Now That I'm Forty...


Born in New York and now going to die in New York. Someday.

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Now That I'm Forty...

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Tuesday, March 30, 2004

Oh, And While I Was Down There...
...Childhood Bud suggested I scout out Battery Park to see the sitch about Janet's concert tomorrow. I had grown worried because WBLS was giving tickets for the concert to the tenth caller, and it made me think that although it was free, it would be organized by seating and placeholder tickets or whatever. I didn't want to haul my rusty butt downtown to find myself crowded out by people who spent the night in the Park.

He walked me to Broadway after our lunch and I followed it south until I hit the park. I walked to the set-up. It's right on the southernmost "shore" of the park. Ellis Island and the Lady will be right behind her. There won't be any ticket-takers according to one man with a Janet concert badge on his suit-jacket lapel. It's open to the public and totally free. And there is plenty of standing room, and park benches lining the circular paths, but nowhere to set up formal concert seat chairs.

So now I think it'll be accessible, and maybe not out-of-control crowded.

That's when the Morality Police cropped up in my head. They wanted to know why I was going to show this kind of devotion to this woman. I could easily stay home and watch her on Good Morning America. Or not at all. The MP's want me to scorn her for the breast-thing. And not only that, but for the rising pitch of her overtly sexual overtones in her music. As well, they want me to get over this starstruck fetish I have. They want me to stop worshipping flesh and blood. They want me to assume more of a Christian worldview. They whisper the word 'hypocrite'.

Moreover, it's 11:42 at night, and I hate getting up early in the morning.

I'll let you know what I do.

Me at 3/30/2004 11:32:00 PM

Today I Lunched In Chinatown...
...with my Childhood Bud. He's so connected, yo! He works with Sam Waterson I'll have you know! Or at least, he works with the person and or persons who holds the job that Sam Waterson does on "Law & Order". He's pretty up there!

Well, he called me to task today about the appearance of contradiction in my two of my last blogs. Normally he Replies, but I guess he ran out of time this morning, then saw me and gave me the verbal instead of the written. The jist is that in one post I'm slamming foreigners, and then in the next post I'm castigating my neighbor for being racist.

So let me clarify, in case you feel the way he felt. I wasn't offended by the bakery store clerk's race. I purposefully didn't even bother mentioning what race it is, because to me it is so totally not the issue. The issue is customer service. It would not have been okay either if a Harvard graduate with generational ties to the crew of the Mayflower had scrunched up his face at me and forced me to repeat myself, then totally ignore me before I was finished, go to answer the phone, leave me standing there like an ass, then come back to me with the same attitude. That's what truly cheesed me off. However, it so happened that the source of his attitude seemed to me to be the fact that we couldn't verbally communicate well. When he first asked if he could help me, he seemed to expect me to just give him the name of the product I wanted. Everything seemed fine until I asked him was flavor was in the pastry. Then he got frustrated, and quickly, because he couldn't tell me what it was. Now, instead of trying harder, as soon as the phone rang behind him, he just bailed out of the conversation.

This is what I know if I were to step outside of the scenario and been an observer; the man was embarassed by my question and his inability to answer. His reaction was a defense mechanism against embarassment. Instead of feeling like an idiot, he turned the tables on me and scrunched up his face as if I were the idiot. When the phone rang, service be damned, he had another reason to flee the uncomfortability he was feeling with me.

Okay, I get all that. It was probably why I concluded the matter with him peaceably. I was all, "thank you" and everything.

BUT.

Why was he behind the counter serving me, or anyone, in the first place? Maybe his boss put him there, and he didn't want to be there? Hmm, okay.

Still, with all of the above as possible reasons, there are no excuses for bad service. I wasn't spending the money just to become an idiot for his comfort's sake. In fact, I usually take money to provide that service.

So, I'll have to stand by my rant. I'll be patient if a thick-accented person is behind the counter. I'm constantly saying, "I'm sorry?" to get clarifications. But they have to be patient TOO. I want the product much more than I want people to speak intelligible English, but I want respect above all.

Me at 3/30/2004 11:08:00 PM

Battery Park, Tomorrow, 6 AM.
Free. Concert. Janet.

hee hee

hee hee

And it's free, you know? And it'll be more than one song. And it's right here in the City.

And she's Janet. My partner! We grew up together! Well, yes, me in Spring Valley and her on "Good Times", but...I mean...and yes, she doesn't know me but...well...

What would you do?

This is going to be huge. I'm going to have to leave at about 4 in the AM tomorrow.

Me at 3/30/2004 10:22:00 AM

Red Bull Is, In Fact, Crack.
There I am today, nervous at meeting another client family for the first time, having little on my stomach, running late because I went to the wrong address, having just ingested a narrow can of Red Bull, wondering what all the fuss is about this drink when PIE-YOWW!!! Lips dry, head spinning, and pen in my hand literally trembling on the notepad. Comedy.

It's a good thing I'd experienced this Red Bull high before. Not because I ever took any crack, but because I have taken caffeine pills for weight loss before. Red Bull is liquid "Ripped Fuel". This stuff has made me wonder if I was borderline diabetic because when I'm on it, my blood sugar seems to plummet (or soar, I don't know which one). Anyway, I know that when these symptoms come over me the best thing I should do is eat, before I pass out or puke. Happily, in the absence of food, I did neither. I made it out of there hopeful that they believed I could help them, found The Clown, had a Healthy Enough combo of foods, and discovered immediately afterwards that my next appointment was within walking distance.

I left NJ tonight ready for the karaoke (again)!! I found the place where I must perform. They have booths where I actually don't have to have anyone around. It's cheap and I can record me for a nice solid reality check later at home. I was inches away from destiny when I froze up. Couldn't do it. My heart fled me like a scalded dog.

Baby steps.

Ah, but when I returned home tonight, who do I spy on my front stoop? A new little white lass, moving into my building. Into the apartment directly over my head, in fact. Know what I did? I SPOKE TO HER! I'm on a roll! Chattin' up these white honeys all over the place! Don't hate the playaaaa!!! And dig this, SHE has an exotic name too! That makes three. Cool Jazz Girl's name is uncommon enough for me to have forgotten it. Then the Original Exotic Name Girl (forevermore known as Cat Poop Disrespect Girl). Now Upstairs Girl. But you know what really gave me the strength to speak to her?

She looks almost exactly like Amy Acker from "Angel". No lie. This may be less than bodacious for some, but I've been watching Angel for a few years now and have grown very crushy on that little gal. So then here, in the Harlem night, is a little lady watching the movers (or her posse, or brothers, or her boyfriend and his pals) carry her stuff up the stairs into a new strange place, and my heart just went out to her. I was beyond grateful that I had my friends helping me moving in, and my family being nearby helped an extreme bunch. So what was it like for this little girl? I wanted to try to make her feel welcome. So there I am chatting her up, and we have a pause in conversation, me suddenly dumb as a box of rocks, and she pokes her hand out and just only says her name. Retroactive Introduction! Noice! And the name is exotic.

Life is just filled with squishy goodness right now!

Me at 3/30/2004 12:08:00 AM