Tag Archives: Errands

Don’t Tell Mama

Oh it’s Wednesday and it’s been merely alright. Of course there was room for improvement but I wouldn’t know where to begin. Most likely I would begin on Thursday. Pet peeve time. I usually zoom around the city, I’m a fast walker.

In never ceases to fail that I can pick someone who maybe be 20 feet away from me that they will stop exactly where I need to walk. Every single time. It’s almost like they see me coming and think, “See that big guy, 6’2” coming in our direction? I’m going to stand right here and I don’t care if he’s bigger than me.”

I’m convinced that people are getting dumber. Even in the bus terminal. It’s so much easier to push the door rather than pull it, but 9 times out of 10 they pull. I wait until it’s clear then I push making it easier for all those behind me.

Last night was ok. Bill came home after my niece Corinne dropped me off. Gave her and her mother Elaine a nice big hug and kiss before I climbed the 4 flights of steps to my apartment. Bill came home a little after that and told me of his plans for me to write a play that they could work on for the workshop he attends.

Sounds like a good idea but I was trying to figure out what I should write. He mentioned 10 pages should be enough and that’s the rule of thumb, one minute for every page. It’s mainly an African American theater group but Bill says that doesn’t matter.

I’m sure I could write something color blind, but I think it might lean to existentialism and I don’t know how that would go over. I’m thinking like maybe a Beckett play. Write now I am writing about writing which could be a line of thought, a one person play.

Still looking for things to do. I did go out on a personal errand. I need hair gel. As usual the things I use seem to be on the way to being discontinued. I like hair gel and where I bought a few jars of it last year, now they’re unavailable online.

So I walked from 50th and Third Avenue to 36th Street. That’s where I almost ran into the various people in my way.

At one point as I was waiting for a light to change, some handsome young man in a truck says, ‘Hey hows it going?” I say, ‘It’s good. How about yourself?’ ‘Good good’ he says, adding ‘Are you still working over there?’ I say, ‘No man, I’m working over here now’

The light changed and he was on his way. Turns out he was a fling from many years ago, Jose. Still handsome and hot but he was the passenger in a delivery van so it obviously couldn’t get much further than a 30 second chat.

I didn’t figure out who he was until I was in the line to get my hair gel. And that was odd. The bill came to $6.13 and I had $6.12. I asked if they had a save a penny/leave a penny and she looked at me as if I was speaking Latin.

All I had was a $10.00 bill and wound up with a pocket full of change which seems to be heard by anyone standing on the street asking for change.

Another interesting thing happened to me while I was running around outside. I’m heading back to my office building when an attractive woman jumps in front of me.

She asks where I got the suit I was wearing and I tell her Syms, where an educated consumer is their best customer. She asks if I ever heard of Tom James. I did and ask if it was the maker of bespoke suits and it was. She tells me I look good and asks for my card which I gave her in exchange for hers.

I’d love a bespoke suit, which is basically a suit made from scratch. You pick out the fabric and they make it according to your size and tastes and will alter it if you gain or lose weight.

That was nice, telling me I looked nice, and it’s also a nice selling point, compliment the potential customer and maybe they’ll spend $1000.00 on a new suit, with 3 free shirts! That Amy Sacks knows her stuff, but I have about 12 suits now and I really don’t need anymore.

I am saddened by Natasha Richardson’s accident. Falling while on a beginner slope while skiing. Apparently something happened with her brain even though she was walking and talking afterwards.

I’ve hit my head many times, one particular incident was when I was working in a book warehouse. I was under the racks getting some books and I thought I had cleared the steel rack and stood up and smacked my head. I literally saw stars and had to sit down for a few minutes.

I guess having such fatty tissue for a skull had an advantage. Now apparently I would be taken to a hospital to be checked out. Not then. And now if you’re going skiing, helmets are almost mandatory.

I didn’t see Natasha Richardson on Broadway in Cabaret but I know the soundtrack inside out and she’s on it. She certainly was a beautiful actress and a pleasure to watch and to listen to. It doesn’t look good for her, reports are that she’s brain dead.

It’s been said that she was scheduled to be on Broadway again with her mother the great Vanessa Redgrave in A Little Night Music, but now that isn’t going to happen. I would have loved to have seen it.

8:08 PM- New York Times
Natasha Richardson, Actress, Dies at 45, Family Says

Natasha Richardson, a Tony Award-winning actress whose career
melded glamorous celebrity with the bloodline of theater
royalty, has died following a skiing accident on Monday north
of Montreal, her family said.

Man in the Street

It’s Tuesday again and it’s not my fault. I did everything in my power to make it Thursday but obviously that didn’t go as planned. My carbon monoxide detectors kept going off last night. It seems if I come home and turn on the heater to medium it sets those buggers off.

So for most of the evening I was sitting in the apartment with the windows open, heaters off and wearing layers as opposed to the single thong I usually wear when I write. Yes butt floss does a writer good. And I keep checking to see if I am red in the face since Harpy hipped me to the fact that carbon monoxide poisoning can be seen when you’re looking beet red.

Visions of Vitas Gerulaitis pass through my consciousness. The late tennis pro died of carbon monoxide poisoning a while back while living in the Hamptons. The detectors haven’t gone off so far and the heaters are on at a minimum.

Obviously I am still alive though by this writing sometimes one can’t tell.

One the bus home today I was reading Sarah Vowell, The Wordy Shipmates and of course it’s very funny but despite me chuckling to myself I could barely keep my eyes open.

That may have been from the errand I had to do taking me from 49th Street and Third Avenue to 56th Street and Seventh Avenue. Right by the Carnegie Club, a posh cigar bar that I have been to a number of times.

Fortunately it wasn’t open.

I say fortunately since I usually bring my own cigars and they charge you $10.00 if you are not going to purchase one of their over priced cigars. It is a good spot though, drinks a bit pricey. It’s best to stick to beer, I’ve found.

Actually what’s best is to go on a company credit card. It’s where I had my going away party when I left Putnam Lovell NBF, I mean, Wanker Banker. Oddly enough I only had one cigar that evening which kept going out due to the fact that I was so chatty that night with everyone wishing me well.

Little did they or I know that where I was going, Wolff Olins, I mean, McMann and Tate was the proverbial fire underneath the frying pan.

I much prefer the Cigar Inn where I’ve been the past two Fridays with Steve the former coworker. You do have to buy your cigars there but you can also bring in your own libation. I don’t know if we’re doing it again this week, neither one of us has brought up the subject.

I walked around listening to the Story of Jamaican Music on the iPod Alexander Lopez got for me over the holidays. After writing about the Jamaican music last night I decided to load them into my iPods.

I listened to all of that so much that I know all of the words and I found myself singing along as I walked through midtown.

It was almost ironic since I saw a messenger walking along rapping along to whatever it was he was listening to while he was doing his errands and I thought it was odd.

But singing about how the train is coming is a lot different than saying ‘I’m gonna shoot that mutha fucka in the fuckin face’.

Wouldn’t you agree?