Hoboken day. Not officially but I did have experiences in Hoboken that I rarely have these days. It was daylight savings and where about 30-plus years ago that would have meant an extra hour to party, nowadays it’s an extra hour of sleep. I did wake up and saw the time which was the same as yesterday and I forgot about daylight savings. It was not alarming despite it being on the alarm clock.

I slept some more and had more vivid dreams like I had the past nights. Waking up was easy. On Sundays, I catch less than a minute of Breakfast with the Beatles, and the song this morning was No More Lonely Nights by Paul McCartney. Not one of his best and no need to listen for more than ten seconds.

With my 1981 haircut drying off after a shower was a breeze. Bill lovingly made the coffee before heading out to drive a bus filled with Dutch runners to the Marathon. I watched CBS Sunday Morning as that is a big part of my Sunday morning routine.

Bill thought he would be driving 2 shifts today but it turned out to be only one. He was coming home early and got me a bagel to show his love. Actually, I requested the bagel and I knew the love would always be there.

Today was the last day for early voting and Bill went the other day, so I decided to go this afternoon. On my way, I met Mary Dooley who lives in Union City. We met when a friend Mark was driving by and offered a ride. I thanked him and he asked me to hear his playlist, specifically a song called Fuck Trump.

I laughed and so did Mary Dooley as she was about 10 feet behind me. Mark drove off and Mary and I started chatting. I never met her before and figured we must have some Maxwell’s references but no, she had never been. We were both on the same side with regard to the election.

We parted when I got to the cigar shop and she was walking slow enough that I would probably catch up but that never happened. In the cigar shop, I talked with Imram who asked about the election. I gave my skewed take on it and he seemed to agree with most of what I said. He mentioned that a few of the customers were Maga twats. Not his words.

I was off to city hall for my turn to vote and walked to the entrance to find about a hundred people in a queue to vote early. I followed the line and took my place at the end of the line of which I was usurped by a young mom with her two rambunctious daughters.

The line moved slowly and I was close to the entrance about 45 minutes later. At least it wasn’t like the lines of voters in Georgia or wherever the rotten republicans make it difficult to vote, especially if the area leans towards Blue and is largely non-white.

A man with his daughter was just ahead of me and the man asked how long I lived in Hoboken. I gave him my story, mentioning Lodi and he mentioned his cousin Barbara Wasek who I had gone to grammar school with.

His name is Ed Kasper and lives in Hillsdale. I mentioned my Brother Brian lives with his family in Hillsdale and he knew Brian. It was a small world with those six degrees of separation this afternoon. And I voted for Column A.

I did not go bicycle riding. It was too cold. I did go grocery shopping with Bill so that was fun. I ran into a local character, Captain Fun who used to hang around outside Maxwell’s back in the day. He’s a bit off, but ok when he’s on his meds. He was grocery shopping in the supermarket and asked about Steve Fallon and his sister Mary. They used to look out for him way back when almost 35 years ago I reckon.

We went to the supermarket earlier than usual and I had a nice breakfast, eggs and toast. Quite simple and easy to make with little fuss. We watched TV and I went and got a haircut, based on a photo of me from 35 years ago. Nick the barber is quite a character.

The barbershop is just a few doors down from us and I’ve been going to them for about 20 years. I used to get a haircut on West 37th Street in Manhattan at a Korean clip joint that was a front for a massage parlor. Climb the steps to the second floor. On your right is a barbershop, on the left are women lounging on a couch in bikinis.

One time as I was getting a haircut, manicured hands started rubbing my shoulders and asking ‘Do you like? Come in the back…’ I begged off saying that I had to catch a train to Long Island. I felt guilty passing the local barbershop, Mr. L’s, so I started going to them instead. I tried all the barbers, or perhaps stylists, Nick, Lou (Mr.L), and Tony.

Tony was the oldest, from Italy, and was my favorite. He’d trim my nose hair, eyebrows, ear hair and certainly earned his $10.00 tip on a $15.00 haircut. Tony being the eldest barber soon had some health problems. Sometimes he’d bounce back after an operation, including one where he reportedly died on the table. He told me all about it with a scissor in my ear.

Lou retired, Tony left due to the pandemic, leaving his son Nick and two or three women who I’ve tried and found to be lacking to put it nicely. They looked awful in bikinis. I posted photos on the social medias and my brother Brain asked it was cut at Pete the barber in Lodi.

I hadn’t thought of Pete the barber in decades and immediately remembered that I used to think it was a place to get a haircut if one was being punished. Pete was brutal. I preferred Phil the barber, a little farther away but still within walking distance on the border of Lodi and Maywood.

But I think my main barbershop memory of when I was a kid was one Saturday afternoon my father decided it was time I got a haircut. I didn’t want a haircut but had no say whatsoever in the matter.

It was a drive to Fair Lawn and on the way I chanted to myself, Hare Krishna, Hail Mary, Jai Guru Deva Om, basically anything I could remember from what I heard in life or a Beatles song. We pulled up outside the barbershop and the lights were off. I was elated.

Then my father saw his VFW buddy, John Fontana inside sweeping up and John Fontana put away the broom and let us in, my elation deflated. I got what I wanted, the barbershop was closed, but the owner was inside ready for one more haircut for the day. Hence, my distrust of chanting.

I did remember that once I had a school project where we had to interview someone and I did an imaginary interview with John Fontana who said in the fake interview that being a barber was like being a therapist, where people come in and tell their problems. I think I got a good grade and my parents were somewhat flabbergasted that I had created this interview out of thin air.