Tag Archives: Joe My God

Blackout

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A nice Friday. Just me and a few other people in the office today. I left at 1:30. Last Friday I was on Long Beach Island, this week- the canyons of midtown Manhattan. It’s been an on again off again day. Sometimes it’s been bright and sunny and other times dark skies. Much like my personality the past few days.

Five years ago yesterday was the last major blackout in the tristate area and beyond. I was reading Joe.My.God. last night and he had an entry about it. I commented but didn’t get in depth since I have my own blog I can get as deep as I’d like.

It was a Thursday, and late in the afternoon. I was working at Wanker Banker on the 34th floor of a 36 story building. One of the divisions just completed their first trade online and there was champagne to be had. With a slight buzz, I was sitting at my desk making plans to split early when the lights flickered and finally went out.

A meeting hosted by the evil fusspot Joe Smershberger had just started. I called Bill to find out what was going on in his office at 42nd Street in Times Square. There was the chance that it was a blackout from 42nd st to 57th st, but it was throughout Manhattan, and as we found out, the other boroughs, the rest of the state as well as New Jersey, Connecticut and beyond.

My boss, Risotto and I went about following the building manager’s directions and proceeded to get everyone out of the office via the stairs. Joe Smershberger had a fit, and insisted on staying. Fine with us. We abandoned him and his guests and walked down 35 flights to the street, in dress shoes.

When we hit the street my legs were like rubber. People all over the place, in the streets and on the sidewalk I lit up a Padron which of course Risotto had something to say about which I basically ignored. We were with Sweet Sarah who had gone downstairs previous to the blackout and didn’t have to walk down the flights of stairs, though she did have to wear heels for the rest of the day since that was all she had.

We started walking downtown, Sweet Sarah was staying with friends and Risotto and I had to head back to New Jersey. I bought some beers which were going cheap since all the refrigerators were off. We walked down Sixth Avenue, passing a group of cops.

One of the cops saw me with the bottle and said that what I was doing was illegal. I brazenly told him that I thought he had bigger problems at that moment than me drinking out of a brown paper bag. That was that and I kept walking.

Risotto and I walked Sweet Sarah to 34th Street and she walked east while we walked west. We had heard that the buses were not leaving the bus terminal, the Path train of course was out so we walked to the river, thinking of catching a ferry.

It wasn’t like 9/11 when all the ferries and boats were taking people across the Hudson River for free. No, the ferries were jam packed or out of fuel and the boats were gouging the people with a $50.00 charge across. All this time Risotto was nipping at my heels, sounding like the Donkey to my Shrek. ‘What are we gonna do? Where are we gonna go?’

There were three women that also followed us around, not knowing what to do. We hopped on a NY Waterway bus and sat in traffic for about 30 minutes, finally moving about 20 feet. We walked over to the bus terminal where people were swarming over the buses, trying to get out of the city before night came.

There was the unspoken fear that something like 1977’s blackout would happen. Crime and looting. Hours had passed by then, no more beers, no more cigars. I suggested hitchhiking by the Lincoln Tunnel but Risotto was against it saying that if he was driving he wouldn’t pick anyone up.

The women we were with eventually found some other alpha males to tag along with and ignoring Risotto I walked over towards the tunnel and put my thumb out. In less than a minute I was picked up. Risotto somehow jumped in the car before me and nabbed the front seat.

Our driver was a very nice young woman, a tennis pro off to a tournament in Maryland. She had 5 other people in her mid-size car. It was cramped and it took forever to get through the tunnel. She needed to head for the Turnpike so I guided her through the dark Hoboken streets, getting out on the far side of town.

Risotto lived in Jersey City so I figured he would get home on his own with no problem. I wanted to walk through Hoboken to see how things were on Washington Street and everyone was out. It was dark, around 9:00.

Hundreds of people milling in the dark in front of City Hall, cars creeping down the street. I made it to my block and found that throughout all the darkness, my block actually had power. Stine and Julio were in their apartment having some cold beers and I joined them for a while.

I called Bill who was going to stay with his parents and make sure they were ok. The next day, we still had power while the rest of the region didn’t. Julio, Stine and I made plans to head to Sandy Hook. It was actually encouraged not to go to work, it was a Friday after all.

Most people in Manhattan worked in high rises and there really was no way that the work force would climb X amount of stairs especially if the office machines weren’t working.

I called Bill a few times to see how he was doing. He took it as me rubbing it in his face, the fact that I was going to be down the shore while he was stuck in Stuyvesant Town. I wasn’t. I was genuinely concerned.

The tolls were free on the Turnpike and the Parkway, smooth sailing. A beautiful day at Sandy Hook, followed by a nice visit with Connie. The power was back on and we enjoyed dancing with Connie to Talking Heads last album, Naked and making her short of breath from laughing so much.

