Devil May Care Less

I pop wide awake at Five in the morning.

I take a shower and return to bed. This time sleeping until 8:00. Way late for me, but I don't give a fuck. I get up and head to Madison Starbucks where I meet up with OBSIDIAN. We have breakfast and lunch together, while waiting for the Big House to open. I blog in contentment, but I am still pissed off that the bathroom at Madison is locked and that there is a sign on it. I thought about that earlier when it was opened, and I went in to take a piss. Looking down in the commode was an entire roll of toilet paper, soggy and plugged into the drain. How nice. Soon this bathroom will no doubt close, and it did. Leaving me to walk down the block around the corner and down the next block just to take a piss. Fucking beautiful.

That's the bathroom ordeal for today.

Then comes the new drive. This fucker is stone cold dumb. It is 'seen' by the laptop, and everything on the physical level clears. Which means she is connected correctly....I mean 'it'...but the fucking operating system can't use it. It's a failed organ in the body. It doesn't want to be used by the operating system, leaving me stranded. $130.00 in limbo. I think now I'll search online for a goddamned cradle for it. Maybe this will work. Either that or the drive electronics must me fucked...in my baby. I know the drive itself works perfectly because Bryan configured, initialized and formatted the bitch. So it works. It just doesn't want to work for me. If it's my baby's configuration, I'm going to cry. Simple as that.

Heading to the Big House I ran into the Polish Day Parade coming up Fifth avenue. As I searched for a way to cross the street so that I could get to the library on the other side, I couldn't help but notice how anemic the celebration was. Not too many spectators, and the floats and participants were few. Compared to the Puerto Rican Day parade it was a poodle compared to a pitbull.

I finally found a cross street on 49th and headed into the tourist filled library. For me to bitch so much about tourists one would think that I would avoid the Rose Reading Room. But no. I head there anyway and sit for two hours playing 2142. Later, I would meet OBSIDIAN in front of the Big House and together we went to Gristedes to get some grub. Then we hung out at the terrace, near the Mosquito Coast. Last week we had promised two friends that we would go up to the Bronx, to the Grand Concourse to a poetry reading that they were hosting, and it would soon be time for us to make the trip, but we were growing tired and developing second thoughts. Since it was to be a weekly event, I finally wanted to skip today and go next week. But OBSIDIAN felt that we needed to be there at the opening of the show to give our support. We dragged ass, but we got on the Way and headed uptown to the Bronx.

We get off on 149th street and walk the few blocks to Sam's Bar and Grill. Coming up to the establish- ment we find people in suits and dresses, no doubt going to the reading also, thinking it was a semi-formal affair. I look down at my jeans and sweater and feel underdressed for this high brow crowd. I immediately started to agonize over my poetry.

We enter into a bar area with patrons leaning back on stools watching the mounted televisions with drinks before them. Past the bar was a reception room, wide and broad with tables. Further back there was another room with long tables, like conference tables, and rows of chairs. Other than that, the place was empty.

Now, because of our sluggish attitude, we came late, and if the reading went off on schedule we would have been dead center of it. But no, we were dead center of nothing. The people in suits and dresses found a table, and SAT DOWN TO EAT. What the fuck?

My brother goes to the bartender, who he finds out later is the boss, and asks her if there is a poetry reading here today, or maybe next week. She had no idea what the fuck he was talking about. She had no knowledge whatsoever about a 'poetry reading' and went into the back to check the calendar. There was nothing about our two friends hosting a poetry reading there. We scratch our heads and head out. It was as if we walked into the Twilight Zone. What the fuck happened? There weren't even any other poets standing outside scratching THEIR heads. It seemed like a big joke and everyone was in on it except for us.

Now don't get me wrong, but we're not rich, and train fare uptown doesn't come easily. Not to bitch and moan, but we could have done without this. We ride the Way back down to midtown, fuming. The Way was having construction, so we had to take a circuitous route to get back to Madison Starbucks. Which in turn had the bathroom closed for servicing again. I couldn't take it, and left for the Fifth avenue Starbucks. At least they had working bathrooms.

We chill and decompress from the afternoon's excursion and I try to get on 2142, but there are difficulties there too.. I quickly give up and go about my business, blogging and IMing. Soon, it's time to head for the Box.

It would be another evening with the insane. Another night, just like the night before. I tire after blogging and stretch out upon my bed to sleep.

I'm calling it a night.

I'll work on that drive again in the morning.

Hobobob