Tag Archives: fiction

And So It Goes

Today is Wednesday, November 19, 2025. It’s already late here because I’ve just returned from my very first meeting of Forest Hills Indivisible at a nearby church and also having a quick bite outside since I was unable to have dinner at home before the 7 p.m. meeting. This happened because I found myself waiting at my local ophthalmologist’s office for more than an half hour in order to be seen by a physician’s assistant before actually being seen by the eye specialist. My appointment was at 4:30, but I didn’t see (no pun intended) anyone until 5:15 or so. I actually got up at least twice to ask when I was being treated. Both times I was informed that the doctor would be seeing me in a few minutes and it still took awhile before I was called into an office.

But that’s not the reason I’m writing this. I wanted to provide some details about the anti-Dump meeting I attended right here at a church within five minutes of my house. I was very heartened to discover that the meeting was attended by about 40 people; all of the pews were occupied by people of all stripes – young, old, female, and male. When I entered the sanctuary before 7, I meekly asked if this was where the Forest Hills branch of Indivisible would be meeting. I was greeted by a well-dressed, bearded older gentleman who said, “Yes.” I entered the church and found a seat.

Soon more individuals walked in and took seats. I recognized a young man from my own building who lives in the adjacent section of the cooperative. However, he didn’t acknowledge me. I just knew him visually since I’ve seen him enter the Alden part of the building in times past.

A very large part of the meeting was devoted to listening from a representative of some immigrant rights group who talked very movingly about how this regime is illegally taking people off the streets. She stated that she herself is an immigrant – after emigrating to the country at age 6 from Mexico. She provided the group with details about recent ICE raids of various neighborhoods throughout the city and also handed out a small flyer covering what our rights are and what steps activists could take when ICE agents are observed lurking around. Basically, what we could do is just blow a whistle and take videos of their unlawful actions. This young woman also passed around pictures of men caught in an ICE raid on Canal Street. She also took questions from audience members before yielding the stage to one of the organizers who is friendly with our friend “Patricia.” Her name is “Joan.”

Joan then began speaking about strategies the group could adopt in lieu of having massive demonstration after demonstration. One such plan she talked about was having small groups of people ring doorbells of home owners in the neighborhood to give them a lawn sign that is clearly anti-ICE in essence. What Joan is encouraging us to do is engage in conversation with these individuals and see if they wouldn’t come over to our side. She also mentioned the possibility of holding signs aloft on pedestrian overpasses to get our message across to motorists. Joan did say that signs would be provided; we wouldn’t have to design our own.

The last speaker was the man who greeted me at the beginning of the meeting. His name was “Ian.” He mentioned that he would like for us to provide the group with our own ideas as to what next steps to take. Instead of coming up with their own ideas, people just asked Ian more questions.

In conclusion, Joan stated that the group will send out emails to those in attendance. The meeting was adjourned a little after 8:30 and some of us stayed talking about the asshole in charge of the government. One woman named “Dora” said she is involved with another group called Beacon that meets in front of MacDonald Park every Thursday for an hour at 4. I’m not sure what this group does, but I wouldn’t want to get involved with too many groups and spread myself too thin. I’d rather just stay with Forest Hills Indivisible and see if it meets my activist needs.

One funny moment came when the guy from my adjacent building made a case of using social media more frequently. At that point, the room was scanned for the white heads of both males and females sitting there until one older woman chimed in, saying that she could handle the social media aspect of getting our message out to a broader cross section of the population.

After the meeting, I walked to Queens Boulevard with someone from the group. She said her name was “Betty,” and she was from Ridgewood, Queens. She said she was a member of the Ridgewood chapter, but still wanted to attend the meeting here tonight. I informed her that I had to eat dinner out since I had no time to dine home before the meeting. We said our goodbyes near the subway station and I made my way to Shake Shack for a hamburger and fries.

As I type this, Lawrence O’Donnell is conversing with Boston’s Mayor Michelle Wu about the outrage caused by a fucking ICE raid at a Boston car wash. ICE is this president’s equivalent to Hitler’s Schutzstaffel, or SS. The more we grasp this reality, the more we can push back against this.

Tomorrow Elliot and I are meeting with “Rebecca” and “Taylor” at 7. Again, I might not be posting here tomorrow night, depending on how late we stay out with these two young individuals.

Have a good Thursday.

And so it went!

And So It Goes

Today is Sunday, November 2, 2025, the end of Daylight Saving Time. I always rage against this worthless practice that we engage in year in and year out without any attempt to correct it. Which would mean that this do-nothing Congress would finally put an end to changing the clock and letting nature do its part in giving us natural daylight.

The literature on this phenomenon always points to its negative health impacts, such as increased risks of stroke and obesity from disrupted circadian rhythms. Proponents of permanent standard time argue it aligns better with human biology. Permanent standard time could reduce health risks associated with time changes. Permanent daylight saving time could result in more evening sunlight in the winter months and may provide a benefit in terms of public safety, as studies show there are fewer fatal car accidents with more daylight in the evening. It appears that many researchers agree that the current system of changing clocks twice a year is the worst option from a health perspective, regardless of whether permanent standard or daylight time is chosen. As for this ever happening, don’t expect it to take shape during this terrible administration that cannot even pay federal workers now during a month-long government shutdown, but an attempt to make daylight saving time permanent did pass the Senate in 2022, but did not advance in the House of Representatives. Public opinion polls show that a majority of Americans favor eliminating the time change, though support for permanent standard time versus permanent daylight saving time is more divided. That is why I begrudgingly move the clocks back now and ahead an hour in March.

