Handbill Handout

Low 80s and sunny, supposed to get to the high 80s later.  I can't remember when I got the black metal Swingline stapler that sits on my desk but I'm very, very glad to have it.  Some folks have cheap mostly plastic staplers and they don't do the job quite as well or they opt to deal with the electric stapler on the copy machine that can be temperamental, stapling when and where it damn well pleases.   The stapler is black and exactly eighteen centimeters long and at its peak it stands five and a half centimeters high.  It feels like it weighs more than half a pound so it would be a solid weapon to use for a blow to the back of the head in an active shooter or insubordinate employee situation  I've stapled personal and business documents with the stapler though personal stapling is rare.   I fill the stapler with Allied Office Products brand staples that come in boxes of 5000 chisel point model staples.  The box is, seasonally enough, red,white and blue.

High 70s and sunny, might hit the mid 80s later. The R46 subway car is still often seen on what in olden times was known as the BMT and the IND lines as well as the SIR (formerly known as the SIRT).  They were manufactured in the 1970s and look like it.  The seats are orange and yellow and are arranged in a groups of three  that fact perpendicular to the movement of the car separated by groups of two at a 90 degree angle to the groups of three with back to back seats facing toward and away from the direction that the train is moving. The outside of the car is silver and there's a number on each.  There are three sets of double doors on each side of the car though sometimes only one of the two doors opens and in rare cases neither door opens.  The roof of the car is curved and rain sluices off both sides. I have spent a lot of time in R46's in my life.  I even de tailed the adventures of a plastic bottle on (in?) an R46 just over nine years ago.  They say that the R46'

Mid 70s and partly sunny. When I take the bus home from the office between early January and Thanksgiving week I typically wait on a bus stop located on an Eastbound midtown street.  The stop is located on the south side of the street in front of a storefront whose contents vary depending on the season.  Across the street is a pretty famous performing arts venue with a marquee that attracts tourists by the thousands.  People are forever taking photos and selfies and what have you. There's no shelter on this bus stop probably because of the high volume of pedestrian traffic moving through the area.  When it rains hard enough I go across the street and stand under the Famous Marquee, reducing its fame to simple utility as far as I'm concerned.  Kind of like asking a celebrity for directions without acknowledging their status which also happens frequently in this town.  I like standing under the Famous Marquee when it's really pouring because then there aren't so many

High 70s and sunny, thunderstorms coming in later they say. Nearly every morning that I go into the office for work I wait on a bus stop.  The bus stop is just off the intersection of the street that I live on and a main artery that runs the length of the island.  It's about 8-12 steps from the corner depending on how long your stride is.  There's a shelter that's mostly glass and it has an ad on the side furthest from the corner in the direction of the traffic flow on that side of the artery.  The top is frosted glass that's tilted on and angle to let rain roll off the back and there's a space between the walls and the roof that precipitation can blow through if the angle of the wind is just right but it rarely is.  On the side nearest corner of my street there's a blue strip that has the intersection spelled out l i k e t h i s except the letters are sideways as though the designer wanted everyone to read it with their head tilted 90 degrees to t

High 70s and mostly sunny. There are mundane things that you see every day that you take for granted and then they disappear and even though their disappearance might actually make your life easier you still feel vaguely bereft because of their absence.   In this case the inspiration for that though are the toll booths of the Brooklyn Battery Tunnel (or I guess the Hugh L. Carey Tunnel for those of you who live in modern times, God help you).   I was aware that the tunnel was moving toward cashless tolling but the booths seemed to disappear without warning.  One day I was on the bus and we went through the tall green (were they green, a dark green or am I mis-remembering?) booths with the yellow automatic arm and their "do not back up" signs and the next day on the way home we emerged from the tunnel and weaved around piles of rubble that were the only reminders that the booths had ever existed. Man, it felt weird. My entire morning commute is thrown off now.  Sure, we

Low 80s and sunny. Spent part of today traveling down the governmental rabbit hole because my driver's license needs to be renewed.  I want to get an enhanced license which means I need a social security card.  I don't have a social security card so  I need to get a replacement.  I'm going to have to show my driver's license to get a new social security card so I have to get that done before the license expires.  First world problems, I know. At least it's not as humid as it's been.

