Went to bed late last night, got caught up in a bad movie, ‘Constantine’ starring Keanu Reeves. It was bad, the special effects were pretty good though. Nothing to write home about, so I won’t. Bill was off to drive a group from Flushing, NY to Mohegan Sun in Connecticut, despite his back. Hopefully he’ll get through it all right. It was a bit hairy last night with the gauze and his wound. I’ll do it again, but to hear him in such pain is distressing.

I left the apartment with Bill this morning, he walking north and me walking south. On the street I ran into hobokengeo, a friend that I chat with. A little taller than he is online. He was running an errand and so was I. There were bagels to be had and newspapers to be read. Out of my way, hobokengeo!

On the way back, I ran into Mike Korman, former guitarist for Gutbank and former council candidate in Hoboken. He’s married to Clara Suarez, a sweet girl who I used to work with 15 years ago when I worked in a video store on Washington Street. He told me he and Clara and their kid live around the block from me on Willow Terrace. He mentioned that Clara always talks about me and we should get together.

I had a nice breakfast on returning to the apartment, some eggs, a bagel, coffee and the papers, the papers. All very mellow. I was playing Black Uhuru and feeling like the angry Rasta I used to be. I was going to the Anti War march in Manhattan. No one else was able to join me so I went solo. On the way there, I ran into an old friend of Julio’s, Joanne something or other. Chatted with her for a few minutes before heading to the crowded Path train.

More crowded on a Saturday afternoon at 12 than it is on a weekday morning at 7:30. Black Uhuru still playing on the Ipod. I uploaded a lot of Reggae the past few days. I used to be so immersed in Rastafarian culture and Reggae, it was great to hear all those songs from Burning Spear, Black Uhuru and the Abyssinians and Big Youth. I was surprised I remembered so many lyrics from the songs.

Got off at 23rd Street and walked over to Broadway where the rallying point was supposed to be. That was actually the tail end. The start was at Union Square. It was a great day for a march down Broadway, the sun was beaming. A lot of standing around was required since this was the end of the march, everyone else had to proceed before we could.

After about an hour we shuffled along Broadway chanting Hey Hey, Ho Ho, Bush and Cheney have got to go and the old stand by, What do we want? Peace! When do we want it? Now! Or within a reasonable time frame! It took about another hour to get from 22nd street to 17th street. Since I was flying solo I just kept walking and taking pictures. I felt like COINTELPRO, and thought I was being looked at as one.

As we inched down the street there was one counter protester, from a VFW, a life member berating us in a conversational tone to keep moving. I’m sure we would have if we could. It was sad to see this veteran supporting the policy of and administration while this administration has gutted many veterans’ benefits. But knowing the type of mentality of groups like the VFW, it was a reminder of the blind loyalty that generation has to the Republicants.

I kept wandering in and out of drum circles and decided to get some percussion somewhere. I thought about Farfetched and how they sold toy instruments sometimes. So I left the march at 14th street and walked down Fourth Avenue to the store. Susan was in the back, Jessica at the register. Turns out they had no toy instruments so I hung out with the two of them, shooting the shit as it were.

Susan correctly guessed that I wasn’t about to rejoin the march, considering that I was behind the register ringing up cards. After an hour of that I walked back to the crowded Path train and figured out they reduced service on weekends. I walked back to the apartment chilling out to some fine dub.

And here are some pics of the Anti War march:

The week has flown by. I woke up thinking it was Wednesday. One of those instances when it’s good to be wrong. Today is Thursday. I had to get into work early since I had two meetings to take care of, sign for breakfast, set up the breakfast, make coffee and arrange the food that is barely touched.

I am definitely trying to be positive in the new job. I smile, whistle, tell someone, “nice shirt, blouse etc”. I try to interact. The women who hosted the meetings thanked me and that was nice and kind. Most of the men don’t interact. I guess they are sussing me out. Trying to figure out what’s what. There’s a new guy, Justin who seems cool. I should perhaps gravitate to him. We can be newbies together.

Julio and Bill have been supportive of me in the sense to not give in and it’s greatly appreciated. I know my only option is that I have to hang in there. Bill and Julio have been resolute in talking me through this. Someday we’ll look back on this and it will all seem funny.

I do have issues with things like this, severe changes. Annemarie mentioned something a while back about how when she was in eighth grade and I was in first grade, they had to pry my fingers from the fence outside in the playground when classes began in the school. I was crying and screaming and wanted my mother to come back and not leave me with these people.

I had forgotten that for a long time and when Annemarie told me about it, it slowly started to come back to me. I remembered the feeling. I also thought about how it looked. Like I was looking at film of me being pried off the fence kicking and screaming. This happened frequently, if not daily. I never liked school, except for eighth grade. That’s about it.

I wonder what happened to a few classmates from grammar school. I saw two of them at my high school reunion. They wondered as well. But I never cross paths with anyone from those days. I hope their all doing well. After no contact with my classmates for thirty years, I really doubt we’d have anything in common. I’m sure I’m not the only gay person. I did hear that Gwen Garicki was a lesbian. We were voted class clowns back in the day. Somewhere there is a picture with Gwen and I stone faced holding an open umbrella amongst cardboard cutouts of a flood.

I still think it’s a funny picture. Makes me smile thirty years later. A surrealist at 13.

Who knew? I sometimes still dream of St. Francis de Sales school. I remember the smell when the parish had the Bazaar in June. That was magical. I only went to a handful of the Bazaars, but I remember the coin toss where you win a dish. I remember the smell of sausages cooking, the sounds of riders on the Octopus and the Tip Top. St. Joseph’s Boulevard was the center of my world.

Now it’s here.