Category Archives: Abstract Absurdist Otherness

Read it and weep! I’ve published and now, I be damned! There are some diamonds in this coal. Proceed with cautious carelessness.

Love Comes in Spurts

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Blancmange. Loved those guys. Very inventive synth pop, with exotic touches from the eighties. Here it is twenty years later and I’m listening to them on the Ipod. I specifically remember driving back from the Queens Museum in Flushing Meadows with Andrew Feldman, Rand’s roommate at the time, where we had visited Laurie Anderson’s exhibition. Andrew loved the line, “my baby’s got a face like a long wet Sunday”.

It is a classic line I must admit. When I hear it, I think of Andrew.

This morning I played what seemed to be absolutely perfect for walking to work. I played the Buzzcocks, Singles Going Steady record. Yes record. I know it’s digital, it’s on the Ipod, but saying the Buzzcocks cd, (and cd’s are nearly obsolete) just doesn’t ring true. From Orgasm Addict to Harmony in My Head, the walk encompassed all of side one of Singles Going Steady. Walking through Manhattan and watching the fog roll in, instead of out and listening to classic Punk Pop, it was perfect.

I strolled into the lobby of Four Times Square and dropped off Bill’s shirt for an audition he had this afternoon. Just grooving on the Punk tip and strolled back out, walking down 42nd street. It was a Friday and I was smiling. Work was inane and stressful but somehow I got through it relatively unscathed. I did complain about the job that I do, how much of it is managerial, and how I don’t get paid for those duties that I do every mother fuckin day.

I said this to Jamie, minus the mother fuckin, and she agreed with me, stating if it weren’t for me she wouldn’t be able to do her job. Then she surprised me. She apologized for thinking that I was a pain in the ass and a lazy person when she started. You see, she was tainted by Bleedin Hope and Fat ass Deborah. Deborah is still fat and expanding with the universe and Bleedin Hope is now bleedin on the west coast in San Francisco. She then said she now knows that I’m not those things.

Enough of the trash. I got through the day, the fog stayed and got thicker. I loved it. It made the day quite balmy. I left work, feeling good and of course strolled down the street carrying a Brookstone Back Massager which is a lot of fun. Rub a dub dub. And of course, the Padron 5000.

Came back to Hoboken, everything going according to the plan of Bill and I having dinner at Arthur’s. We walked up to Washington Street, had a nice meal, great service and great company. At the next tables were about 20 to 30 Asian guys, all having beers and enjoying steaks. They looked like Steven’s students and they probably were. At another table sat 3 young women with a young boy. I think it was the first time at a restaurant for some of them because they ran across the street and came back with McDonald’s for the boy. Tacky.

After taking Bill to dinner, we decided to stroll up the Boulevard and smoke some cigars. It was still balmy and great for walking. Hoboken was crowded with traffic, but it was a Friday night and that meant soon the bars would be filling up. We walked past the funeral home at 7th street where we saw Damian and Anna Uva. Damian’s an old friend of Julio’s and my friend too. Bill and I almost moved into the building Damian’s father owns a few years ago, but that plan fell apart soon after it was thought of.

Damian and Anna were paying respects to Tommy King’s sister. Tommy was a neighbor of mine in Weehawken and also an old friend of Julio and Damian’s. Damian told me Tommy’s sister was sick most of her life. I made a note to send a card to Tommy and his father tomorrow. After talking with them on the street and having a few laughs, and also telling Damian that Julio had gotten married last week in Copenhagen. He was taken aback more than I was when Anna told me their daughter was now eight years old.

We parted way and Bill and I ambled up Washington, intending to say hello to RoDa who was working at McSwells. Luckily for me, Ro was outside smoking a Clove. We chatted and wished each other a happy new year when Ro was called back inside to perform his managerial duties. We started strolling away, when I heard a familiar voice yelling. It was Tony, Roda’s cousin and a fellow cigar smoker. Talked with him for a short while and I laid an extra Padron on him. That’s’ what cigar guys do, when you have some good ones, you usually share them with other cigar men.

Bill and I then walked home, finishing our cigars and getting clocked by various guys on the street. Very nice.

Today is Friday the Thirteenth and a Full Moon Weekend.

And now here are some pictures of foggy Gotham.

Dizzy

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Ok, time to break a pseud resolution. My workday was book ended in the morning and the evening by the same Persian CUNT. Where are the psychopaths and why are they throwing the wrong people in front of subways?
That’s all I have to say on that matter. And I’ll throw in an apology for the female reader(s) that loathe that word.

I was able to escape the pit of employment by going to the post office. See, they raised the price of stamps and it’s always good to have 2 cent stamps around. You never know when you’ll need a 2 cent stamp ya see.

This morning Bill stayed home, and he wished I could’ve stayed home with him. Then chatted with Juan for a minute as I was getting ready for work this morning and he wished I could’ve stayed home so we could hang out. It would’ve been nice to stay with Bill and later hang with Juan. I hate waking up and it’s still dark out.

