Today is Iggy Pop’s birthday, and Jim Osterberg is 64 years old. Still has a great body, still rocking the stage with the Stooges. I was reminded just a moment ago about how when I moved in with my father (quite ill advised) and he was going through my stuff in boxes in the basement.

In one of the boxes was a collection of cassettes, including some tapes that my late friend Jet had made for me. One of the tapes was named for an Iggy Pop song on it, I Got My Cock in My Pocket. My father found that tape and was thoroughly disgusted by the name of the cassette.

He made a point of telling me so, by yelling at me and telling what a pervert I was and how my mother would never have stood for something like that. True she might have been upset by the title of the cassette, but she would have gotten over it eventually.

This guy was more focused on just putting me down. After all I was the great disappointment in his eyes. I do have to thank Iggy Pop for pissing my father off like that. Cheers to you Iggy!

Today is also the birthday of Robert Smith from the Cure as well as the drummer for Wire, Robert Gotobed. A great punk rock birthday day which I would not have known about if it weren’t for Facebook.

Last night I slept really well, pillow between my knees providing great relief. The pillows help as does a soft gel of Fish Oil and Ibuprofen in the morning. Bill kissed me good bye and I mustered a smile. I had to concentrate to do such a thing and I think Bill appreciated it, though he says I always smile when he kisses me goodbye in the morning.

I don’t see that, I always feel I am scowling when he wakes me up with words of encouragement and a nice kiss. My knee felt better this morning until I have to descend four flights of steps. Still thinking of looking into workers compensation and according to Bill and a lawyer I know, getting the info sooner rather than later would be for the best. The window for ‘exploiting the system’ will be closing soon and my knee does not seem to be getting better.

I did get a new pair of shoes delivered today, but they went to Julio’s workplace and I will have to get them from him at some point tomorrow. And in my workplace today, it wasn’t so bad. I did pretty good in sales.

Hobbling and limping around might have a place in hustling for sales commissions. “Oh lets buy some cigars from that gimp.”, sometimes said sotto voce as I lead the customer into the humidor, carrying a torch in my hand and a tray to carry cigars while saying ‘Yes Master..’ over and over.

It was Calvin and the brain dead Bradley who was quite miserable today, no Thomas around to make him feel superior and that he was Thomas’ boss. It wasn’t so bad though. The weather was nice and I sat on a bench near the park and enjoyed a cigar and finished last week’s New Yorker.

No time to start writing during the day, so I am writing it all now, at home. Tomorrow is a day off and I found out today that Sunday is a paid holiday. That’s super great.

Because you know, Easter is when Jesus comes out of the tomb and if he sees his shadow, it’s six more weeks of Lent.

I haven’t heard anything about yesterday’s meeting. Maybe tomorrow, maybe next week, maybe never. Oh well…