Category Archives: Cool Cold Reality

Where it is and what it came from. The end-all, be-all, and all-for-a-dollar.

I Don’t Like Mondays

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Well it’s a Saturday and it’s been a day off and from what I can tell nice day weather wise. It’s been alright, I’ve been relatively busy though operating on a low flame. Not that I am ill or anything like that. Physically I feel fine.

All week long I was looking forward to going to Maxwells to support Rand and the Kirby Enthusiasm art show. I spent most of the day killing time, cleaning the apartment, getting some groceries and running errands.

Went to the bibliothèque and picked up a couple of things on hold for me and a stop at the dry cleaners to pick up some clothes. I came home and watched some television, not watching anything in particular. All in all it’s been a nothing day really. Lying low basically.

Last night I was home at a decent hour after work, Bill was off working on the play. I watched Bill Maher and then the news. Surprisingly (or maybe not) there was nothing to watch. Bill came home and we talked for a while before he went to bed.

I soon joined him, falling fast asleep. I slept fairly well, probably from the Xanax I had taken 12 hours before. The day before at the cigar shack was so soul crushing that I needed to let things slide and it certainly helped. And the comedown was pleasant enough to insure a good night’s sleep.

The sleep was good enough to make me sleep later than I expected, awoken once more by Bill kissing me good bye for the day. Bill had a full day, a voice lesson and then picking up his cousin’s son (whom he calls his nephew) to work alongside Bill on the play for some school project.

I did go walk around Hoboken for a spell this afternoon. Not much going on anywhere, so my walk was short lived. After coming home and having something to eat, as well as my Saturday phone call to Annemarie I started to get ready to go to Maxwells for the Kirby Enthusiasm show.

I took my time since I was watching a DVD and also downloading some Everly Brothers tracks as well as some Dave Edmunds and a couple of Elvis Presley songs. I wasn’t sure how cool it was outside since on the fifth floor of my building it was quite windy with the windows open.

I did get it together and started to head out. I also called CREDO since I checked my smartphone account. I was near my 300 text limit and couldn’t figure out how that happened so fast. I called CREDO and spoke to customer service.

They told me that my texting including the sending and receiving of texts as well as photographs, which I’ve been sending quite often. So I upgraded my text messaging and downgrading my phone plan because it seems I only talk to my sister and Bill. A trade off of sorts I guess.

Around 5:00 I decided to finally head out the door. But of course I didn’t actually hit the street until 25 minutes later. I walked up Washington Street, listening to the Bongos on the iPod. On the way I saw a young mother with a toddler and a baby in the carriage about to go into the building.

The toddler climbed the stoop to open the door for the mother. I figured the mother would need help carrying the carriage up the front steps so I offered to help. It was no big deal. I was smoking a cigar and lodged it in the front grate and then helped the mother up the four or five steps. After helping her out, I reclaimed my cigar and walked up the boulevard towards Maxwells.

Inside it was busy enough, people coming in for Saturday night dinners. I walked in and some guy waved to me so I waved back even though I had no idea who he was. I didn’t know anyone there so I looked at the art hanging on the wall. Great stuff, many different artists.

After a few minutes I still didn’t see anyone I knew. It was almost like the first time I went to Maxwells, just a feeling of unease from not knowing anyone. I did check in on my smartphone and decided I might have a better signal outside. Standing on the sidewalk I had a smoke and checked my bank account online and saw it was dangerously low.

I decided to head towards the river, planning on sitting on a bench. As I walked away, out of the corner of my eye I did see someone I knew, but didn’t really hang out with back in the day. Now he approached with one of his kids. I figured he didn’t see me so I had the advantage and kept walking, not turning around.

I turned the corner and felt better at being unseen. It was then I felt it would be best to go home. I saw the artwork and liked it, but couldn’t afford a pint or anything else, including a friend’s band playing in the back room as part of the Kirby Enthusiasm event. I felt bad but what could I do.

Perhaps pride got me going home, or perhaps it was shame at not having the funds. Still it was a way to save face. I feel better being home now, regretting not seeing any friends but I was there and they weren’t. Now they are there probably and I am not. That’s how it goes I suppose.

Bibliotheque





heading home


I’m The Man

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A Saturday near the park, I was thinking it was the fourth of July. But it isn’t and who cares anyhow? Not me, not you. It got chilly last night and the window was open a bit. I was under a couple of fleece blankets which did the job a little, but with the blinds open somewhat the last hour wasn’t so restful as I had hoped.

Bill was up and out once again, headed to be the stage manager uptown for a show that’s opening in a week or so. I got out of bed once again so hungry that I felt ill. Some cereal in the bowl, some coffee in the pot and my naked body in the shower.

Then I was on my way to the bus stop for another day at the cigar shack. A walk up the avenue instead of the train, a stop to get my egg sandwich and then continuing on the walk up the avenue. Early yet again, I sat in the office once I got to the cigar shack and enjoyed my sandwich. For some reason I was so hungry.

Then I clocked in and set about working alongside Bradley. Jerry Vale was coming in later. As with the previous day lately it was slow going. Most of the regulars came in and settled on the man cave. A lot of tire kickers not knowing what they want and eventually deciding that what they want isn’t in the cigar shack.

Sometimes they say they’ll be back, knowing full well that they won’t. I’ve done it myself, deciding against what brought me into a certain shop and awkwardly opting out, leaving the salesperson with what I would hope to be, a glimmer of hope. And after working in retail for a year, I recognize that the glimmer is more often a splinter of hope.

I was able to go outside for lunch today but it was a bit nippy and overcast, the skies threatening to open up eventually. And the cigar I was smoking bulged and ruptured causing some frustration. I still smoked as much of the cigar as I could and read Uncut magazine. Quite a lot of tourists and strollers going back and forth way- too many to really relax.

Back at the cigar shack things were just as they were when I left, cigars sold and not much of anything else. Another celebrity came in today, this time it was Joe Jackson, someone I used to enjoy. I had met him once before when he was recording a set a Maxwells and Steve Fallon asked me to escort Joe Jackson to the stage through the crowd. He wasn’t personable then but that was probably because he was about to go onstage. He wasn’t personable today either.

I told him about Stevie Wonder and he seemed impressed by that, but when I asked if I could take his picture he moaned so I dropped it. At the end of the day, it was a tie between second place between Bradley and myself with Jerry Vale getting the lion’s share of the sales.

Bradley was a bit upset, not with tying for second place but with the fact that his register wound up short. I offered to help him with the count but as usual he was standoffish and prickly and not willing to accept a helpful hand. My register came out as even as it was when I opened this morning.

Finally it was time to close, Bradley had split about 90 minutes earlier. I was counting the money and Jerry Vale was taking a phone call in the humidor. He came back looking crestfallen, he just received news that his mother had died. I sympathized and told him to take a seat, relax, to cry if he wanted to.

He said he was alright, he ran away from home when he was 12 and wound up living with his sister, telling me that his mother didn’t really raise him. She had dementia and was living in a nursing home the past couple of years. Still I could tell it was a shock.

We left the cigar shack together and rode the train downtown, me getting off at the bus terminal and Jerry Vale continuing downtown.