Ahh. A bit tired, a bit jazzy, and a bit hungover. Took a lot to get motivated today. A cocktail too many last night was the reasonable culprit. I’m not regretting it, I had a good time. I watched Small Town Gay Bar, which was Executive Produced by Kevin Smith. It’s about how it’s the only gay bar for miles in Mississippi and people travel hundreds of miles just to go and socialize for a few hours. I guess we take it for granted up here in this metropolitan area. I don’t take it for granted. I simply don’t go.

Bill came home last night, first time in a few days that I’d seen him. We watched Bill Maher and Bill soon went to sleep soon after. I joined him an hour or so later, laying next to him in bed next to an air conditioner that doesn’t condition the air at all. But it was good to have his body next to me in bed, it really makes a difference to be able to reach out and touch someone. I know he felt the same way. No frottage or anything like that, just a well placed arm across the chest. All pretty comfortable for all concerned.

Waking up was easy, though I guess when the sun came up I had put on my eye mask which allowed me to sleep that much more. Bill was up and about and soon I stumbled around, making coffee and going out for those round rolls of dough with holes in the middle as well as the tabloids. It was hot at 9:00 in the morning and must have sweated a gallon by the time I got back home. Bill was off to his classes and then to stay with his mother. I did laundry and took a nap after talking to Julio on the phone for a little while. Had a deep sleep and a dream that featured a disguised Lesley Robertson from McMann and Tate, hectoring me on the fact that I never gave her a phone call when I said that I would.

It was a two hour nap and though it revived me somewhat I couldn’t really get started and felt I was a few feet behind myself.

Nothing too major. I motivated myself to actually get up off my ass and head into the city, despite the jazz tunes clouding up my head and sheer laziness on my part. Rode the Path train to 14th street and couldn’t deal with the crowds so I walked down 12th street and headed to Farfetched where I hung out and talked to Susan for a spell. Harpy popped in, he was going to Mr. Steve’s for a haircut. He’s been looking rather shaggy lately. Susan got hung up on making a sale so I left and walked towards Tompkins Square Park, stopping off for an Addicted to Chocolate milk shake from Ben and Jerry’s which initially sounded like a good idea, but in reality weighed heavily on my stomach for a bit.

Hooked up with Rand and Lisa and Richard who were promoting the Jack Kirby Museum since Jack was born a few blocks south of Tompkins Square. Good to see Rand and Lisa and good to make the acquaintance of Richard. I wandered around the park, checking out the burlesque show and various vendors and graffiti artists who had hung canvases on the perimeter of the park.

It was too humid to stay in one place and I wandered around the East Village, winding up on a crowded St. Mark’s Place and headed over to the Path train to return home, all sweaty and quite tired.

Tomorrow may indeed be a beach day, so I’m taking it easy tonight, watching The Importance of Being Earnest on cable. Last time I saw it I was living in Lodi with my father so it’s good to see it in relatively stress free conditions.

And here are some pics.

Wayward Italian Feast Musicians

Rand, Richard and Lisa representing the Kirby Museum

Free Dalai Lama Rides

Ballerina Burlesque

Boss Tweed

Boobies

Dude with Possibly Maybe tattooed on his shoulder

Goin back to Jersey

It’s Friday. Nowhere to go. Chillaxin at home is the agenda tonight. Cocktail by my side, fag burning in ashtray, all I need is a fedora and color blindness and I think I would be able to be a character in a Raymond Carver, ummm errr Raymond Chandler story. Need a dame, a moll, something, someone. Who’s Raymond Carver?

Michael Chertoff is Skeletor. There I’ve said it. Off to a black site for me? I was looking the other day at an entry from when I first started at McMann and Tate, I wrote seeing somebody being escorted in handcuffs into 201 Varick Street. That’s the NY office for the Department of Homeland Security. I’m surprised I tied that all together since as usual I have no idea where it is I am headed.

Work was quiet. Finished my work early enough and wound up chatting with various bears and their admirers. A bear is described in the raunchy John Waters clip from a week or so ago. I’m not a bear according to Juan. Song I bet, would disagree. Let those big game hunters fight it out. Two handsome young men fighting over the definition of me. Not me, but my definition. I was thinking about walking by the Garden to check out the hot young men going to the reggaeton show, but I remembered that at home and I sure as hell ain’t heading back in, at least not tonight. These itty bitty Daddy Yankee wannabees will just have to wait. I like the guys, not the music. And that’s Pedro’s influence. On the music, not so much the guys.

One of the bears I chatted with is Blabbeando, a blogger from Queens. Don’t know if he’s a bear or a cub or an otter or merely an admirer. Regardless or illegal dress, he’s a nice intelligent guy and he’s surprised at how personal my blog is. I told him he should see what I don’t write, which doesn’t make sense since I haven’t written it, no one will ever see it. His blog is more political and personal. Funny thing is last night I watched something about how in the sixties, the political became personal. Sort of like getting one’s chocolate in someone’s peanut butter. No innuendo there, honestly.

Once again I took an hour for lunch and once again I had a cigar. The other day I spied a relatively handsome guy smoking a cigar on Park Avenue so I thought I’d set up camp and take some pics. He eyed me suspiciously, I surreptitiously took some snaps of him. And a sexy guy in a suit. Carla asked me if she could take off next Friday and the following Monday and Tuesday to see her family in North Carolina. I told her ok, just need to run it by Tom Chin. Her friend Millie would fill in for her. Fine by me. Millie would replace Carla should Carla leave for another job, which she feels isn’t going to happen and with my experience, would mean she’s going to leave.

Fantastic breeze coming through the open window. I’m enjoying it. Hope Annemarie, Rex and Earl have a splendid time in San Francisco.

That’s about it for this end. Feel free to comment. No really, feel free.

Remember, nothing says “I love you” like a tattoo on your neck.

Here’s some pics.

Handsome suited gent

Cigar smoking dude

where I used to work at Wanker Banker. 3rd floor from top. They’ve moved.

Lexington and 50th street

Penny for your thoughts. or comments.