Back to work again. No hooky. Usual stupidity. Nothing new to report on that front. This week promises to be extra difficult. We have an All Hands Meeting going on, meaning that employees from Wanker Banker’s offices from San Francisco, and London will be flying in to be bored to tears.

They did this last year, all humdrum stuff. It goes on a Thursday and Friday in February, breakfast, meetings, lunch, meetings then dinner. On Friday, it’s breakfast, meetings, lunch and then bowling. Last year it was a scavenger hunt. Team building exercises. I preferred to run around Manhattan on my own, despite the cold. This year we will converge on Bowlmor in the Village.

Word got out that I used to be on a bowling team years ago and suddenly I’m a wanted man. But the teams are chosen by higher ups, prizes awarded to the winners. Everyone gets a free meal. I bagged out of the dinner last year, just stayed long enough for cocktails. This year I may stay.

I’m trying to keep a cool head and just get through the day but there’s so much in my way, so many people I have to deal with, it gets fucking hard. It’s a job though and I have to remind myself that I have a good job with benefits paid for Bill and myself.

Bill played a janitor on Rescue Me, the Denis Leary show on FX Network. No lines just background. He was background on ‘Love Monkey’ an earnest yet atrocious show on CBS. It was cancelled before Bill’s episode could air. He also was background for the Chappelle Show on Comedy Central featuring Rick James. That aired, but Bill’s segment was edited out.

So Rescue Me seems like a go. Which is cool, his foot in the door, his face on your screen, knock wood.

The city was cold this morning but I walked up to work, not caring much about the weather. I strolled to work listening to Pet Shop Boys Introspective. Great songs, great for walking around town. I love walking to a good beat. Makes the stroll more enjoyable.
I remember when Gus Mackenzie and I parted ways in 1990, I was so heartbroken I walked around Hoboken in the rain listening to a cassette of Introspective and singing at the top of my lungs through deserted neighborhoods filled with burned out buildings.

Now I have Bill, Gus a memory faded and those burned out building are rehabbed and renting for $1500 for a one bedroom apartment. I am much happier being with Bill than I ever was with Gus. I don’t even know if Gus is still alive. He probably is. I wonder if he ever came out of the closet? I only wonder, I don’t really care.

As for Bill and myself, following Philip Beansprout’s suggestion, I am trying to be the master of my domain. Last night went well. We shall see how it works out. 24 hours, so far so good. Vision not as blurry as it was and palms are definitely losing hair.

Woke up at a decent time today, not the god awful 6AM mind you. 8:30. Not too late, nor too early. Just right. Got the papers, some bagels and set about doing nothing in particular. Some laundry, some coffee, watched the morning shows. Logged into gay.com and was inundated by requests. I held off.

Bill came back to NYC safely, and after telling me about all the fun he had, went to take a nap. I walked around Bokeyland, went to the post office to drop off the Netflix which reminds me I have to update the queue. Did that. Didn’t really enjoy the Dick Cavett show and after two volumes, cancelled the third.

Took some snapshots of Pier A in Hoboken. Not many people out despite the fact that it’s President’s Day. I remember reading somewhere that Abraham Lincoln had a rather high pitched voice. A high pitched ‘Four Score and Seven Years Ago’ doesn’t really have the same somber feel to it as I was led to believe by the photos and five dollar bills that crossed my path. It’s entirely possible though.

Did George Washington have wooden teeth? Did he lie? Was he a hemp farmer? These have all been answered somewhere before, and here they are again: No. Maybe. He could’ve farmed the hemp for rope for that is what we’re told it was used for then. No, really.

Bill naps, Julio works, I sit at a keyboard writing random sentences in a railroad apartment in Hoboken. An old episode of ER plays behind me, George Clooney era. That’s when it was most interesting for me. Bill was awoken from his nap by Philip Beansprout who asks if we can have our session an hour earlier. Fine with me, fine with Bill, that makes Philip Beansprout a happy counselor.

I’ve done my chores and the laundry is drying. I am bored. I won’t inflict my boredom on you, though you might say that it’s too late since you are bored as well.
I walked around listening to Station to Station by good ol’ Dave Bowie. Really a great record that I didn’t care much for when it came out. Now I find it indispensable. Perhaps a desert island disc.

Another Cowsill is dead. This time William, known as Bill. Barry Cowsill was found December 28, a victim of Hurricane Katrina. Bill died in Canada, of emphysema, osteoporosis and a few other ailments. Not a good year for the Cowsills.

Also Laurel Hester, former Detective in Ocean County died after her battle with cancer and the freeholders of that county.