Monthly Archives: November 2012

I Pity The Poor Immigrant

A Thursday, and it’s been a good day. Yesterday after the adventure on Tuesday, I had the usual blues. A good time was had and for me depression sets in. It was nothing crippling, nothing a banana couldn’t change but still it happens. It’s been happening all of my life. I certainly appreciate the good times, the good days spent with Bill and friends and family. It’s just like the next day I feel like Wile E. Coyote treading air as I stepped off the cliff chasing the Roadrunner. There’s no descent, just a simple about face and all is well.

Last night was cool and mellow, just me and Bill hanging out watching the television. After the Ed Show we watched Modern Family just so we could have something to laugh about and then we watched Suburgatory which was alright, a Thanksgiving episode. And Thanksgiving is a mere week away.

Bill was up and out before the sun rise this morning, leaving a farewell kiss to me. I stayed in bed waiting for the sun to rise but fell asleep once again, only waking until after the fact. No one seemed to mind, let alone me.

I went out and about once again. More debris has been crated off only to be replaced by more debris. The bibliothèque has reopened and the staff was there, grumbling since the person in charge had left already. They’re all full timers so they got paid even though they couldn’t make it in. They all seemed to have been safe while the waters rose and receded. And there was quite a back log of books and other items to be returned and audited before going back on the shelves. I returned Naked Lunch, a movie I had seen with William Charas at the Galaxy Theater 20 years ago.

A movie I only needed to see once. It’s good and I remembered that it got my creative juices flowing back then, nowadays I just saw it as a valiant attempt to film the unfilmable. Peter Weller did do a great job of channeling el hombre invisible, William S. Burroughs. Adaptation is another movie like that. Of course both movies are related to the writing process, as is the Shining when you get down to it. I prefer not to think of myself as a dull, dull boy but ultimately that would be up to you to decide.

On my excursion I swung by the Guitar Bar, and there was Jim Mastro moving amplifiers around and not letting me help him. I did pester him enough that I might be able to help him out on Sunday, that is if his lovely wife Meghan is unable to help. I’m not looking to get paid, I just want to help him out since he helped me and so many others out a couple of weeks ago. After that I walked to the new cigar store and chatted with those guys. Got a freebie which was nice.

I was looking over something I wrote last month regarding Zack and his lack of response to my email. Still no response at this date which I suppose I should have expected. That ‘Caesar’ should be fine with a ‘Brutus’ at his side. No one will tell him the marsupial keeps his shiv in his pouch. Of course those that don’t know history are doomed to repeat it, and I am sure I will hear about whatever happens somehow.

Customers are chatty and my lines of communication with them are still open. Still no new point of sale system from what they tell me, the music sucks there without me and I am sure the employees still aren’t a part of the TransitChek system despite overtures and promises from the inhuman resources director. Don’t worry, Zack is not one to make waves.

It’s a good thing they don’t know about the Bizarro cigar shack blog that was created shortly after my departure. Names, faces and the kitchen sink I tell ya!

goodbye tree









Sign in the now gutted liquor store window.



05 The Great Pretender

I Pray For You

It’s funny, after writing about not listening to music much the other day, Bill and I head down to Baltimore to watch a friend of his perform with the Baltimore Symphony Orchetrsa. It was more like a chance to watch an orchestra practice and during the practice, in the second half they have musicians that are good enough to play in orchestras but live in the Muggle world for their bread and butter. A gent named Paul lived on the same floor as Bill and went to the same high school (the Fame school) now lives in DC with his wife and kids.

Bill reconnected via Facebook and decided that we were going. I of course had nothing else to do and haven’t left Hoboken since October. I wasn’t sure how much the world has changed outside the mile square city and I was game. We were going to take a train down there and I was fine with that. But trains are pretty expensive and Bill figured it would be cheaper to rent a car. I wasn’t going to argue, it did seem like a good idea. We would not be beholden to schedules which makes a difference.

The plan was to leave around 2:00 but around 11:30 the plan had changed and we would be going at 12:30. That made moving things up a little faster but like I wrote, I had nothing else to do. We were soon on the road, driving down rainy Hoboken streets to the turnpike. My job was to pick the tunes. Only one channel was playing though, the left speakers were OK, my side, the right side was muted. No way around that. As we went further south, crossing into Delaware the weather had cleared up.

On the way down the New Jersey Turnpike we passed a number of utility trucks from Louisiana, Alabama, Georgia and Florida all returning after helping out the victims of Hurricane Sandy.

As we entered Baltimore I made it a point to play the soundtrack to Hairspray, the 1988 John Waters movie. I also played Hello Stranger by Barbara Lewis. The first time I heard that song was on Homicide: Life on the Street which took place in Baltimore.

Thanks to Bill’s GPS we found the symphony hall. We were crazy early though and after walking around in the dusk we found a spot to sit and have a beer beforehand. I guess it was a microbrewery since all the beer was made there. We had what was called an Ozzy, which was a dry Belgian like beer. And to my surprise, Hello Stranger by Barbara Lewis was playing when we got there.

We were hoping to find a cigar lounge but despite the neighborhood looking like it needed one, they came up short. There was a cigar lounge around the block from the hall, but there was a sign on the door saying they were out looking for supplies and would be back around 6:30.

The show was going to start at 6:45 so waiting around for that would not work for us. We made it into the hall and saw Paul who was nervous. We reassured him he would be fine, or rather Bill did since I did not know him. I merely told him to break a leg. The first half came on and I was at first jolted by the sound of a live orchestra but soon found myself nodding off to the sweet strings thanks to the Ozzy I had had about an hour earlier.

At the intermission I had two cups of coffee which did the trick and I was wide awake for the Anvil Chorus. It was all a few selections of Verdi’s music and the Anvil Chorus is the one that I remembered out of five or six pieces. Full orchestra and chorus and Paul sat next to the first chair under the baton of Marin Alsop. It was a wonderful excuse to get out of town and I wish we had more time to spend in Baltimore since we do have friends down there.

The ride back was exhausting. It seemed to take forever. Bill was feeling tired and so I wound up playing some house music to get him going. Then it was Girl Talk mostly. Bill never really heard Girl Talk before, even though I had played it often enough. He liked it a lot yesterday. We were back in Hoboken a little after midnight, Bill went to bed and I stayed up for a little while longer, before joining him in slumber.


with Paul and Bill