RAH RAH RAH !

I have a friend who I've known twenty-three years. CL has been one of those friends that I deem to be a good friend for a number of reasons. Although he lives out in Arizona and I've been out in the northeast for close to 17 years, CL has been one of the few who has made a concerted effort to stay in touch. Whether it has been a postcard or note in the mail, or a phone call or now an e-mail, CL and just a few others have done a kindly job of still making me feel included from so far away. I'm touched, really.

CL and I worked together for seven years, and for about two of those years, we had lunch together practically every workday. CL and I would enjoy meals and intoxicating conversations where we'd intimate to each other our exploits over the weekends. While my adventures would range from a weekend visiting and staying with my grandmother down in Nogales, to others spent with the doors closed, air-conditioning on and ordering Chinese food take-out with a special someone, CL's were always as interesting or mundane also. Hell, even the mundane was interesting during those lunch breaks. CL is ten years older than me and he was always never short with advice on affairs of the lust. But, it was always sooooo funny to be enjoying lunch and he or I dotting our conversations with the refrain...."And then what?"

A routine became a natural consequence. Over a pre-lunch aperitif of a slightly soporific balm, a $1.75 Sanchez Burrito Company red-chile burrito and a 75 cent soft drink, a typical Monday lunch dialog twenty-three or so years ago, would sound like this one conversation that I somewhat remember:........CL: So, did you go down Nogales this weekend?.......JNJ: No, sorry. I promise I'll get you that "Sangrita" tequila chaser next time I'm down there. But, you know that new accounts assistant in sales?........CL: Yeah............JNJ: Well, I small talked her early last week and she mentioned that she was going hiking in Sabino Canyon. I told her that I was thinking of doing the same thing but I did not want to go alone. She mentioned she was going with a cousin of hers.........CL: Oh boy, AND?...................JNJ: Well, on Friday I dropped bye her cubicle, I small talked her again and asked when she'd be out there. She said that she wasn't going because her cousin couldn't go after all.............CL: C'mon...............JNJ: So, I mentioned that she could still make it out there if she wouldn't mind going with me. I fed her a line of shit about how it's dangerous to hike by yourself the previous time that we had talked and I guess she digested that and she wasn't going until she figured she could still go but with me and she agreed to.........CL: AND?............JNJ: Well, we met at the park's parking lot early on Saturday morning and we went out for a few hours until the hiking got to be a bit much. Blah blah blah, she mentioned she's hoping to move out of her parent's house and I suggested she look at my apartment and see what $450 a month with a roommate gets you..............CL: Cut to the fuckin' chase Jerry!..............JNJ: Well, we got back to my apartment, one thing led to another, and then she rode her bicycle the rest of the day over at my apartment, dude!..........CL: Bicycle? What's with this bicycle shit?.........JNJ: You know, I lay down on my waterbed and she pretends that my face is her 10 speed's seat!..............CL: Holy shit!.........JNJ: Yeah C, that sweet young thing flowered right on my face three times and by 5pm I was dry-shooting on Saturday...........CL: Whoa. How many times did you get to fuck her before she went home?..............JNJ: Dude, we didn't. I had no rubbers around and neither did my roommate, and she's not on the pill. However, let me say that her mouth is a garden where my seed found its stow. I'm glad she works way over on the other end of this building.............CL: (mouth agape).

CL and I would trade stories like that. In fact we were such social junkies for a while, that I was with him when he got hooked on a blind date that he ended up proposing to, marrying and having a child with. There was a time there CL wanted nothing more than to get hitched. He felt he was getting to be over the hill and needed to settle down. I was at CL's wedding. CL, was always very forthcoming with the intimacies of marriage, sometimes a little too much on those Mondays.

CL confided to me once that he was a draft-dodger back in the late 1960's and early 70's. He told me the story about how his father refused to have his only son shipped out to Vietnam. About how his father bankrolled his flight until 1975. If CL had the inclination, he could and should write a book about his adventures of living in the American youth underground that was fueled by the Vietnam War. CL was part of history since his preferred place of hiding from U.S. Marshalls happened to have been San Francisco's Haight-Asbury district during its most vibrant epoch. CL was so underground that the menial jobs that he did during that time once included working at an "adult bookstore". CL has done some living and to this day he not only is a big collector of all that lovely hippie stuff from back then, but CL happens to be the one person with the biggest vinyl record collection I have ever seen.

Needless to continue and belabor a point, CL has been a close friend for some years. Every time I'm back in Arizona, CL and a few others are the folks that I reach out to and revel with.

Well, in the last two years, in a haste following a loud disagreement, CL quit his job of 20 years. His marriage ended in divorce and has few visitation rights to enjoy with his teenage daughter. He lost his home that he shared with his family to the divorce settlement. He speaks to no one from our previous employment together except for one person. His mother, went to live in a retirement home, and CL is now living in the big beautiful home he was raised in but recently told me he cannot afford cable TV. Fortunately, he's managed to find employment in his chosen profession again, but the divorce really punched him in the craw quite hard.

