Last night, nice and quiet. Bill was at his folks, Juan somewhere in NJ, Song with Ray also somewhere in NJ, Julio and Stine dealing with extended family, Annemarie and Co. in Arcata, so I guess everyone was where they were supposed to be. Who knows where Harpy was, he only calls to suggest editing, and Pedro doing the thing that Pedro does with humor and innuendo. I just hung out, downloaded some Mamas and the Papas songs, and watched a pretty good documentary on Sam Cooke on PBS, which had interviews with Lou Rawls, Aretha Franklin, Bobby Womack and a surprisingly fit, Allen Klein. For those playing at home, Allen Klein was a major factor in the break up of the Beatles. Also owns the early Rolling Stones recordings up to 1971, as well as Donovan and of course, Sam Cooke.

Then I watched the usual bad news at 11:00 and wound up in bed after that, under the cool air blowing in my vicinity. It wasn’t blowing as strong as I would have liked. (Bob Allen reference?) I soon fell asleep though, only to be awoken by the sound of a monsoon around 4:30. It was a good thing I put the unit in the window since I would have had to close the windows making the bedroom a lot stuffier than it usually is. I should have closed the windows throughout the apartment but didn’t think of it at the time. Thought about it when I saw that my cellphone that I left laying on the window sill was now soaked. It barely worked after that. I didn’t pay it much attention, figuring that it would dry up and start working again. Which it is, sort of. Or at least, that’s what the cellphone has been doing all day, drying.

Fortunately it stopped raining when I left and I was not surprised that it was a lot more humid today, even after the storm than it was the past days. Today was actually when it felt like it was 100 degrees. It was uncomfortable to be in the sunlight for more than a few minutes. The storm which had some tornado elements, touched down in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn and uprooted trees and damaged houses. It also flooded rail lines and subways causing half of the office to be out and the other half rather soggy when they eventually came in. Greg Stevens came in and looked like he was in a wet dress shirt competition. I offered to run out and get him a t shirt, but he opted to go to Brooks Brothers instead and bought a new shirt since he had a reason to do so.

Carla the receptionist eventually made it in, after letting everyone in Astoria get on the subway before her. She went and had some breakfast while the crowd thinned a bit, and also went and changed her clothes since she had perspired on her previous work clothes. Smart girl. Also Brooks Brothers isn’t exactly in her budget. It was a quiet day and it crawled somewhat. I did see Billie when I went and got a salad. That place wasn’t too crowded, due to police tape outside the door. Nothing as far as I could see happened, and other people were going under the tape, gingerly stepping over the outline of a body on the sidewalk outside.

The Beastie Boys are playing a benefit at Summerstage tonight and I decided to pass. Too humid out and more than likely the rock would still be wet and muddy. Plus I’m seeing the B-52’s tomorrow night with Bill and Billie, and then on Friday, Bill and I are going to a WNBA game. No singing this time, just to enjoy the game and scope out some chicks.

Patrick Cleandenim. I’m digging his song, Until You Said I’m Gone. Check him out on iTunes. The song is worth 99 cents at least. I got it on a compilation cd from the Word Magazine from England. I buy it from time to time when I’m jonesing for some British music press. If you see the issue with Leonard Cohen on the cover, snap it up, not just for the fine writing inside, but also for the really good cd.

Here is the Daily Show’s take on Bob Allen

Well they said that today there was going to be a heat index of 100 degrees which is insane, yet it didn’t actually feel like that. It seemed hotter the past few days. I judge this by the amount that I sweat, and today I simply didn’t sweat as much as I had. There were still sweat stains but I didn’t look like someone threw a buck of water on me. I sweat at night in bed, since I’ve been putting off getting the air conditioner and placing it in the window. I always feel like it’s going to fall out and seriously injure someone. I wrote something like that a while ago.

Last night I went to bed after the news, deciding to put off the Daily Show until the next evening’s broadcast. That way I could get some ‘actual’ news instead of the ‘real’ news from Jon Stewart and company. I went to bed around 11:30 and fell asleep waking up at 3:00AM when Bill told me to turn off my alarm clock. I was right next to it and didn’t hear it, yet Bill did. That set me off a bit and had me waking up every hour on the hour.

Still, I woke up at 6:00 with Bill leaning over for a kiss. Shuffled along, singing my song, side by side. Got onto the bus on time, rode to the city again, reading the New Yorker and trying to pace myself because I wouldn’t have anything else to read for my return trip back to Hoboken. (Sidebar- I just went and check to see my alarm clock, set at 6:00 and the air conditioner was still in the window so there is no need to go downstairs and see to whomever it might be splayed under the air conditioning unit)

The office was a bit odd, with various people coming up to me and complaining about Vivek screaming and yelling throughout the day. Apparently this what it was like at his last company, the Orange Lion Investment Bank. But this is a smaller quieter office. So quiet it felt like people in the office could hear Pedro on the phone with me, all ‘nigga this and nigga that’. It’s his term of endearment for me. I never use the word myself, in fact I’ve been called that more than I have ever called anyone else that.

In fact, the first time I believe I was ever called that was when I was online at the Burger King in Harmon Meadow in Secaucus in the eighties. Maurice Menares, an old friend was on line as well and I hadn’t seen him. It was very crowded and most everyone was of a color that wasn’t white. I felt compelled to fall to my knees and offer 20 dollars to the nearest black man so that I could blow him, I was that intimidated. No wait that was Florida State Representative Bob Allen, not me. Anyway, there were many people of color and all of a sudden I hear, ‘Yo, John! What’s up nigga?’ Oh the looks I got. Not menacing or anything like that, just that I think it was the first time any of us in that Burger King ever heard a white person, me, called a nigga. Good times.

Republic of T, (to your right in the blogroll) has more of the story about Patrick Atkins and Brett Conrad, who I wrote about last night. You can cut and paste, can’t you?

http://www.republicoft.com/2007/08/07/strengthening-families/#more-1069