspan Stadium so it was an interesting crowd walking through the station. Billie and I walked up to the boardwalk, and onto the beach where we took some snapshots after getting a little jazzy.

As we stumbled into the park, I overheard Marty Markowitz say something that sounded like the B-52’s, the headliners if you will, will be going on first. I wasn’t sure what I heard and he didn’t repeat it. No one wanted to see Patty Smyth and Scandal, aka Mrs. John McEnroe’s band. It turned out Marty was right and at around 8:10 the B-52’s hit the stage with a really funky version of Mesopotamia. After that it was the hitsville favorite express, with 4 or 5 new songs sprinkled throughout. I was up and grooving and eventually Bill and Billie were as well.

I called Chaz during the first number, he hadn’t shown yet, and left a voice mail for him letting him know that the show had started. He arrived at the end of the next to last song. Poor Chaz. He was off like a march hare, he knows a lot of people. Billie and Bill and I finished dancing to the last song, Rock Lobster of course. We were close to the subway station and had a leisurely stroll in that direction. Then Billie mentioned that someone he had been training with told him about a hat store on Neptune Avenue. It was about 9:45 and I didn’t see the point in going that way, especially since the train was only about 50 yards away.

But I didn’t want to be a wet blanket so I grudgingly walked along. No one knew exactly where the hat store was and we walked to Neptune Avenue, with nary a chapeau in sight. We turned around and headed back to the subway when suddenly Bill decides to cross the street. He walks over to the car which is a Zip Car and pulls out his wallet. I’m thinking he’s going to see if his key card will work on it and I’m surprised that it does. He starts to get in and now I’m thinking he’s stealing the car. No, that’s me, getting all up in my own head. Bill rented the car for the evening so that we wouldn’t have to take a very long train ride back to Manhattan and wind up in the bus terminal waiting for our buses.

They both played me good. Billie was able to get a ride to his hotel in Secaucus and Bill and I were back in Hoboken soon after that. I was in bed by midnight, getting up and going to work in yet another rainstorm. Now I’m home, the WNBA game is actually next week. Bill asleep, and I’m quite tired.

Here’s some pics. Enjoy!