Farewell, dark room gear. We hardly knew ya’. I never actually felt like it was my dark room gear, even though I paid for it and I paid extra for the person who sold it to me to show me how to use it. I never felt like I owned the stuff because the “lessons” I was given were so bad. Any question I asked was met with a snort and a chuckle, the unstated retort “How can you not know this?” Darkroom technique isn’t one of those things you just know. That’s why you bring in an experienced individual to show you the process. I never got the hang of it, and for the brief moments when it seemed like I might have “gotten it” I was never so enchanted with the results as one would have come to expect from such old school techniques.
The person who sold me the gear was a friend from Time-Warner, and he should still be a friend if Facebook connections still mean anything. Technically I had been his boss at Time-Warner, though I never thought of it that way. Or rather, if I ever thought of it that way then the org-chart dynamic would be lost on me now should I encounter this individual in person. He was a bit older than me and far more seasoned in life, which is no reason that a youngster like myself could not be his BOSS. Age has little to do with anything in the world of work, especially among those for whom work is just a means to a paycheck and an eventual path to something else. Subsistence wages. He had no desire for wealth or property. I admired that about him. I also found him to be a fascinating photo subject.
He also sold me a big “work table” that I still have and which I would also like to get rid of. Having cleared that dark room space from the kitchen maybe I can get all that crap off the work table and either into the garbage or under the kitchen “counter”.
For the brief time L. and I had our dalliance she was adamant that I should have her mother’s piano. It was (and still is, I assume) a cherry wood baby grand, I forget the brand but something reputable like Baldwin, and it has been sitting in climate-controlled storage for something like 6 years. We talked about my desire to get rid of the big work table, and discussion led to replacing it with this baby grand piano, getting rid of the digital piano altogether, and in the end having more free space than I do already.
That actually mighta worked. If I had undue confidence in these discussion about me being the recipient of such a generous gift from a girl I’d been with for barely 2 weeks it was because she and her mother had been discussing this piano for years. L. seemed to know as well as I that storing a piano in a climate controlled space is one thing, but never using it, well, that’s altogether something else. That is the worst thing you can do to a piano, no matter how perfectly situated it is in a humidity- and temperature-controlled space, is to not play it.
The urgency of getting this piano into a decent home had been stirring between L. and her mother for long enough that it seemed it wouldn’t matter to her mother that L. and I really only barely knew each other. Her mother might want to unload the piano to anyone even remotely worthy, sparing herself the hundreds of dollars per month expense and getting this nettlesome discussion between L. and her out of the way once and for all.
Of course it never happened, and truth be told I don’t think I actually wanted an acoustic baby grand in that apartment. I would have had to muffle it, keep the lid down all the time, play quietly… and all the stuff that a digital makes easier, if less “authentic”.
Does not matter. The dark room gear is gone, and maybe the big ugly work table is next. Re-arranging the kitchen tomorrow, which, as Ringo Starr would say, should be easy with a little help from my friends.
It looks like the new occupant of the apartment next to me is also the new “super” for the building. Martin, who was “super” in title only — he admitted to me once having never once done anything “super” — was erased from the sign in the building lobby, replaced by this dude with a Greek name. If the person I saw exiting the apartment was this new super then he looked youngish. What am I saying? He looked youngish regardless of whether he was the new super. I wonder if he gets free or minimal rent for that studio. He said hi to me, which is one word more than the previous neighbors in that apartment said to me in I don’t know how many years.
Getting rid of the dark room stuff is a preemptive strike at getting rid of as much crap as possible should I actually desire to move to Chicago in the summer or beyond. I always thought it was a comfortable town, and I’ve got nothing keeping me here. Nothing much, at least.
Talking to a friend about my current sobriety kick. He asked where I would go should I desire to hit a pub. I said either S2, at 4pm opening (pre-goombah crowd) or The Strand, which I forgot existed until I passed it by while coming to this BakewayNYC last night. I like either place because I can drown in invisibility, or at least I think I can. Hoping I will make it sober through the summer, if not beyond. Would like to get back to a place where I can drink one night but not the next. I don’t know if I am too far gone for that behavior, which used to be typical of me.
I took a couple of Calms Forte, or whatever they were called, last night. They were no placebo. They did something. I am just not sure that putting me to sleep was one of them. I bought a bottle of the stuff (they are cheap) and will try again. I did, at least, get through the night without a benzo. For that I genuinely say YAY.
Back to the homestead.