We came back to Hoboken that night, everything was the same as it was before the blackout. Newspapers came out the next day showing people asleep on the steps of the main post office across from Penn Station. People slept in Bryant Park, anywhere they could. No major crimes and no looting were reported as far as I know.

And some pics from that day. (today really…and last week)

above pics taken with cellphone camera

Meanwhile, back in the concrete jungle…

42nd and Eighth Avenue

and finally, from Towleroad:
As a response earlier this week to revelations that Manhunt Chairman and founder Jonathan Crutchley (above, right) had maxed out his individual personal contributions to vocal gay rights opponent Senator John McCain ($2300) which we reported on Wednesday, Crutchley has apparently been pressured by the board of the company to step down as Chairman.

cut n’paste for the full monty
http://www.towleroad.com/2008/08/manhunt-chairma.html

Someone Saved My Life Tonight

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Joe My God is a blog that I read most everyday. It’s an enjoyable read, definitely geared for gay men. Not so much erotica, but reports and stories that I find appealing. He lives in New York City. I believe he has hundreds of readers.

Last night in one of his open threads, he asked when was the first time you went to a gay bar, the bar name and what year. I responded as follows:

1981 Feathers in Bergen County NJ.
Didn’t speak with anyone, no one spoke with me. Probably ordered a soda. I was pretty much into Punk and New Wave at the time so I wasn’t into the disco. Which is the main reason I don’t go to gay bars. Not a fan of house music these days.

Everyone else’s entries were all positive experiences. Mine, while not necessarily negative set me apart from gay culture once again. It is true, I rarely, if ever, go to gay bars. It’s mainly the music that puts me off, and also the fact I am generally the invisible man when I go. Bartenders tend to ignore me. I prefer a mixed scene anyhow, not so segregated. Gay, Straight, Black, White and everything in between is fine by me.

I almost posted this on Joe My God following my original post.
Interesting side note. My brother who’s straight, liked the same type of music, Punk/New Wave and we both started going to this place in Hoboken called Maxwells. Seeing great up and coming bands from all over the world for $5.00. At the time Maxwells was listed as a Gay/Straight bar and it really was. Rock geeks and gays and lesbians all there for the music. It was also known in Hoboken as ‘that fag bar’. Flash forward a few years later, my parents are on vacation. They meet some people from Hoboken and my mother mentions that two of her sons go to a club called Maxwells. The Hobokenites told her it was a fag bar.

This was before I came out to my family. My mother was distressed but I think the concept of gay and straight people able to mingle was a new concept to her. The subject didn’t sit well with her and it was never spoken of again, though I did have my mother come to Hoboken to have brunch at McSwells but by that time I was out. I don’t know what she expected but I do know she enjoyed herself.

Feathers was the first gay bar I ever went to, and I haven’t been back since. The first gay bar I had contact with was a bar called the Bell, in Hackensack NJ. The Bell used to be a rock and roll club or a disco, that my siblings occasionally went to. At some point in the mid 70’s it turned into a gay bar which put some people off. I was androgynous then, pre-pubescent.

Though when puberty hit and I knew I was gay, there was nowhere I could turn, no services available for a 13 year old boy in north New Jersey. Definitely could not talk to anyone I knew about what was happening to me. The confusion, from living in a straight world and hearing queer and fag and dyke jokes all the time and finding out those jokes were about me, was crushing and on top of that was the shame. I believe I had a slight nervous breakdown the summer of 1976. I kept it quiet.

The only thing I could thing of doing was to call the Bell. I was alone in the house that day, every one else off at work. I was left climbing the walls that summer day. At wit’s end I called the Bell in the middle of the afternoon. Some guy answered the phone, either a manager or someone setting up for the evening. I poured my heart and soul out to this stranger on the other end of the line.

How I didn’t know what to do, what I disappointment I was to my family, how I didn’t want to live like that. It seemed like we were on the phone a long time, maybe an hour I think. Whomever it was, they talked me in off the ledge. Someone I never knew before or since. Obviously I eventually came to grips with my sexuality and as out of step I was with the rest of the world before that, I was definitely marching to the beat of a totally different drum from then on.

I wonder whatever happened to the guy who answered the phone. I wonder how his night went. It must have been a heavy trip for him to listening to the anguish of a 13 year old boy coming to grips with his sexuality. He could have just brushed me off, hung up the phone and continued doing what he was doing.

Perhaps he did for me what someone might have done for him when he was coming of age, or perhaps no one was there to help him out back then and took it upon himself to give someone support that he never got for himself.

Just something that struck me as I read Joe My God.