80 degrees and disgustingly humid, supposed to hit the mid 80s later today. This morning at the coffee cart. Me:  "Hey, so are you here Monday?   Eid   is in a couple of days, right? " Cart Owner:  "Yeah, well its either Sunday or Monday depending on when they see the moon, if it winds up on Sunday I'll be here and if it's Monday I won't". "Pretty good party right?  Lotta good food? " "Yeah man, you know we have a barbecue" "Lamb?" "Yeah, lamb, all kind of things, good time!  Eat a lot more food, maybe get laid a little more often too!" My cart guy isn't a particularly young man but he does love the ladies.  In the warm weather he's always asking if I just saw this one or that one that just walked by.  He's not a catcaller by any means, he just appreciates the fairer sex.   Guess you gotta do something when you're stuck in a coffee cart from 3-10am every weekday.

High 70s and sunny, supposed to get to the mid 80s. Busy day!

HIgh 70s and sunny, supposed to hit the low to mid 80s and maybe a shower later. "What kind of music do you like?" is a very, very awkward question for me because the right answer in my case is seen as deliberately confusing or worse, completely obnoxious.  The right answer is "I'm completely indifferent to or dislike the overwhelming majority of music that's ever been produced".  However people seem to be shooting for a genre based answer when they ask that question which again is problematic because the right answer would be "A little bit of a bunch of different kinds of stuff" which sounds like I'm trying to be too cool or sophisticated.  My own reaction when anyone give me that answer is usually to ask them what pieces from various different types of jazz they like or (especially if they're an older white person) who their favorite hip hop artist is. Again, obnoxious.  Why can't we avoid this discussion altogether? Music to me

Low 80s and sunny.  Much less humid. When I was a kid people told me the future would be amazing and it really is!  We all walk around with computers in our pockets that include technology that ensures we'll never have to learn to orient ourselves by the sun or the stars or read a map ever again!  Well, not until the electrical grid goes out or the aliens take out our satellites, ha ha ha. Now I see those crazy kids in northern California came up with an a mazing new transportation concept .  Who would have ever imagined in a day when we could share rides along a fixed route on a regular schedule for a reasonable price?  Screw flying cars!  The hell with jet packs!  What I always dreamt of is riding with other people in a vehicle that I have to wait for instead of summoning at will.  Thank you, people of tomorrow.  You have made my dreams come true.

High 80s and sunny but thunderstorms are coming. It's getting back to "It's so hot" territory which naturally brings the reflexive answer "How hot is it?" It's so hot people aren't just frying eggs on the sidewalk, they're frying (blank)! It's so hot instead of three coins in the fountain I saw three (blanks) in the fountain! It's so hot that instead of catcalling attractive women construction workers are catcalling (blanks)!

Low 80s, sunny and humid.  Hiding in the air conditioning weather. Father's Day.  Thought about going to the cemetery but remembered my dad said "come see me while I'm alive, I won't care when I'm dead" among other things so since it's so damn hot I'm staying home and thinking of him a bit.   The thing that nobody tells you about burying loved ones is how two different and distinct feelings will emerge from time to time, one is "I wish you were here to ask about this (insert very mundane but useful thing that the person could have helped you with)" and the other is "Now I know what it is like to be (insert an age), I understand better why you were the way you were and how dumb I was".  Then again maybe everybody's grief is different and this experience is peculiar to my own. In less deep-thought-type news I really don't like the dopey blue uniforms worn by major league baseball clubs for father's day any more than I

High 60s and cloudy.  One of my favorite weather conditions. Today I was going to write (or rather, pay Bob to write) about my experiences as an overnight worker.  Fortunately I thought to see if I had told that story before and what do you know, I had .  So there goes today's homily for the most part.  The only thing to add is with almost a decade of additional perspective I can say that I peaked at 17.  I was the best assistant baker at that Dunkin Donuts for a few shining months and as I careen down the hill towards age 50 I realize I've never even been close to being the best at anything else I ever attempted. I still love the overnights and I wish I could be awake for them, unfortunately my current career situation and aging renders that impossible.  If I'm awake at 4am these days it's either because I have to pee or a one of the cats decided they wanted an early breakfast. Which is too bad because the middle of the night is the most peaceful time.  The older

