Pretty much a boring Saturday. It’s definitely cooler out weather wise, major droppage in temperature.

Here’s something from a journal, written about 12 years ago.

Went on a boat ride last night. I went on one last year with a Guyanese Social Club. This year, the same social club but with a difference. Last year the boat went up and down the Hudson River. This year it remained docked.. The seemed to have sold too many tickets. There were way too many people there. I was supposed to go last week but chickened out at the last minute. When I heard in Monday what a great time was had and what I missed and how everyone was asking for me, I resolved to go this week.

After touch and go negotiations with Marcus, it was decided to meet at the Circle Line Pier 83 at 7-7:30. I got there at 7:15 and immediately wish I had brought a jacket. The sun was sinking behind the Palisades and into the Meadowlands and with the river breezes and the upcoming fall of night I was certain it was going to get colder. I was also carrying two bottles of champagne while I wandered around waiting for Marcus.

My paranoid mind was playing tricks on me, thinking that since I backed out at the last minute last week, Marcus was going to do the same to me. I had forgotten that Marcus was always late. First thing you learn is that you always have to wait, and I’m waiting for my man Marcus. I expected that and as I lingered around the edge of the Guyanese crowd Marcus made an appearance at around 8:30.

That shows how my mind operates, revenge, retribution, retaliation and I expected Marcus to be the same way. But no, he kept his word, just his usual late self. Something I should learn to do or since I know, to do!

“I saw you before you saw me” Marcus said upon greeting me. I was sure of that since I was basically the only Caucasian in the area that didn’t work for the Circle Line. Marcus came with Jesse who was parking the car.

I was wearing a white cotton Gap shirt, baggy blue jeans and my tan suede Na Na Doc Marten boots that I bought for 15.00 in Soho. Marcus was wearing a Brown and Tan baseball cap with a tiger/leopard/zebra print on it, a silk shirt and tan pants. Jesse was looking like a rock star with round mirrored shades white t shirt, white denim jacket and white jeans.

Like I said, the boat never left the pier, too many people would make it unsafe. At one point due to overcrowding, the police arrived with dogs snapping at the party goers. Totally uncalled for. All the Guyanese women were flirting with me, thinking I was a rich American guy looking for a Guyanese wife.

The music wasn’t roots reggae, more dancehall oriented. I understood Joe Strummer singing White Man in the Hammersmith Palais, about expecting to here revolutionary reggae and instead getting a slick floor show.

Here’s some pics….

RoDa and Bill

and now, me, today. feeling artsy

the moody bastard

Oh it’s Friday and I am so happy about that. Just a really up and down week. A roller coaster of sorts. I am also glad the birthday is behind me. Don’t want to deal with that again, at least not for another year. Pretty tired right now, despite sleeping well last night. Perhaps too well. Great difficulty waking up this morning even though I woke up at 6:00, I could have used another hour. And I went to bed earlier than usual last night. Just a very quiet night at home, alone. No phone calls except for brother Frank which lasted a minute since one of his favorite TV shows was about to start. Yes, brother Frank is on the mend.

The other night, Bill and I watched United 93. The one that was released in the movie theaters last year. Mainly unknown actors playing the passengers and hijackers. Quite intense of course. By the end Bill and I were ready to kick some terrorist ass, but there weren’t any in the apartment so we went to bed. I’m sure I had some crazy intense dreams following that but due to the jazz soundtrack playing behind my red eyes, I didn’t remember them. It could account for my crap mood on Wednesday though.

On Wednesday night we watched Looking For Langston by Isaac Julien. It’s only 42 minutes long, but it’s quite good, very artsy. All about the Harlem Renaissance in the 1920’s juxtaposed with black gay culture in the 1980’s. It was dedicated to James Baldwin. Not for everyone, but if you’re so inclined I recommend it.

Last night I didn’t know what to watch and wound up watching a series on the 1940’s on PBS. I enjoyed it somewhat. It was almost a glimpse into my parents lives. I watched part one and while waiting for part two the chimp in charge had to make a speech about how well the war is going. It’s not going well and the best thing to do is to bring the troops home. But that’s not what the idiot will do. He might bring them home next summer. What an asshole. I hate him so much. It was strange to watch Roosevelt rallying people at home to fight in world war two, then to watch the chimp saying shit and not rallying anyone except for the felchers behind him.

Surprisingly enough, they did mention after the idiot speech, about how the troops came home after the war, changed from who they were before the war. They came home and drank, abused their spouses and didn’t talk about what they saw or did. They certainly didn’t talk about it at the VFW or the American Legion. They drank a lot and tried to forget. I can’t remember that being brought up before in other World War Two documentaries.

On TV, they just showed a clip of Tony Snow leaving the White House, good of him to wipe the jism off his chin. And here I thought he swallowed.

That’s it. I’m tired.