Coney Island. I’m sitting on the Boardwalk, just zoning out. The sun is where it should be and that is in the sky at approximately 6:40 or rather 18:40. Feeling pretty good. 2 days in a row of doing things that are presently out of the ordinary whereas, a number of years ago were quite ordinary.

About 10 years ago I was at Summerstage most every time there was an event going on, and then stay until 11:00 or later relatively zooted and surprised to be traipsing through Central Park at what is usually an unsafe hour. By zooted I meant high from weed and drunk from beer, more than likely Heinekens. Some Mexican dudes would have their delivery bikes in the park running off to area delis and store to purchase as much cold beer that their bicycle baskets could hold.

There would usually be a crowd of maybe 20 people or so congregating around a loose group of drummers, all drinking and smoking and dancing and chanting into the night by the band shell which reverberated with hypnotic rhythms in the night. I was living in Weehawken at the time and would wander through the park into midtown and walk down to the bus terminal, more often than not, unmolested.

Coney Island was a different trip. It was also the first sighting of the Love Bubble that Bill and I occupied all those years ago. That’s a story and a half though. Some other time. I used to come here a lot in 2002. I was unemployed at the time and would spend my mornings online looking for a job then I would hop on a bus into the city to catch a train that would take me to the ocean.

It’s really a cheap and easy beach adventure that you don’t need a car to get to, though I’m sure if I had a car I wouldn’t be here. It is cool though. Quite a mosaic of different people and cultures. A nice mix and most are half naked though not necessarily the good half. A lot more Central Americans and Muslims in Burkahs. The Blacks, Whites and Latinos are scattered throughout.

A group of kids tossing a football back and forth and trying to hit seagulls as they throw the ball. An aging mother, trying to look younger with cornrows is screaming at her moody son, ‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’ The son walks away from his mother, silently cursing her under his breath. An older brother walks up to him and whispers something in his ear while tousling his hair, making his little brother smile.

Oliver Sachs kills me. I was thinking this the other day. I enjoy his writing, the way he breaks down theory in Neuroscience so that people like me can understand it and start to think that they have the symptoms that he writes so well about. I usually start to think that if I don’t have whatever it is he’s writing about, someday I will be suffering from the affliction.

I decided to avoid his writings thinking it would be good for my mental health.

This holiday weekend, since I can’t get Mojo or Uncut magazines from England, I have been catching up with the issues of the New Yorker I’ve been behind on. Being up to date is almost within my grasp. I’ve been going through the issues that I didn’t want to be caught short so I brought 2 issues.

I’m sitting on the beach reading a fine article on a Hollywood cinematographer when I turn the page and there is the byline of Oliver Sachs. I’m immediately sucked into a story about some visual affliction and how sight can be restored in some cases even after decades of non-use. Of course it was a great article.

A few hours later, I’m zoning out on the Boardwalk writing this. I look up and try to see the planes coming in for a landing at JFK at the point of horizon. It’s hazy and takes some effort when I see that if I focus a certain way I can see my eye itself. Little organisms floating around on the surface of my eyes.

I thought it was funny considering I was just reading about eye ailments by Oliver Sachs.

I heard from Juan, he said that TV on the Radio was very good and it was very crowded and it only rained for a little while. I think Bill and I did the right thing by not going, despite Bill saying today that he would’ve been fine to go. The walk to the Path train was therapeutic with Bill and I talking about the issues that came up during the session. It was a mellow night in when we got to the apartment.

We talked a little bit more when we got home and then we watched Law and Order, Bill’s favorite show. He went to bed soon after and I channel surfed, finally going to sleep around 1:00. Slept really well and woke up around 8:30 this morning. A beautiful day, Hoboken emptied out, most residents fleeing the city, heading for the shore or wherever. I went out and got the bagels and newspapers and even made a deposit in the bank. How’s that for productivity.

Unfortunately it was all downhill from there. Not much to do besides laundry, Bill awoke and did his thing, sitting on the couch. I was puttering about when Bill mentioned it would be a good day to go looking at beds. The bed we sleep in now is about 20 years old. I’m used to it, meaning that it doesn’t bother me much, but it’s not good for Bill’s back. He’s mentioned this several times in the past few years and I suggested that he do some research and we’d go looking.

2 years later, Bill’s research is completed and we walked to Sleepy’s and 1800 Mattress on Washington Street. Sleepy’s was first. Sleepy’s is located in what used to be Battaglia’s and before Battaglia moved in it used to be Madhaus, an off shoot of Steve Fallon and Arnold LaSpina’s Hand Mad, two friends from a long time ago. Abdul was our salesman, showing us the best most expensive beds that were in the top of our price range.

Abdul had us both lay separately on a black mattress where with bells and whistles deduced that we should get a medium four mattress. He was telling us according to a colored spectrograph that these parts here and those parts here are the most pressured and we should definitely buy the top notch beds. I had never shopped for a bed before and it is odd and must have looked strange to other people to see two large men laying next to each other on various mattresses in the store.

I usually zone out when shopping for pricey items and I certainly zoned out this afternoon. We thanked Abdul for his help, and he kept saying that the sale that was going on now was going to end on July 4th. We next went over to 1800Mattress where Steve and Arnold had their first Hand Mad store on the second floor of a building on Washington Street. It seems to be that their former stores for funky gifts turned into bed stores after they moved out.

1800Mattress had better prices I felt and we were on our own to check out the beds. No Abdul and no colored spectrographs here. I didn’t mind, but I think Bill did. We didn’t lay together in this store, we lay separately. I saw a nice floor model for under a thousand dollars and mentioned to Bill who cut me off saying it wasn’t about the price it was about the comfort. Well, duh. I knew that. What I didn’t know was the price range we were looking at, nor did I know of the extent of his research. We didn’t stay long there and wound up hungry on the street. We ate at a restaurant called Piccolo Roma. The lunch specials leave a lot to be desired, named flavor. Rather bland food. I could’ve done better and I usually do. Bill and I left and decided to walk around Hoboken’s waterfront.

We were strolling down First Street when Bill stopped to light a cigar. I didn’t realize that he stopped and kept walking, finally noticing he wasn’t with me after about 15 paces. He asked if I noticed that when we are walking around and if I want to light a cigar he stops. Why couldn’t I stop for him. I told him I did stop when I saw he wasn’t next to me, and I wasn’t paying attention. He always pays attention to me it seems. I didn’t think it was such a big deal, but apparently it was.

We continued to crawl to the waterfront, when I decided I didn’t want to go just then and there, with the problem of my not stopping and the lackluster food I just wanted to go home on this beautiful day. We walked down Hudson Street talking and at Fifth Street made a right instead of a left and walked towards a less crowded section of the waterfront. I just sat there and zoned out, Bill trying to get a conversation going. I answered whatever questions he asked, usually monosyllabic.

With the problem of walking together, the food, and the heat I just wanted to sit there at stare at the river. After an hour or so I left Bill on the bench and went food shopping. There was no food in the apartment for dinner. Picked up a few things and ran into Joe Kinderutten a guy that used to work at McSwells. Nice guy when sober, nasty when drunk and he was drunk a lot of the time. We knew each other but never hung out, not really getting along back then. We talked for a few minutes, he’s still playing guitar, and tending bar somewhere. He does look eerily younger then he used to. I wonder if there’s a portrait rotting somewhere…

Came home and took a three hour nap. Bill came home and gave me a kiss. That was nice, wasn’t it?