Low 70s and partly cloudy. That's more like it. One of the positives of social media is you can use it as a kind of diary and then every year on the anniversary of a particular thing it reminds you that said particular thing happened.  Today it reminded me that four years ago I attended a Mets-Cubs game a Citi Field and was scammed by the bar attached to the stadium that does business as McFadden's, which I believe is the same name as a popular bar in Manhattan. As we entered the game that day we were handed cards that said "$1 beer at McFadden's after the 7th inning".  The end of the 7th inning is when beer sales stop inside the ballpark so this strategy was solid to attract folks who had their fill of baseball but not of suds.  We decided to hang around in the stadium until the 9th inning anyway as it was a clo se game until the Cubs put up a 3 spot i n the 8th.  Arriving at McFadden's to cash in on this deal I noticed a lot of folks drinking something t

High 70's and cloudy after passing showers in the morning. Part of the exercise here is to try to force something out every day.  It's harder now that I'm older; I read old entries and wonder how I had time to think of that stuff in my early 40's or deem it worthwhile to put someplace where there was even a very slim chance of someone ever seeing it (Note to self, "Very Slim Chance" is maybe a good next title for this thing). John Cleese (I think, I'm not going to search for it) said that one laughs less as one gets older because one has already heard nearly all of the jokes.   Yeah, probably.  People aren't all that creative on the whole, myself included. Speaking of having heard all the jokes, I just reread that first paragraph and realized it sounds like a description of constipation which was unintentional.  Also inaccurate.  You can die if you stay constipated long enough but you can go your whole life without ever excreting your thoughts on

Mid 90s, sunny and disgusting. Too hot to be whatever it is Bob and I have been being here today.  Try again later.

Mid 80s and sunny, supposed to break the record (93) before the day is out. The Pittsburgh hockey club beat the Nashville hockey club for the Stanley Cup and that makes me sad.  After years (20 this coming Friday) of being an industry professional and having my emotional attachment to individual teams slowly wilt I became a Nashville fan this year after my nephew got a job with the team.  I honestly didn't expect them to have their most successful season ever, in fact I characterized them as "an extremely likable but fatally flawed team" when I saw a regular season game in November.  The playoffs started around Easter and I was in town again visiting my nephew when after several beers I said "If they make the finals we're coming back for a game".  Which, much to my surprise, actually happened.  A whirlwind 40 hours of already-favorite places and playing with my nephew's dog and finally the game itself which the home team won.  As it turns out not only

Low 90s and sunny.  Ugh. A couple of cats visited our yard on Saturday. There was a grey one with a white chest patch that settled under our bird feeder and relaxed for a bit presumably waiting for prey.  When none came it wandered off.  Then there was a black cat relaxing on the front walk when we came home from an errand who slowly walked away when we got out of the car and headed into a neighbor's back yard.  Since the human mind tends to look for patterns and linkages where none actually exist we're wondering what it "means", whatever that "means".  My suspicion is that it means nothing, though I'd like to help those creatures if they need it.  They seemed well-fed and the black one appeared to have a clipped ear which is the signal that a cat is a member of a managed, neutered colony.  If they need help and we see that we'll give it to them, in the meantime I'm grateful that they stopped by and made our weekend more interesting.

Mid 80s and sunny. Hey, it's DC, the guy who owns this blog.  Yeah, it's really me this time.  You think I've been posting all this stuff since this thing made a comeback a few months ago?  No, no,  I hired a guy to do it.  He's managing this blog.  Yeah, really!  Nah, none of this has been me!  It's been this guy Bob who calls himself an Personal Internet Brand Consultant and he also puts in flooring.  Yeah, he won me over when he told me this joke about the flooring industry: 1st guy:  "Hey, are you free to go to the ballgame this weekend?" 2nd guy:  "I can't, I'm laying linoleum." 1st guy:  "Does she have a sister?" Now that I've told you that joke there is NO WAY that I'm going to tell you any more of Bob's information because you'll all want to hire him and then he won't have time to blog for me on a daily basis.  I mean look at this, talking about the weather EVERY TIME?  Genius!  Bob thinks the

