Love Me Two Times

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Well it’s Wednesday and there’s only a few hours left in it. Last night, was pretty quiet, just hung out of course. Bill came home, and proceeded to tell me his woes with his parents. His dad is doing better mentally though his body is falling apart. His mother is meddling, trying to boss the home health care assistant around. She’s not all together in the here and now, still trying to take care of her husband though she’s doing all the wrong things and making matters worse. According to Bill, his father wished him good luck in dealing with Bill’s mother. Perhaps this is what happens when science keeps the body alive longer that it was planning to.

It’s sad and Bill is exhausted mentally. He’s thinking about putting both parents in a nursing home, thinking that that is his only solution. I don’t have any words to tell him otherwise, plus it isn’t my place. Of course putting them in a nursing home in St. Albans would eat all of their savings, plus Bill would have to give up the apartment in Stuyvesant Town. I think he’s come around to thinking that I don’t want to live in Manhattan, plus the rent would be $1400.00 which is more than what we’re paying now in Hoboken.

I suggested that Bill call other friends, his dear friend Margaret in Atlanta and two friends from his church who have an apartment in Washington Heights that Bill has been turning to for some counseling. He seems to trust them all, and they might have the benefit of not being in the loop that much to give Bill some fresh insight. It’s a lot for poor Bill to handle and all I can do is offer an ear.

In other news, last night I purchased the Electric Light Orchestra’s greatest hits. Just a pining for a simpler time in my life. Actually it was triggered by watching Boogie Nights a few weeks ago. It still is a classic movie, with a most excellent soundtrack. I transferred a few songs to my iPod and listened to Evil Woman and was transported back to 1975 and I was sledding in Van Saun Park, thanks to a neighbor, Mrs. Williams. Mrs. Williams wasn’t evil by the way, just I remembered hearing it, sitting in the back of her Chevy Nova as we were driving back home with her son Scott and a few other neighborhood kids. She passed away in 2002, and I will always remember her, watching Camelot on TV and her saying how much she loved it. She said that, when Guinevere was singing a song, and looking at Vanessa Redgrave, I will forever associate the two.

I also heard Funny Face by Donna Fargo the other night as I was drifting off to sleep and that reminded me of the VFW in Saddle Brook. Today at work I was required to sit in a meeting with Greg Stevens and two real estate guys, trying to get us to use their tenant services should we decide to move in a year or two after our present lease expires. I met two guys named Jason as I followed Greg Stevens lead and handed out my business cards in exchanged for the Jason’s cards. I sat there and took some notes as they gave us their spiel and it was over in about 15 minutes. I’m sure I have other meetings down the line, got to be quicker on the business card exchange. That’s about it for now. Bill in Stuyvesant Town again, I just hope he isn’t as despondent as he was a little earlier.

Here’s a pic
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Down In The Park

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Tuesday, still no snow, though it certainly is cold enough right now. A few flakes appear from time to time, but not enough to do much of anything except to melt. Last night I watched a documentary on Val Lewton, a producer who basically changed the way horror movies were made in the 1940’s. I got sucked into it hearing Martin Scorsese narrate, letting me know that this was no run of the mill documentary. It was pretty good and it was followed by Cat People, which certainly was haunting and atmospheric.

They mentioned a few times that so many things fly by the camera yet the images leave an impression, and watching Cat People I was in agreement. I never saw Cat People before, at least not the 1940’s version. Saw photographs in a few horror movie books that I had growing up and it was a thrill to see the still photographs come to life on screen. A similar effect happened on Saturday when I went to the Andy Warhol show. The shoe drawings were photos that I had previously seen in various Warhol books that I have, and to see them just a few inches from me was quite a thrill.

The same thing happens when I see newsreels of the Beatles, when I had only seen photographs of whatever event the Fabs were present at. Regarding Cat People I did see the remake by Paul Schrader in the 1980’s and it was ok. Saw it because Bowie sang the title track, and Natassia Kinski was in it. She was hot then and quite exotic even for a 20 year old gay boy from Lodi.

During the Val Lewton documentary, Bill called. Needed a comforting voice and that was me. He is once again overwhelmed, though the situation had changed now that his father was released from the VA hospital. Both his mom and dad are under one roof and both of them have problems which isn’t making the scene any better. A home care attendant is now there as well from the Visiting Nurse service courtesy of Medicare making for a cramped apartment.

I was glad to be able to listen and even though I had no magic words to say to make it all better, I think Bill appreciated the opportunity to vent and I appreciated the fact that I was able to pause the broadcast while Bill poured his heart out over the phone. I swear I sounded like a therapist talking to him on the phone, calm measured tones, asking the right questions and being supportive when Bill needed support. Perhaps in a previous life I was a therapist.

This morning I got out of bed after hitting the snooze button only once, and that was because I had a headache from being dehydrated. Once again I was out of the apartment and headed to 5th and Washington in about 45 minutes. I read the New Yorker about Scientology, which is always a favorite topic to read about. A totally crazy 20th century religion with just a hint of fascism. I have a thing called a death line with Harpy. Usually when someone famous, or a bold face name passes away, one of us calls the other. With other friends, it turns into, ‘Guess who’s a Scientologist?’ and that usually ends up with the other end of the phone line say, ‘Oh really? Damn, I liked him/her’ and we never look at that person we called about the same way again. Such is the disdain for the Scientologist.

This is a pretty cool link. The link is working. Do it! Click it! NOW!

http://www.wired.com/entertainment/music/magazine/16-01/ff_byrne?currentPage=all