New Years Eve. Still in Saigon. Shit. No wait, strike that. Hoboken. Home of the homos. More apt, I think. A horrid morning today. Not enough sleep. Bill’s new cellphone kept buzzing and beeping. Every time I’d start to drift off it would buzz and beep. Every single time.

And I’d get farther from the elusive goal of actual sleep. Initially I thought it was his new alarm clock, but it was the phone. I did get up at one point and put it in his nightstand drawer, but I could still hear it. Oh how I wanted to smash it to the floor. But I maintained, I took it out of the floor and put in on the couch two rooms away.

That worked. I couldn’t hear it. But the pier of sleep was so far away and I had a long way to swim. Eventually I did sleep. An hour or so later Bill started to stir. Not in that way. I tried that earlier and it simply wasn’t happening, which of course caused depressing thoughts in my frazzled head.

But as he says, he was that tired.

So when he started to stir and get his day started I grimaced under the covers. I was finally sleeping, not REM sleep, but a reasonable facsimile. But too wracked to stay in bed I had to tell him about his damned phone. Which wasn’t a good way to start the day for either of us.

He was a trouper. He apologized. It was anew phone, he didn’t know all the functions and he was sorry about being tired about that. Fine, I made my coffee, said my piece and went back to bed. He came back with the papers and bagels. Awfully kind thing to do to a shit heel like myself. I got back out of bed and thanked him.

He eventually went to the gym and I sat in the apartment filled with self loathing. And that’s how a part of the end of the day at the end of the year went for me. Self hatred. Oh it was bad. It was bleak. I suppose it’s better to end a year feeling that way than starting it, right?

I couldn’t bear to be in the apartment any longer. Dark thoughts, better to get out into the gray area of Hoboken, which is basically a gray New Years Eve.

So I went into the city. Thought about sex but that was depressing to think about. So I walked around Soho with a scowl. A scowl comes in handy because people really do get out of your way, especially on Canal Street. I really felt alone. No one around, no one to turn to. Sad huh?

And I felt like I was a piece of shit.

I went to Toys In Babeland and hung out with those classy women, lesbians. Went to Old Navy and bought a pea coat with the gift card that the great Julio gave me for my birthday way back when.

I started walking up to Farfetched. On the way I saw a woman with a scrunched up face, literally. It was sad. She must be a strong person to go through life like that I thought. My heart went out to her, and some pity, which she probably would’ve outright rejected. She didn’t need my pity. She didn’t need anything from me. I didn’t have my life anywhere near as bad as she had, and it didn’t mean shit.

As I walked up Lafayette to Farfetched I got a call from Annemarie. The roads from San Francisco to Arcata were closed due to mudslides that had a hella time getting back home. And after they got home, the next morning they had no heat or electricity due to the mudslides I guess. Everyone in Arcata was in the same dark cold boat. Suckez vous.

Despite all that we had a good talk, Earl got his Nirvana magazine, Rex got his Cultivate Peace T shirt. I felt good after talking to Annemarie, almost back to normal.

Went into Farfetched and chatted for a few with Lois and Jessica. Bought yet another gift for Bill. I know this will be used though. The words on it are his, the contents within will be mine. If it’s the thought that counts, I was half thinking.

Went to Virgin, giddy sales people. I was getting into it, after the phone call from sis and the Farf women. Relatively giddy. Had the Ipod and listened to Rufus which was also part of the malaise of the day. Juan and I watched a documentary on Rufus that just recently came out and we seem to both be affected by it. Me more so since I love Rufus, Juan could care less, but still…

Hopped on Path, first car first seat which I gave up to a family who wanted to see how a train snakes through the ground. They were thankful, I was courteous. See? I was getting some sort of vibe.

Came back to the apartment where Bill was cleaning. I apologized for the nth time for this morning, Bill was understanding. I think he was secretly glad I didn’t trash his phone.

Julio called from Copenhagen where somehow he was elected Mayor of Detroit. An inside joke. It basically means while it was 7:30 PM New Years Eve in Hoboken, it was 1:30 AM in Copenhagen and he was ROCKED. As in Detroit Rock City. If you have to explain it, it just ain’t funny. That’s why some jokes should remain inside.

Phone Call From Copenhagen

Stine said hello and also said yes to Julio’s marriage proposal. WOO HOO!

Bill and I made plans to go set some steaks at a restaurant and we did.
JOZ @ Arthurs
Bill @ Arthurs

We wandered around Hoboken, smoking cigars and talking.


Count the bats. Win a Prize.

And now I’m here writing this playing my Ipod while Bill watches TV a few feet from this keyboard.

Happy New Year.

100 Page Super Spectacular

I took yesterday off so today is an attempt to double up. Been having a gay ol’ time the past few days. And you know that can’t be bad. The piper’s union has been lax but then again I’ve been living on the down low, and it’s usually under covers.