So I ambled to work, listening to the Who. Perhaps it was the wrong choice, because for all their bombast and power chords they can be a touch morose. Won’t Get Fooled Again, indeed. In hindsight, yes they were the wrong choice. Too many choices on the Ipod sometimes. I’m bound to occasionally make the wrong one.

Bill stayed home and tidied up the apartment somewhat. Then we made plans to meet after work and stroll down to the village for our very first couples counseling session. He was right on time, and depressed. We had missed opportunities last night, and he couldn’t let up on himself despite my telling him that it was alright.

And it really was, I wasn’t just telling him that. I’ve been there for him and he wasn’t, He’s been there for me and I wasn’t. Shit happens, let’s face it. We have a lifetime of being there for each other and there’s bound to be more times when we’re not. The law of averages.

So we walked, Bill sad, me trying to be encouraging. And considering the day that I had, it wasn’t easy. We strolled and sat in Union Square, didn’t want to be too early and have to sit with people who seemed more far gone than us. Had a slice of pizza before we took the elevator to the gallows.

Had to get on line at the center. Many people depressed these days. If not depressed, then something else was bothering them. I didn’t want to know. In fact, I felt that Bill and I had been making good progress on our own, perhaps we didn’t need this. Bill was apprehensive. I was getting skeptical. I did the therapy thing in the 80’s for a few weeks. It didn’t work for me. Might work for others, but one size doesn’t fit all.

So we sign in, pay our money, and told to wait for Barbara. Turns out it was Carol. Carol Howell ♪.

A counselor with a first and last name that rhymes sort of. A good sign?

We follow Carol Howell ♪ to our designated room and I have the realization that if everyone was wearing towels, we might as well be at the East Side Club. Same set up, minus towels and strolling horny through the halls. All that was missing was various guys showing states of arousal or waiting on their bellies for anal penetration.

Carol Howel l♪ had a similar speech pattern to Lois DiLivio, a dear friend of mine. She sounded like Lois would in about fifteen years, only more of a mumbler. Lois speaks clearly. But that was all, similar speech patterns. Carol Howell ♪ was a bit scatter brained it seemed.

She tried to find the notes on Bill and myself, but couldn’t seem to find them. She had read it at some point, but wasn’t able to pin point who was who. She was able to guess that Bill was an informal version of William, and that Bill was comfortable, being called Bill. I mentioned that it’s hard to loosen up the name John, but she proved me wrong, by stating that someone in her life, named John, prefers J. And then there’s Jack too. So she proved me wrong. I should’ve checked the diploma on the wall but instead focused on a poster for a David Hockney exhibition at the Met in 1988.

I started the session off, telling her what’s been going on in the past year or so, and where we’re at now, my unease at the open relationship thing. It has the benefit that if Bill wants something that I can’t give or do well, he can go somewhere else and I can do the same thing.

Bill had his turn and then I spoke and then Carol Howell ♪ asked a question. She made us aware of the time passing previously and then Bill answered her, saying ‘ma’am’ and she wasn’t too keen on that. ‘Call me Carol’ said Carol Howell ♪.

Bill mentioned that he was raised basically by Puerto Rican women and how he was taught to address them with respect. I thought that this might be going off the track and tried to steer the conversation back to the question. Carol didn’t seem to like that. I said it was because of the time we had remaining and wanted to stay on the topic. I told Carol Howell ♪ that I was basically mimicking her notice of the time remaining.

I mentioned that Bill and I had this idea of going to the East Side Club together, but if we accidentally bumped into each other while going separately I would leave. She didn’t understand. I tried to explain that the sex club was set up with guys walking around in towels and I didn’t want to stumble onto Bill there.

It seemed that she wasn’t getting me. Bill knew what I was talking about and tried to elaborate, but I was getting frustrated. Frustrated enough to get up and show her how guys walk around the East Side Club. This seemed to frighten her, like I was going to hit her. Not my style, at all.

But she didn’t know that, and as Bill pointed out later, perhaps she was hit by a patient before. For me it was downhill from then on in. One minute we’re talking about Bill’s anger issues, and next thing you know, she’s calling me angry. I said I wasn’t angry, only frustrated.

The longest hour ended. And she escorted Bill and me halfway down the hall. I couldn’t wait to get out of there. To me it was a fiasco. I figured Bill would’ve felt likewise. Nope. Bill got a lot out of it and looks forward to the next session, which will be in two weeks, after Carol Howell ♪ gets back from her vacation next week.

I thought it was funny, Bill was resistant to the idea of therapy, of paying someone to listen to your problems, while I was pushing the fact that it’s good to have an objective ear, someone who has no ties to us. Now, on the street, he’s all for it, and I’m thinking that it’s bullshit.

I said that it was maybe my punk rock Do It Yourself ethos, that we’ve been talking a lot lately, really upfront with our emotions. Maybe we didn’t need this. Maybe we do. Time will tell I suppose.

I don’t feel angry though.