It’s been a week since Barry McLarry dumped me. I will spare you the details since I wrote about it last week. The closet queen from Manila in exile, Lita Semana rules her roost once again, her Filipino underlings at her beck and call while Shamalama Khan tried to tell people that Lita has no power over these Pinoy pussies.

When Shamalama Khan told me that I chortled in his face. Minutes later Lita Semana waltzes in, says something in Tagalog, and the Manila miscreants spring to attention like an activated butt plug that was planted in each rectum sprung to electrical life simultaneously.

That was near Burroughsian if you ask me. Or as the kids today say, ‘If you ax me’. A former fool of a supervisor had that gutter Brooklyn accent when axing questions.

I heard from Daisy who is sitting at what used to be my desk. She told me a pair of sneakers were left behind. I asked that she donate them to the homeless, put them in a bag, and place them in a clothing drop box, which I am sure she passes in her travels to and from work.

I remarked even in my down and out spirit, I look out for those who have less than me. More christian than most christians as Bill has said about me in the past. Daisy seemed to agree. Then again this was all via text and she was at work so who really knows?

I was able to give some cigar swag away that I have had for years and never did anything with it. A nice cigar ashtray and a cigar humidor. I have been chatting online with a dude named Mike Handy who works nearby at the Jersey City/Hoboken border. We finally met this afternoon. A good dude it seems, a good connection and friendship will ensue I hope. He certainly is a handsome man and quite sexy.

I’ve been maintaining my step count each day. I used to do that at my break time in Tribeca in the afternoons, but that ain’t happening no mo’. It’s a relief to not deal with Tribeca and the boredom in me that it created. Of course, if I was asked back to work in that area again, I wouldn’t say no. Since no one is asking, the answer remains no.

And Michael Palin seems to have written when the spirit moved him. I can’t say I am moved by the spirit to write, but rather by the compulsion to write.

I spoke with my sister over the weekend, and I expressed a ‘worry’ about how relatives will take the news of my recurring unemployment. I posted a meme a few weeks ago on the social medias that said partly if you have a day job to get by, you’re still an artist.

It may have been one of the first times I brought up that I am an artist to my sister, but having written that, I remember talking about how Bobby Risotto (a former supervisor to me & the ax lady) didn’t appreciate my photos, and what did he know?

I was an artist. And I still am.

So, I’m reading Michael Palin’s Diaries, 1969-1979, The Python Years. It’s an enjoyable read. I like how he maintains a diary. I’m sure things were edited before publication, things were tidied up, etc.

For me it’s not a book you read from start to finish, just jump in here and there. I jump from 1974 and read that. Then it’s 1979 or 1969. The stories about making Monty Python and the Holy Grail are informative and the struggles to get the Life of Brian off the ground are even more so. I’m sure my method of reading the book is not what they had in mind, but they have their way and I have mine.

I’m not too sure if Michael Palin wrote every day since it does skip some days of the week occasionally. I try to write every day but dropped the ball twice this week. It’s been an odd week, in any event. Plus there is an index to Michael Palin’s Diaries should I need to look up something that was mentioned earlier, at another time.

So far the only person that I know that is reading this is Bill and I don’t think it’s on a regular basis.

This is the part where YOU, the ever so sophisticated reader steps up and says, “I read this blog which is beneath my delicate sophistication!”

You don’t need to write about how this here blog is beneath you. I already took care of that for you. Feel free to come up with something on your own! I won’t judge.

Bill is on his way home from Lambertville, just across the Delaware River from New Hope, PA where an old reader of the previous incarnation, Harpy, lived at some point in his illustrious life. I last spoke to Harpy for about a minute a few months ago.

I think it was around his birthday. Harpy and I used to speak often but not so much anymore. The last call had Harpy as even more cantankerous as before, railing about the narcissism of the social medias.

He was a willing participant at some time but now shows up like a groundhog on February 2. And who doesn’t love groundhogs? Or at least, the Bill Murray movie, Groundhog Day, everyone loves that one.

Now this is where HARPY, the cantankerous reader of yore, steps up and says “I hated Groundhog Day!”

Oh, the world would be so much better if everyone did what I wanted them to do.

Now I type, Keri Russell is The Diplomat on Netflix. It’s the first episode and it seems pretty good. At least from what I hear since my eyes are mainly on the keyboard in front of me with the TV more like a radio.

Bill is on his way home after a delayed train and is now back in Hoboken. He’s on the bus. Those who know will get that reference.

And by those who know, I mean YOU, my dearest literate friends.

I hope to see you tomorrow.