CL's been recovering from the past couple of years and I've been making the effort to touch base with him more often. The last time I was out there and saw him, I got reacquainted with a friend of his that I met once a very long time ago way before CL was married. CL nor his friend remember, but I had met him. I didn't let on, but neither CL nor his buddy Jeff remembered that we three and another friend of ours (who tragically lost his life) traveled to Phoenix once back in the mid 80's and together saw a USFL football game that we had sideline passes and luxury box access to. I did not bring that up.

I pretended Jeff and I had never met. Jeff way back then and on this visit seemed a little soft. You know, a bit of an artist type. I dismissed it for the most part since CL had known Jeff a much longer time than I. But there was a gap there, for twenty years, that this Jeff guy was not even part of any of the repartee between CL and myself.

CL and I had been e-mailing recently and 10 days ago he called me just to chat. I could tell that CL had been imbibing and perhaps a little more than that, but I did not note that to him. We talked about his job and mine. He asked me about everything and I told him about everything. The conversation began to glide on its own and then at one point I asked CL how his love life is going. I must have asked this question in such a way, and in such a disarming manner with my voice on the other end of CL's phone, and considering the history of our friendship, CL may have experienced a momentary Freudian moment of emancipation because what he said rolled off his lips very, very naturally.

His answer was, "It's alright, I'm sticking with Jeff". No sooner than he uttered those words, it was apparent that CL became flustered and dismissive about what he just caught himself blurting out. He nervously attempted to joke about it, but it seems that CL subliminaly had just done what I believe he's been wanting to do for a long time: To keep our long friendship honest.

CL, succeeded to wrap-up the conversation and say good-bye before I could even tell him that he hadn't done anything wrong and before I was able to ask him anything about Jeff. Actually, I tried to process what he said and tried to grab and settle that suddenly agitated horse running out of the barn over the phone, but I was unsuccessful.

I've been trying to get a hold of CL, but only his answering machine and voice mail have been greeting me. I told my wife about what happened, and she said that she wasn't surprised. She too has known CL for a number of years. She began to point out all the signs and I knew all of them, but I guess that in retrospect, it had never mattered to me. My wife was bummed for me if CL would decide now to abandon chapters of his life that included us. I personally would be sad if he took that road. My wife believes that CL may have scared himself and perhaps needs both of our reassurances about everything.

So, I've decided to send him a little ray of sunshine over the U.S. mail. A gift of music. I know someone who knows Les Paul personally and I got Les to autograph a copy of his collaboration CD released last year just for him.

CL's courteous manners and his upbringing will dictate to call me and thank me for such an offering. And, if CL calls and elects not just to leave me a message thanking me, but calls to personally thank me for thinking about him in such a thoughtful manner..........It will be then that we can really start talking.

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posted by JerryNJ @ 7:45 PM 0 comments

The last time I stopped to fill my gas tank, I began to wonder at what point would it be feasible to eschew the use of a car and resort to begin riding a horse? When does that economic cross point occur? At six dollars a gallon? Seven dollars a gallon? Insurance, maintenance and fuel vs. veterinarians, feed and stable bills. That gap is closing. Progress is to be using horses again? What's next? The return of the abacus?

Last Sunday being Easter Sunday, I was recalling past Easter Sundays when I was a child. I remember the candy, I remember the Sunday barbeque, I remember my brothers and cousins. And I remember my late mother and father. I also was remembering my much older cousin Harry and he setting me straight on the birds and the bees during Holy Week when I was a kid. Having known my mother and father and with all that I know now, I'm still not convinced that my brothers and I were not virgin conceptions.

I work in Manhattan, in a six story building with a basement. This building employs three-hundred people. One of them is Victor the air-conditioning/building maintenance supervisor. Victor is 87 years young. He's about 5'5'', weighs about 130 pounds, with a shock of bright white hair, and he's got the most distinguishing blue eyes. He's outlived his closest loved ones. His wife died over ten years ago and his only daughter died some years later from cancer. Victor stays alive and vibrant because he takes the subway to work every day and because he gets a free breakfast every one of those days. The American Medical Association does not know this but, free bagels, fruit, coffee, orange juice and two half priced subway rides five days a week are the key to longevity. Who knew?

