Wednesday night. Later than usual. Raining at 53°. Mike’s asleep, Bill is asleep where he is, he might have the flu. I am here writing and Casablanca plays on TCM. My day was absolutely nothing special. Woke up later than usual, had coffee, and sent out resumes as well as searching for jobs on behalf of Mike.

The job search is never a fun thing and I added the lack of fun to my burden by helping Mike out. His situation is different from mine, so there’s that.

The world is sliding into disaster it seems. I think it’s all Putin’s plan, to undermine the trust Americans have in their government and have the rest of the world distrust us. Apparently, L’Orange Merde spewed forth for almost 2 hours last night.

I wisely avoided the whole car accident. But it was the main topic as I attempted to watch the 11 O’Clock News before going to bed. Since they were rambling I saw no need to watch anymore.

The skies were grey all day and a major storm was approaching. There was a plan to meet up with Mike after he gets off work and of course, the skies opened up as I walked towards Jersey City.

My 22 year old umbrella from the Wanker Banker Putnam Lovell days was open and overhead as I walked thinking how good this umbrella has been. Just then, when crossing the street the wind said ‘Hold my beer’ and proceeded to tear apart the 22 year old umbrella rendering it absolutely un-fixable.

I was halfway to meeting Mike and carried on toward Jersey City. I was wearing work boots and a raincoat so I wasn’t that wet but still, it was an annoyance leading me to be in a not so good mood.

I went into Target thinking I would buy a new umbrella but seeing the prices and knowing I had 5 other umbrellas at home, I balked and waited for Mike. He wanted to take a Lyft and I was in a foul mood thinking I would walk home in the pouring windy rain.

Mike had an umbrella so he was fine. I was going to cut off my nose to spite my face and decided to get a Lyft instead. I tried advising the driver on how to avoid traffic but he did not speak English. Mike and I had a heavy talk, foregoing our phones and computers, and TV to talk about religion and mythology.

It reminded me of my early days, being in my 20s and having deep philosophical discussions. Then we ate dinner and watched Ted Lasso.

I do hope Bill gets over what may be the flu. He did get a flu shot so perhaps this might not be as bad as an unvaccinated flu victim. He didn’t mention other things that accompany the flu, like nausea or back door problems to put it delicately, so he might just be fatigued.

It happens sometimes when one hits a certain age and his job is stressful. I miss him and can’t wait for his return.

It’s a Tuesday and it feels like a Wednesday. 48° in Hoboken. I like posting the temperature since I get to use the ALT 0176 code for the °. Bill is on the road, Mike is asleep. L’Orange Merde prattles on but I ain’t watching. Couldn’t be arsed.

My mind wanders. I am watching St. Vincent, a film starring Bill Murray, Melissa McCarthy, and Naomi Watts, and looking up info on Wikipedia. I donate $!.50 a month to Wikipedia since I use it daily.

Part of St. Vincent was filmed at the Belmont Racetrack and my mind went back to 30 years ago. A friend from back then was looking to go to Belmont and asked me where it was. Being a music guy I thought it was in the Bronx since Dion and the Belmonts were from the Bronx, so to me it made sense.

It turns out that the Belmont Racetrack is in Elmont, Long Island. I’ve never been obviously and it’s unlikely that I will ever go there. I’ve only been to one racetrack and that was 50 years ago, the Meadowlands.

I went with my brother Brian who was playing the Carole King Tapestry album which to my ears, I did not appreciate it at the time. The song I mainly remember was Smackwater Jack. I met Carole King once in the nineties at Right Track Recording.

She was visiting James Taylor who recorded at Right Track frequently, probably because he was being produced by the affable, cigar smoking Frank Filapetti who was friends with the owner, Simon Eric Andrews.

Carole was pleasant enough to chat with. I mentioned that I had seen her daughter Louise Goffin the night before playing at Fez under Time Cafe with the Loser’s Lounge, so she might have been surprised to be talking about her daughter like a proud mother.

Frank Filapetti was inadvertently an influence on my cigar smoking. I would have to go to a cigar shop and purchase some cigars for Frank and in so doing, I was introduced to the world of premium cigars, eventually buying one of my own.

It was around that time, I remember, buying a Henry Clay cigar and smoking it on my way to improv class, walking through Central Park. I won a contest from Time Out magazine for a season of improv classes with Chicago City Limits on First Avenue.

There were probably two dozen classmates the first week. I would be early and out on the sidewalk out front being funny, having some of my classmates in stitches before class. But I could not be funny in class and kept breaking the number one improv rule of ‘Not saying No’. If you say no the improv skit stops. Or so they said, the flow is discontinued.

On the sidewalk, I was funny. On the stage, I was not. I didn’t really respect the improv teacher either. Tonight’s word was ‘engaging’ in Hoboken and the improv teacher was lacking in engagement. The initial class had about 24 students, the next week 19, then 15. It may have gone to single digits.

These classes weren’t cheap so I don’t know if the classmates dropping out lost money or had a deal. I won a contest and so leaving after about a month was no skin off my back.