High 70's, very sunny. It's the 17th anniversary of my mother's death.  I went back through the archive of this blog and it seems I only addressed it once in the form of a short and not good poem that wasn't particularly explicit though it was an accurate recollection of how I received the news.  My social media memories make only oblique indications of this as well usually in the form of song selections posted as links to you tube videos which is how I often talk about things I want to talk about without anyone but a savvy few knowing what I'm talking about or making a connection (though I think more than a few people figured out my live-reacting to the inauguration of our current Entertainer in Chief back in January).  Once a college radio DJ always a college radio DJ I suppose. So let us simply be direct and factual here, just for the record in case anyone interested in my family history ever finds this.  In early January 2000 my mother came down with a cold

High 60s and mostly sunny. I usually bring lunch to work. This used to be called "brown bagging", but on account of the fact that I use supermarket shopping bags most of them aren't brown, in fact they're almost all white or yellow (Shop Rite) but "white bagging" sounds racist and "yellow bagging" sounds like a sex act involving urine and/or the current President of the United States.   I didn't bring lunch today because we were away last weekend so I headed downstairs to the overpriced locavore/organic sandwich and salad place only to find that they were closed due to what looked like a burst pipe or in any event it was some kind of flood.  Thanks to the never ending development of the neighborhood in which I work all of my favored alternatives are now gone, boarded up and waiting for the wrecking ball followed by the luxury hotel or condo.  This leaves what I call the salad bar of inevitable disappointment which is a place that's a ty

Partly Sunday and low 60s. So, Nashville.  I don't need to go on about how great the game was or how much fun the fans are, you've got Google for that.  The thing I took away that doesn't get talked about is the turnover of young people in that town.  Young people that arrived to try to make their way not only as musicians but people who moved there to work in a variety of industries be it restaurants or tourism or for one of the sports teams or even for the museums (which I guess is an offshoot of tourism but I'd like to think that locals visit museums too).  The stories I heard reminded me of this new Mountain Goats song which is a fictional story about a real guy who was in a band called Sisters Of Mercy.  The story talks about him going back to his hometown after years of trying to live the dream.  The lines that leapt to mind as I was hearing about these folks were: "See the children bound for London You'll all be back too Everybody tests the membr

High 50s and rainy after a couple of mid 80s and humid/stormy days in Nashville. Still processing my whirlwind trip (40 hours from landing to departure) to see family and a Stanley Cup Finals game in Nashville.  If I manage to form an even semi-interesting anecdote it'll wind up here.  Meantime know it was fun though my aging back and knees are not giving me positive feedback on two coach airline trips in less that two days combined with humid weather in both cities.

Mid 70s and sunny. Quick trip to Nashville tomorrow to see Game 4 of the Finals on Monday, back home early Tuesday morning.  Given that the Predators are down 2-0 in the series I sincerely hope I do not see the Stanley Cup on the ice on this trip.

Mid 70s and mostly sunny. I wish they would bring back regular cherry flavored Tic Tacs.  The cherry-cola combo ones they have now just aren't as good.  Mind you, I'm not going to go on a crusade about it.  Though I do know someone who once did go so far as to petition a snack food company when they discontinued his favorite flavor of tortilla chip.  He didn't make a film about it but in today's age of everything-is-a-documentary I'm betting there's some filmmaker somewhere doing a documentary about a particular niche type of discontinued snack food or candy.  Don't google it.  I don't intend to.

High 70's and sunny.  Was foggy this morning. Listening to the "deluxe" version of Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band on Spotify.  Man, are they scraping the walls of the vault to make some dough.  Years ago when I had a bit more free time I downloaded the "complete" Let It Be sessions off a torrent site and holy hell was that tedious listening.  You have to listen to about ten false starts to get to one interesting variant of a song or telling piece of banter.  The people who put out the deluxe Sgt. Pepper presumably went through the tapes and found the cream of the crop of the creative process and either they did a lousy job or Pepper came together in the least interesting fashion possible.  There are a few interesting moments (Strawberry Fields Forever Take 26 comes to mind) but the rest just sounds like rehearsal.   Not essential by any means unless you're an obsessed collector.