Everyday, Victor needs to cool a separate portion of the building more aggressively for two hours in the morning and two or three times a week he overlooks to reset the flaps that direct the air through the ducts. Because of this, my work area becomes stuffy. At least twice a week I touch base with Victor over the phone. It's practically the same conversation every time: Ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, "Air-conditioning, Victor hea-h"............."Victor, good morning, how much love do you have today?", I ask him...........Victor answers, "Why?".............."Please cool it off here on the second floor, it's warm and stuffy again"............"Oh, I had to cool off the (big room) this morning", he says every time.................."So Victor, do you love us on the second floor?", I answer..............."You want me to cool it off for you?"............."Yes Please!", I say................"You're on the second floor?", he asks................"Yes, on the second floor.", I answer...................Victor with his standard phrase, "OK, will-do."............."Thanks Victor", click.

Read the morning papers today and read the most bizarre story about some meth abuser in Oregon who last year fired TWELVE nails from a nail gun into his head and lived! He went to the hospital complaining of a headache only to be diagnosed with "nails in the head". How I wish I could see hidden camera video of the x-ray technician after processing the patient's images and the brain surgeons' when presented with the x-rays. Could meth be a substitute for body armour for US soldiers in Iraq?

One other thing. I've been urged by some urban urchins that I need to take on a "rap handle". After long hours of consideration and much loss of sleep over this subject, I have settled on two. I would like to be called "Gingerbread" during daylight hours and "Colt40PD" during night hours. People will ask me what PD stands for and I will tell them when they ask.

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posted by JerryNJ @ 6:17 PM 2 comments

I found out today that I share birthdays with Mohammed Atta. The good thing is that I also learned that my birthday also falls on the day that Albert Speer died. I guess that balances out.

When I see a woman with long manicured fingernails, I think of the things that that woman won't do or try just to ensure that those expensive nails don't break. One of those things is wiping after a bowel movement.

I noticed in one of the sports pages that I read this past week, a piece about a community college pitcher down in Mississippi who wears a pitcher's helmet after losing an eye when he got hit by a batted ball over two years ago. I then began to wonder about the physics of a batted ball. So, I've come to the conclusion after some careful thought, that a batted ball has achieved is highest speed at that infinitesimal point that a baseball has left the bat. After that, the ball is always decelerating.

I've been pondering about taking a road trip down to Baton Rouge, Louisiana. I would like to see The Arizona Wildcats take on the LSU Tigers on September 9th in football. No wife no kids. In fact, they are not interested. I went and got all the info at Triple A. I've studied the state maps and routes along the way. I've examined the "trip-tik". I've scanned the tour book. It's fourteen-hundred miles one way. After paying for gasoline this past week, I've thought and I've thought about this road trip some more. Two things: analytically it would be less expensive to fly and rent a car there or nearby. And, (this is a big AND) personally, I don't know anyone who would be a good riding buddy. A pleasant, articulate, low maintenance person, enthusiastic to just go down there for a damned football game and evaluate the entire four day experience an adventure. I wish I knew someone like that who lives nearbye.

It has come to my attention that my mailman of twelve years, but who's been the mailman of our street and neighborhood for many more years than that, suddenly died at his home last week. He was a young looking fifty-something who appeared to be in great physical shape because of his job. I wonder about how much Greg knew about me and my family, and how much he knew about our neighbors, and how little I knew about him over the infrequent small talk over the past dozen years. Who was he? He was a very pleasant person. He was a rabid Yankees fan who listened to WFAN on his walkman through out his work day. And he was someone who longed to go out and visit his brother away in Arizona someday. I felt I was his Arizona muse sometimes. When I heard about what happened, I watered all the neglected cacti that I have around the house. Since I did that, the cacti look much better and we have a new mailman who's never been to Arizona.

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posted by JerryNJ @ 2:02 AM 0 comments

I don't know if shoving pins into my eyes or having to go to this surprise party tomorrow tonight is worst. A surprise party for one of the most unhappy, argumentative and glaringly dysfunctional persons that I currently know. Someone, however, who recently has not been acting in her regular manner since I believe she got wind of this nicety or is acting differently because of anti-depression medication.

I'm glad that I won't be there for the big fucking contrived "SURPRISE" shout. I can only get there fashionably late. About two hours late. I figure that when I get there, I can evaluate the assembly and then decide if I should just start drinking heavily or feign enjoying myself on my way out the door that I've walked in from.

Why am I going? I'm going because I've gotten to a point in my life that sometimes requires that I figuratively eat some adult vegetables. This woman is our neighbor, is a friend of my wife's, our children play and go to school together and her husband begged us to be there when he realized that our invitation was mailed late, way late. I figured he had a dizzying time orchestrating this thing and contending with the daily dissonance. It's very likely he stumbled keeping this away from his vinegary partner. I'm confidant; this ain't no surprise.

I've never been to their home and I never though that I'd have to. Tomorrow night, I can't leave the frustrated stay-at-home former litigator's "celebration" until I have my vegetables.

Politics.......whether in Washington, at the office or in the home are an assured and unavoidable life ingredient. Diplomacy's art form derives from its experience.

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posted by JerryNJ @ 7:33 PM 0 comments