All in all it was a good Christmas, and not necessarily gift wise. Bill’s been quite amazing, and he’s had some erotic photos taken. Really erotic. Too erotic to be posted here. So don’t ask. But they are quite hot. So a shout out to Bill.

Had an excellent online chat with a good friend mamonohunterneo. A wise lad. And also quite hilarious. So a shout out to him.

Off work this week and already trying to think about something. Of course I have my best ideas when I’m away from the computer. Sometimes remembered, often not. So a shout out to my memory.

Diggin the Ipod. It has already uploaded everything on my Itunes. Took most of the day to get 5,074 songs. Now comes the task of whittling them down. It’s a gray day in Hoboken. Perfect laundry day. Feels like a Sunday.

Right now on Unsolved Mysteries is a missing woman who may have been too influenced by Jack Kerouac. Specifically his book ‘Dharma Bums’. Did she just pick up and vanish? She was sighted 30 miles south of Seattle dazed and confused. I read Dharma Bums sometime ago, it wasn’t that good. Kerouac’s best is of course, ‘On the Road’.

That was inspirational. Through Kerouac I learned about the Beats and latched onto Burroughs. I read most of Burroughs stuff and liked it then, now…? I enjoyed his character more than his fiction.

For a long time if someone was stuck on getting me something for a gift, chances are they went to the Burroughs section in various bookstores. There was a point in my life when a few friends decided to dabble in heroin. They would tell me that they had shot up last weekend, or when they were in Chicago. I would be horrified and ask why were they telling me this, they would respond, ‘You’ve read Burroughs’.

A lot of dear friends bought me blank books, which was nice, but I found them too intimidating.

I have a great collection of partially used blank books, usually with the first dozen pages filled with ambitious writing in a pharmaceutical scrawl. There are also the marble notebooks that I filled while working at McSwells. Those are drunken observations occasionally fueled by chemicals.

By the way, this is not fueled by chemicals. Does it show?

I spent a lot of time in the 80’s experimenting with things, and justified it by claiming it to be Burroughsian. I believed it, I think others did too. It was fun. Nobody got hurt as far as I know. And everyone was doing it. I know I know, that’s no excuse, so I’ll stick to the Burroughsian concept instead.

There is always a price to pay, hence the formation of the Piper’s Local Union 724. A surly mob, not as effete as you’d expect pipers to be. And they do show up sometimes at the gates of dawn.

Isn’t Robert Stack dead? Yes, Virginia, he’s dead. 2003. Odd to see him still hosting Unsolved Mysteries. Back in the enhanced years, I would crash at a friend’s house in Queens. His wife was always up late watching Unsolved Mysteries or similar fact based shows. I’d lie on the floor twitching.

It was fun though it doesn’t read that way.

It’s 12:30 PM. Feels like 5PM. I’m living too fast, getting ahead of myself.

Yes this is the sober ramble. Perhaps later if I dare venture out of the apartment again, I might change that.

Just logged onto gay.com and was invited to a party. I panicked, hesitated and wound up missing out. Sounded like a good time. One guy who’s been chatting with me for a long time and a pal of his from the Village. The first guy was setting it up. So I dropped the ball(s). There was a lot of pressure involved.

Hot X rated pics from the 2nd guy. All this eroticism. Aren’t I lucky? So many men, such little time as the song goes. And then there’s me getting the fuck up off the couch. It was enticing.

It was in line with what Bill and I pillow talked about. But I would’ve preferred Bill to be involved. I’m sure he would’ve too.

But inaction, plus paying dues top the piper’s union doesn’t actually make one sociable.

I am getting over it.

Actually ventured out to the supermarket. A remarkable accomplishment. Store was busy. I flew in and flew out. Outside the funeral home a group of mourners were planning their next move after the current viewing. Holiday funerals, what a drag.

“Or my name isn’t Riddick Bowe”

I had no idea Barbara was such an anti Semite.

I’m skimming through a book Julio gave me about the Beatles written by an insider. Starting to take an Anti Yoko stance. If it’s true, what a con…

Microderm abrasion indeed!

Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Ok the hair of the dog. First drink of the day. 6:55 pm. I would like to get the Rufus Wainwright Documentary. And David Rakoff’s new book. Well I can get that at the Library probably. So much to read. Behind in my New Yorker, but it’s better than having a New Yorker in my behind.

I am in love with the Ipod. Perverse.

“Crows feet are engraved on my face, and I’m living too late” Mark E. Smith The Fall. Brilliant lyrics that read like poetry and when Mark sings them, it’s perfect. The Fall are not for everyone, but there’s a really good collection called ’50,000 Fall Fans Can’t Be Wrong’ The title and cover art are a play on Elvis Presley. You had to be there.

“So, the caterpillar has emerged from its cocoon as a shark with a gun for a mouth”

Bustle off to Shuffalo