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.

More sunshine! Actually woke up to what sounded like a freight train going through a railroad apartment. Crazy monsoon weather, with very high winds. Didn’t need an alarm clock to wake up, the storm and a headache did the job. Bill was at his folks last night, which left me with a big empty bed to stretch out in. The headache was strong enough to make me think about staying home, but two gel caps took care of that.

I jumped in the shower, reheated some coffee and decided to wear blue jeans to work. Seems like they would be the only things that would hold up against the elements. I sat at the computer, after having breakfast, reading the emails, when I noticed I had a reply from an email I sent to Joe Mardin, Arif’s son. I sent my condolences on Tuesday, just hoping that I could express my sorrow to Joe and his family. I took a chance since I wasn’t sure whether or not he had the same email address.

Joe thanked me in his return and mentioned that there was a reception for his father at the Frank E. Campbell Funeral Home on the Upper East Side. I was definitely going to be there. I realized that I couldn’t wear jeans to a reception for Arif Mardin. This required a suit and tie. I was fine with that, despite the humidity, the temperature and the monsoon. I put on a navy blue pinstriped Ralph Lauren suit, a white French cuff tab collared shirt, a nice silver and black checked silk tie and the old stand by, black OTC sox, thick and thin style with rubber soled dress shoes to take handle the rain.

I walked out into a drizzle, which was a torrential downpour merely a few minutes earlier. It required the use of an umbrella on and off again. One thing I can’t stand is using an umbrella when you don’t really have to. But then again, I was wearing a nice suit, going to a wake and didn’t want to look like shit at the end of the day. I took my time, not the usual hustle, trying not to overheat and sweat through my suit.

Of course if I walked an inch at a time I’d still wind up soaked, more from the sweat than from the rain. I got to the Path train and stood against the wall of the train, trying to get the maximum effect of a faint air conditioner. Got off at Ninth Street, walked down Sixth Avenue to Carmine, bought a bagel and made it into the office a little later than usual but still before anyone else. Luckily I had an extra T-shirt stashed away so I was able to change that. It made a difference. No one wants to sit in a sweaty t-shirt all day.

The office does have a strong air conditioner so I was cooled down considerably soon enough. Of course people started coming in and seeing me in a suit and tie wondered what was going on. I explained quite a few times that I was going to a wake. I needed to explain who’s wake it was and as I got into detail about Arif Mardin and his life I started getting choked up.

The day went by neither fast nor slow, just happened at it’s own pace. I made plans to meet Bill after work on 86th Street and Lexington Avenue so we could go to the funeral home together. I walked across town so I could catch a train uptown, once again taking my time. It was a lot cooler after work than it was in the morning, or maybe it was just me.

Got off at 86th Street and Bill showed up minutes later. We walked to the funeral home and the wake was on the fourth floor. As soon as the elevator doors opened and we got out, I ran into Gloria Gabriel, Arif’s former assistant. She looked good, but wasn’t doing so well. It hit her hard. She inherited Arif’s position at Atlantic after they forced him to retire. It was a position she didn’t want but she took it anyway more than likely with Arif’s blessing. She couldn’t deal with the grief and was leaving and I kissed her a hello and goodbye.

I saw Joe and his sister Julie and was able to chat with them for a few moments. Arif’s best production, those two kids. I’m sure he would agree. Joe and Julie’s mother, Latife was there surrounded by family and friends. I’ve been through the scene before of having to host a wake. So many people milling about, trying to help out as much as they could and then after the funeral they’re gone and the family is left all alone. I offered my assistance with anything Joe and Julie might need, even offering to help Julie with her upcoming art show.

I saw Barry Bongiovi and Donna Klopfer from my days at Right Track. Nice to see them still in touch with the Mardin family. They both looked good, and I always had a crush on Barry.

You can only stay at a wake for a short period if you don’t need to, so Bill and I said our goodbyes, with me offering any assistance to Joe if he needs it. He’s a good man and I’d be glad to help out in anyway that I can. We walked out into the humidity and stumbled over to the downtown trains taking our time. Karma paid off some dividends with the trains we needed waiting for us at the platforms.

They’re flying Arif to Turkey for his burial next week.