Central Park. Hanging out on the rock, listening to Seu Jorge. Lot’s of people and lot’s of cuties of both sexes. It’s a beautiful day to just chill out in Central Park. The line to get into Summerstage is way past the rock. I’m just hangin on the rock not trying to get in and it’s a whole lot better than sitting in the apartment. It is very hot so movement is slow, and preferably in the shade.

Went to the Ramble for a fatty and was instantly cruised. That was nice. Handsome dude wearing what I later recognized as a shirt for a Ped-I-Cab company. While smoking the fatty an Asian Indian dude in a Jimi Hendrix shirt kept flitting about in my immediate vicinity. I started walking away when I heard, ‘Psst! Psst!’ I turn around and he asks me in hushed tones where do I think he might be able to smoke his bowl of weed.

I tell him just about anywhere, to be discreet and not to smoke around families or older folks. He lights up and proceeds to tell me about how great weed is, and how it should be decriminalized and he’s a philosophy major at Hunter College. He also rambled in the Rambles about how it makes him paranoid. He certainly was. He was all nervous tics. I lit up a cigar, which put him at relative ease, thinking that the aroma of the cigar would overwhelm the smell of the Chiba.

We walked out the Rambles together, over awed by the various people walking around in different directions. I had to reassure him that it was all good vibes. He asked where he could finish smoking his bowl and I told him to go back from whence he came. Immediately he spun on the heel of his sneaker and headed back into the Rambles.

Seu Jorge was highly entertaining, though I think it could’ve been louder. It was muted somewhat, could be because of all the people. Bill and I had plans to see ‘Cars’. It was his suggestion and seemed perfect for a summer’s night. I couldn’t get much of any signal at the rock though. Turns out we wouldn’t be able to go since Bill will be driving very early tomorrow morning.

That’s ok too. I’m now back in Hoboken, nice breeze coming in through the window, neighbors from a few doors down are having a nice party. Lot’s of people. I don’t know them so I ain’t going. Lot’s of food though and they’re not too loud. Bill’s asleep, I’m awake, watching Deadwood on the telly. I have off tomorrow which is very nice. And of course Tuesday is a holiday, which is great. Four days off is better than two days off.

NJ doesn’t have a state budget though and that means the state beaches will be closed. And state employees out of work. I don’t think that will affect my brother who’s a county employee. Sandy Hook is a national park so that should be open so Annemarie and company, myself included could go to the beach.

Either that or Coney Island.

Rain rain and some more rain. Torrential stuff. It didn’t start until 6:00 when I was leaving work. Looking out the window at work it wasn’t raining. When I got out of the elevator and walked out the revolving door it was sheets of rain hitting the street. Everything flooding. The town where Bill and I had Thanksgiving dinner is presently underwater, Yardley, PA. I hope Hiram and Chris are ok.

Things have gotten quiet at work. I might have hit a groove. I realize what my job is and it’s a good thing since both Linda and Felicia will be out next week, and next week is only a three day work week. It’s been a very slow week otherwise. It’s taking all week for Friday to get here and it still isn’t here yet. It could be because that I got the Village Voice on Tuesday when I usually get it on Wednesday.

Today is Bill’s birthday. He’s now 42. Born in 1964, June 29. Good for him I say. Juan is over and we just had some cake and some Guinness for Bill’s birthday. Very low key. Mellow. Which is more than fine by me. I’m exhausted from all the rain and exhausted from the work situation and still somewhat sad about Arif. I’ve been playing a lot of his stuff the past couple of days. Chaka Khan and the Rascals.

On the way to the Path I was playing Chaka and ran into Glenn Morrow, an old friend of Frank’s from McSwells days when Glenn was in the Individuals. Now I think he’s the president of Bar None Records. I’m pretty sure he is. When I walk down the street and run into him he always asks what I’m playing on the iPod. Told him it was Chaka. We talked about Arif. He didn’t know I worked with him for a spell.

I wrote a letter to the Daily News about Arif’s passing but it wasn’t published. The only New York paper that covered it was the New York Times, which is fitting since Arif was an avid reader.

Now the three of us are sitting in the humidity of the night. It’s no longer raining yet there’s no breeze. Coincidentally a slight breeze wafted over my shoulder as I wrote that. Mother Nature proving me to be a liar.

We’re watching a documentary on Langston Hughes. I’ve never read anything by him but his story is quite an interesting one. A major player in the Harlem Renaissance in the twentieth century. I’ve never seen Isaac Julien’s ‘Searching for the Young Soul Rebels’, which is also about Langston Hughes or at least references Langston somehow. Or maybe I’m going off on a tangent. I do know there’s a film called ‘Looking for Langston’ which I’ve never seen either. Actually I looked it up on IMDB. They’re both directed by Isaac Julien, but Young Soul Rebels has nothing to do with Langston Hughes. So that’s –5 points, but +10 somehow.

Bill had a part on ‘Rescue Me’, not the part he was told he was going to get, that of a bus driver, but he still worked nonetheless.

Happy Birthday baby.