Category Archives: the day after yesterday

I Can Hear Music

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I am home, Bill is not. Neither is access to the internet. It’s a Thursday and I just got home from work. Tonight was Thomas’ night to close so I got to leave a little bit earlier than usual. It was not a busy day at all at the cigar shack and it took almost all of my 9 hour shift to break a grand. I wound up in second place behind Thomas but ahead of Bradley.

It was slow going throughout most of the day and since Thomas was controlling the register, meaning it was opened under his name and all sales go directly to him unless you manually change the name, and if you enter the name of the credit card user (which is most everyone) it defaults back to Thomas’ name.

So a few sales went to Thomas and not me. I was able to void a few of those sales and bring them back to my name so that worked out. After a while of doing that I just gave up and let Thomas have whatever sales I lost. The computers are so old and terrible that I sometimes make jokes that they were bought at a garage sale when the Soviet Union collapsed. I’m sure I had written that before but I think it’s a funny joke and worth repeating.

The cigar shack has been repainted, the man cave is now a light brown color and it makes the man cave seem that much more claustrophobic. Even though it was somewhat rainy today I opted to go out for lunch, sitting on a bench near the park.

I enjoyed a cigar as I sat on the Village Voice with AM NY giving cover for my back so I wouldn’t get wet. I know it was drier in the man cave, but I just needed to get out. Despite a few errant drops of rain falling off the leaves of the trees nearby it wasn’t so bad and I was able to read all about the Minutemen in Michael Azzerad’s ‘Our Band Could Be Your Life’.

Man, the Minutemen were my favorite indie/SST band from the 1980’s. I was fortunate enough to see them a few times at Maxwells, one time it being so crowded that I stood next to Rand on the back bar itself since there was no room on the floor. I never said hello to D. Boon, Mike Watt or George Hurley since I always figured I would further down the line.

Then D. Boon died in a car accident and that ended that dream. I played Double Nickels on the Dime by the Minutemen as I read their story and felt really good walking back to the cigar shack. It was nice to get in touch with my punk rock roots and it was a reminder that punk was not just about music, it was about the DIY attitude.

Oddly enough before all that Thomas asked about punk rock and why it was so nihilistic and all sounded the same. It was an odd thing to hear, something that I hadn’t really had to explain in over 30 years, since high school where I was sometimes abused verbally and physically for liking music that was not what my classmates were listening to.

I explained that the Fall doesn’t sound like the Ramones who don’t sound like Television who didn’t sound like The Clash or the Minutemen. I had to keep in mind that Thomas is 25 and his idea of relaxing music is Nat King Cole. Juan is the same age and he gets it. ‘Some people do and some people don’t’ I thought to myself and played the Ramones first album in its 29 minute 17 second glory.




I Can Be a Frog

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Well sad to say Clarence Clemons has passed away. Can’t say I am much of a Bruce fan, not like my siblings but I do appreciate his oeuvre. I grew up listening to Bruce’s first three albums and by the time the rest of the catalog came out my brother Frank and sister Annemarie had moved out so I wasn’t hearing much from their end. Brian was still around but by that time I was more into Punk/Post Punk/ New Wave.

Still those first three albums are embedded in my DNA. I only saw Bruce live once, and that was on the Born in the USA tour at Giants Stadium in East Rutherford and that was more like a rally at Nuremberg in the 1930’s without the Leni Riefenstahl cameras and certainly more enjoyable.

It was sad news to come home to, to say the least. The day at the cigar shack was not as busy as it was hoped. I made it in on time, no pick pockets on the bus. That enabled me to get an egg sandwich on my way to the shack. It was a beautiful morning as I walked up the avenue. In the shack were Calvin, Thomas, Jerry Vale and me. It was a mellow day. Thomas once again showed his extraordinary skills as a salesman. No $3000 humidor sales going on for him but still his numbers were impressive.

Calvin ranked at number two and I was in third place. Calvin had the strange idea to have Jerry Vale work a register on a day like today. It wasn’t constantly busy but there were a few flurries. It would have made more sense to have Jerry Vale learn during the week when things are a lot slower. Thomas pointedly told Calvin it was a bad idea and Calvin stood there dumbfounded, which made Thomas’ voice become louder and shriller.

The blood on the carpet was finally cleaned up but there was a mysterious crack in the door to the lounge. No one knows how it got there, and if they did they didn’t own up to it. People walked through with a rare delicacy afforded to brutes going in and out of the man cave. And a stalker came into the store. Not my stalker. Last I heard of her she was still scouring the east side looking for me or someone with my name.

No this was Calvin’s stalker. She hadn’t been seen around in a while apparently but I was stuck with her and got along with her just fine. As far as I knew she didn’t pay much attention to me, but she definitely stared at Calvin whenever he came into view. Calvin did his best to be invisible and he generally was for the time she was in the shack.

Now it’s Saturday night, I’m home, Bill isn’t. He was not driving down to Atlantic City this weekend, instead having call backs from previous auditions. I don’t mind the quietness, but still it would be better if he were here, driving me crazy. Not writing tomorrow so don’t ask. I would like to read your blogs if you have any. Send me the linkage suckas.