Today was a bike ride, to Liberty State Park. Quite a few pedestrians were walking four or five abreast. No whistleblowing but an insistent combination of sounds from the buzzer would get their attention and garnering dirty looks as I pedaled past them. It was a nonstop ride, except for a few seconds when I had some water or took a selfie to send to friends and family.

It was pleasant and uneventful. There was a tentative plan to meet an online friend who is also into cigars. He works on the border of Hoboken and Jersey City and we were chatting last night. His workplace is on my bicycle route so it wouldn’t be too much of a problem and not out of my way.

But he was working later than expected and I was too out of it after riding. Plus Bill was on his way home and I wanted to see him. So it all worked out and the plan to meet up with Mike was off the day’s plan. There will always be another cigar.

It’s mellow right now, Bill and I are watching the reboot of Frasier which we’ve been watching almost every night. It’s a funny alternative to the drama of the daily events. Unfortunately, the escape from reality comes with the price of having to watch commercials about medication, kids who need hospitalization, or political ads.

The Frasier reboot is funny if not a bit clunky. I’ve only seen 2 episodes and we’re on the third episode though Bill has seen most of them already. That doesn’t matter since Bill loves to laugh and his laughter is a wonderful thing to hear.

Now Bill is in bed and I’m watching Almost Famous. I first saw it when Hoboken had a cinema, this one on Hudson Street. Now it’s a health care center and the newer cinema, a multiplex as opposed to the Hoboken Twin, and it is now some type of church where they sing about having an awesome god.

Almost Famous still retains its charm 24 years later. I identified with Patrick Fugit’s character somewhat. Young man enamored with music. Kate Hudson was incandescent. Perhaps it was Cameron Crowe’s best moment. The rest of the cast is very good and Frances McDormand steals the picture with each scene she is in.

Tomorrow is back to work, and fresh hells await. The supervisor’s supervisor is out all week so that will remove some of the stress that is a daily occurrence. I hope so at least. It’s a holiday for some tomorrow so it’s possible the commute will be pleasant and not crowded. Of course, I could be wrong, that happens on occasion.

I hope next weekend will provide some good weather to continue my bike rides, though it is autumn and there is a chill in the air which some people claim to enjoy. But we don’t need to use an air conditioner so that’s nice and it also saves some money on the electricity bill.

And there will always be more Frasier.

Once again a Saturday but there was no bicycle riding. Instead, a trip out to Garfield to see my sister-in-law, Elaine. It was a good visit, I don’t think we’ve seen each other since the spring. Summer passed and there was no visit.

Garfield is the town next to Lodi which is where I grew up. And the part of Lodi is across the street from Rochelle Park, and a quarter mile from Saddle Brook. Since I went to Catholic school, St Francis de Sales, I had very little contact with a lot of people from Lodi.

I did not go to Lodi High School. No, my parents were told there were too many drugs there. So I went to Paramus Catholic which was a Boys’ High School then, separated from the Girls’ High School, by a dense wall, maybe a yard thick.

There were drugs in Paramus Catholic, probably more expensive drugs. I didn’t touch them since I was ‘punk rock’ and rugs were for hippies, and also I was a terrible student and drugs would further tank my sinking grades.

It wasn’t easy being a gay closeted teenager in a boys’ high school. Since all the boys in my class were roughly the same age, we were all going through a time of raging hormones. I never showered after gym class for four years. I would occasionally spy a student at his desk with an erection that was quite an eyeful

On the social medias I am part of a group all about growing up in Lodi and there is very little I have in common with the other members. St Francis school was far enough from home to have me bused to. I rarely saw my classmates out of school. Maybe at church when my parents would go.

I think the going to church ended when I was about 8 years old. I was in third grade. It was a chore I suppose to get up on Sunday mornings. When they had Saturday evening services for those who did not or could not attend Sunday services.

In fifth grade, the priests visited my classroom and asked the boys if they wanted to be altar boys. The majority of the boys raised their hands and I did not. My older brothers were altar boys and I did not want to have to get up on a Sunday morning.

Plus the image of my mother ironing another cassock, this time for me seemed to be offputting, the poor woman deserved a relief from her ironing however slightly. But it was more about sleeping in. We still went to church for a while but not as frequently.

I couldn’t fall asleep on my mother’s arm as I used to and found the stories being told over and over were quite dull. Eventually, we went to Sacred Heart church in Rochelle Park which was a little bit closer than St Francis. That was more modern compared to St Francis church.

It had a statue of Jesus in what looked like a glass elevator.