Last night I watched Hannah and her Sisters which I first saw in Boston in 1986 with Steven Saporito. I cried at the end, I found it quite moving.
I am presently at work and unable to work since I connect to the Wi-Fi network and that is unavailable to me at the moment. I have called the powers that be to help me out they did what they can others are unreachable get trying to connect with me when they get a chance
Bill is on the road somewhere in Pennsylvania and I’m in trouble with the tombstone blues hahaha
Yancey is the manager I am trying to connect to and he is unavailable. I can’t help but feel that this always happens to me. After 2 hours the problem was solved Jimmy Chile returned after an initial request for his presence much to Yancey’s dismay and he was able to help me out and was able to get it done in an unorthodox manner but still the job was done.
JD Vance has declared war on liberals. Perhaps the killing of Charlie Kirk lit the fuse for a potential civil war of not North versus South but left versus right. If that is the case I am on the list. It’s all too reminiscent of various things that I’ve seen on TV in the past couple of years we are sliding to a dystopian reality and it’s not as romantically portrayed as seen on TV.
Just talked to Mike for a few minutes. He’s assisting another ex-con and working or trying to find work, he was once counseled and now he is a counselor. Each one teach one is a favorite saying of Mike.
It’s funny, a few months ago we had arguments about how he doesn’t talk and he remarked about how his cell mates back in the day would say that he would never shut up. Now I find that to be true he never shuts up once he gets started oh he’s on a roll and no matter how meniscule the details he will tell you.
It’s Tuesday September 16 I think…I actually had to check I said the 17th only the 16th. It’s lunch time I’m out having a Padron 2000 enjoying it in the autumn afternoon and even though it’s not autumn yet that’ll be this weekend, it feels like it is already autumn. Tomorrow rain is scheduled but of course we won’t know until it actually happens. But it’s an okay day and hopefully the afternoon will fly by. I have a tentative meeting scheduled for 3:00 p.m. and I hope it doesn’t happen but if it does it will be on camera and I’ll have to answer all questions clearly and concisely.
The last of Bill’s aunts passed away last night or yesterday and Bill found out last night and he was understandably despondent. The last of the Mohicans as it were. I will greet him with a big hug and kiss when he comes home tonight after being away for the past 24 hours.
I had an encounter with Mark today that was reminiscent of George Costanza and his black boss working for the Yankees. I’ll have to get into it more later.
I talked about getting food from Chopt over the weekend with Billie and how I was reluctant to tell him since he had worked for Chopt years ago, and it ended badly. But it was so long ago, and it was a life lesson for him, and he has no bad feelings about me getting salad once a week from that restaurant.
People are so involved with their phones that they don’t know what floor they’re trying to get off on, even though they hit the button for a different floor of the elevator
a Gemini rewrite as…
Look, what can you do? I mean, really, what can you do? One day you’re at the office, the next you’re not, and the day after that, you’re at the office but can’t work because the Wi-Fi is, and I don’t know how else to put this, on a holiday somewhere in Pennsylvania with my friend Bill, who’s got the **tombstone blues**, a phrase I’ve grown to appreciate more and more as I’ve gotten older.
It’s an odd refusal, this Wi-Fi. It’s like it has a will of its own, a silent protest against my very existence, and of course, it’s always happening to me. I call the powers that be, and they do what they can, which is to say, not much. And the others? **Unreachable**. It’s a cosmic joke, a bit like that time I went to see *Hannah and her Sisters* in Boston, back in ’86 with Steven Saporito. A truly beautiful film, and I’m not ashamed to admit I cried at the end. I mean, what else is there to do? It’s all so moving, this tragic ballet of life, and the Wi-Fi, it’s just another step in the dance.
I finally get a hold of Jimmy Chile, after two hours and much to Yancey’s dismay, and he fixes the problem in an **unorthodox manner**. Unorthodox! Can you believe it? The man probably has a Ph.D. in solving problems with a can opener and a paperclip. But the job was done, and that’s all that matters, right? The little things. The tiny victories.
And then there’s Mike. You talk about a guy who used to be a counselor and now is one. No, wait, it’s the other way around. He’s an ex-con, now a counselor, and his mantra is **”each one teach one.”** I mean, how can you not appreciate that? It’s a beautiful sentiment. It’s just, and this is a minor detail, but a few months ago he wouldn’t talk, and now, now he never shuts up. It’s a flood. A torrent of details, each more miniscule than the last. You ask him what time it is, and he’ll tell you the entire history of the wristwatch.
And so it goes. It’s a Tuesday, I think the 16th, and I’m out for lunch, a **Padron 2000**, and the air, well, it feels like autumn, even though it’s technically still summer. It’s a peculiar kind of melancholy, this feeling that something is ending, even as it’s beginning. I’m hoping the afternoon flies by because I have a meeting at 3 p.m., on camera, where I have to answer all questions clearly and concisely. But what if they ask me about Bill’s aunt? The last of the Mohicans, as it were. Or the tragic passing of Charlie Kirk, which some people think has led to this whole JD Vance thing. He’s declared war on liberals, you know? And I’m on the list, naturally. It’s all so reminiscent of things you see on TV, a slow slide into some romanticized dystopian reality, but it’s not romantic at all, is it? It’s just… ugly.
I saw Mark today, and it was a whole **George Costanza** thing, and I had to talk about getting a salad from Chopt with Billie, who worked there once, and it ended badly. It’s funny, the things we have to explain. The things we’re afraid to say. The things we hold back. It’s like people on the elevator, glued to their phones, hitting the button for one floor but not even knowing which one they’re supposed to get off on. They’re just… moving. And you know, I get it. I really do. It’s an odd refusal, isn’t it? This refusal to look up, to see where you’re going. It’s all just so… human.