Pounded out that long-promised Trump Tower story. Managed to get the word “squat” into a story about women peeing without making it too obviously crude. Hah. Will post tomorrow, or schedule it tonight. Came out again for human companionship, and as I was about to say that this is the place where no one bothers me the bartender asked if I am writing a book. I come here and type. I told her yes, I am in fact writing a couple of things. I don’t know if I should be irritated or inspired, as I don’t know anyone who asks or cares about my work any more. And that’s the thing. I don’t think she cares (why would she?), she’s just trying to get into my stuff and make me talk. Obviously if I wanted to be left entirely alone I could go to a library but those places are noisy and not open at this hour. She seems nice, though, and spots me freebies now and again. Apparently one of the other girls here asked her if I was a writer. I’m becoming popular.
Reminds me of a time I went to the first bar I ever went to in Astoria. I had been there a handful of times. The bartender approached me this time and started telling me that the last I was there a couple of women approached him after I left, asking if he knew anything about me. The bartender was weirdly earnest in this account, saying that these 2 girls were really interested and asking a lot of questions. He said all he could tell them was that I come to the place once in a while, mind my own business, and that’s that. The girls, he said, asked a lot of questions. I didn’t really care about this, since they were not present at the moment and the chances that they would be any time soon seemed unlikely (he said he had never seen them before).
But I went along with his story and asked “Were they good looking?” He paused, got a cockeyed look on his face, and said “FUCKABLE!” he rapidly nodded his head, woodpecker style, adding “They were definitely fuckable!”
Years later, at another bar nearby, I am about 80% certain that this same bartender tried to steal $20 from me by padding my credit card bill with a tip in that amount. You meet classy lads in bars.
“Pounded out” is a term I used to hear in reference to term papers and book reports. “I pounded it out last night,” as if the typewriter keys were hammers. If it sounds inelegant then it’s not as bad as a pianist saying “I drilled it.” I used to hear and use that expression until a fellow pianist remarked that it was the most unmusical term he could think of. I had to admit, he had a point. It reminded me of a college roommate who described urinating as “drilling a hole into the toilet.” That sounded like someone with issues, and it was someone with issues. He made it 3-1/2 years into college before quitting, just a semester away from graduation. He had a very high GPA and, on paper, looked like he was going somewhere. I heard from him a 5 or 6 years after graduation. He was delivering pizza for Domino’s. I later learned he became a career janitor at a major university.
I was at a pizza plae earlier, procuring a slab of peppeeroni pizza. Dude in front of me had a gun. I next noticed a police officer present, and the 2 seemed to be familiar with each other. The dude with the gun *well, the NYPD bloke had a gun too) was plain clothes something, but doing a poor job of obscuring his status what with his weapon bulging out. I tried to get a picture with my phone but he moved away took quickly. Guns make me very, very nervous. If the NYPD guy had not been present i might have left the place, having already placed my order.
Just typed “payphone” into ancestry.com’s search engine. The first obituary that comes up with “payphone” in it is Mohamed Atta. Yikes.
I had to call ancestry.com today to downgrade my account. That seems manipulative. Anything on their web site encourages you to “upgrade” but the only way to downgrade is to call and talk to a human. That is what I did. I had the “World Traveler” subscription that includes (allegedly) 2billion records from outside the U.S. I don’t care about that, but more importantly I should save the $50 difference, as my financial situation could charitably be described as treading water. The problem now is not that I am spending too much but that I just don’t care any more.