Yesterday Elliot and I spent a lovely evening in Jersey City at Temple Beth-El attending a gala for the dedication of a new social hall, funded in part by Elliot’s late aunt’s legacy. We used mass transit, taking the F to 34th Street where we transferred to the PATH and took the train to Journal Square. From there, we took a taxi to the synagogue on John F. Kennedy Boulevard. We were directed to take the stairs downstairs and we descended the steps to the designated area. Outside there was a table set up with the names of the invited guests and a wall with plaques designating the donors who generously donated to the renovation of the social hall. Elliot’s aunt’s name was etched on a plaque honoring her foundation. Then we walked into the dark interior of the room that was set up for dinner and dancing. We looked around for a table and we found one in the back. We then took some hors d’oeuvres that were proffered to us by a number of servers. The rabbi of the synagogue met us and thanked Elliot for his backing.

It was at this event that I shook the hand of Jim McGreevey who is now running for mayor of Jersey Center. You remember who Jim McGreevey is? He was the former governor of New Jersey in 2001 and was forced to resign the position after it was revealed that he engaged in an extramarital relationship with a man. There was that infamous press conference where he appeared with his wife, Dina Matos, in which he stated he was a gay man and that he was resigning his office. A divorce was granted the couple in 2008.

So it was this Jim McGreevey whose hand I shook. He and another candidate for mayor were at this event, and the other one is someone I wouldn’t know if I fell over him. The other candidate’s name is William O’Dea. Anyway, the brief engagement I had with McGreevey was quite funny. He doesn’t know me from Adam, as they say, but when he took my hand, he uttered that he thought he knew me from somewhere. I said that I’ve never met him before; I’m not even a New Jersey resident, I told him. That’s when he turned to talking to someone else who was at least a New Jersey voter. That was the extent of my brief conversation with him.

Here we also met another gay couple who are members of the shul. In fact, as soon as we entered the room, it was “James” who took my hand and talked very amicably throughout the evening. I didn’t even know who he was at first. And I couldn’t understand why he seemed so touchy-feely with me. The longer the evening progressed, it became clear. He started talking of his husband, “Morris,” who was at the event and where they enjoy traveling to. It was practically inevitable that we would exchange telephone numbers and emails. With the end of the gala looming, I finally met “Morris.” I didn’t have time to speak to him, as Elliot yearned to leave; it was a little after 10.

Unfortunately, the commute home took forever. We got into an Uber outside the synagogue and then took the train back to 33rd Street, where we transferred to the F. However, the ride to 33rd Street on the PATH took forever. The only distraction we had on this interminable ride back to New York was seeing the hordes of young people boarding the train in Halloween costumes. Both girls and men were decked out in weird and colorful getups. Even though it was November 1, a day after Halloween. People were still going to parties, it seemed, as many got off at Christopher Street.

We got home, finally, a little after 12. Much later than I thought, but heck, it was fun looking at the Halloween revelers. I even took a respite from reading Surviving Autocracy, by Masha Gessen, who writes incisively about the first Dump term. She uses the term “kakistocracy” to describe the kind of government we had during Dump’s first term, and here we are all over again during his second, worse term. I’ve even went back to rereading It Can’t Happen Here, by Sinclair Lewis, inspired by this Orange Turd’s second term. This novel is about fascism coming to America in 1935. Well, maybe it didn’t way back then, but it sure emerged in 2025.

Anyway, it’s getting late here.

It’s time to wish everyone a good week.

And so it went!

I forgot to mention that I baked today: an apple walnut cake. Here it is!

And So It Goes

Today is Saturday, October 18, dubbed “No Kings” Day at 2,500 events throughout the nation in response to the authoritarian bent of this mad president. I proudly participated in this event here in New York at 47th Street and 7th Avenue, where a humongous crowd inched its way down toward 14th Street where it just broke apart. This was a 33-block walk that seemed to take forever. There had to be thousands and thousands of energized marchers besides myself on line; at one point, I even thought I spied Broadway diva Patti LuPone standing right behind me with her own sign declaring Trump has to go. Of course, I didn’t approach her since I’m sure she didn’t want to be recognized and fawned over during this protest. So I just looked the other way and tried not to focus on staring at her as I stood for almost 90 minutes before beginning the march.

This time I convinced a friend to accompany me, “Jerry,” whom I met by the subway stop in Forest Hills at 10. I set my phone alarm for 8:30 and had a little breakfast before rushing out at 9:50. We then waited for the F train and boarded it, heading toward 47th-50th Street.

I had a large shopping bag that contained my large anti-Dump sign, plus other signs for Jerry who failed to bring his own placards. We headed for 47th Street and waded into the huge crowd that gathered to show their disgust with this administration. As we waited to get the go-ahead to start walking, that’s when I believed I saw Ms. LuPone in back of me.

In an online article for AlterNet entitled “Trump opponents have a plan for exposing his ‘power’ as ‘fragile’ – not ‘unstoppable,'” by Alex Henderson, MSNBC’s Antonia Hylton told host Ali Velshi that the protest outside was turning out to be much larger than previously thought, corroborating my personal suspicions about the true size of the crowd. Hylton reported, “Originally, they thought about 200,000 people.” She added, “But right now, best guesses are that they far exceeded that.” To confirm this, remember that on June 14th, I had to wait a full half-hour before being able to start walking toward the designated end point, whereas today, I had to wait almost 90 minutes before being able to start marching. To me, this signifies that the protest crowd had to exceed 200,000 disgruntled marchers.

In an op-ed published by MSNBC’s website that day, Ezra Klein and Leah Greenberg (two cofounders of the progressive group Indivisible), emphasize that the size of the protests is important – as it sends a clear message that Chump’s power is “fragile” rather than “unstoppable.”

Klein and Greenberg argue, “Right now, this regime is invading and occupying cities across the country. Their masked officers are terrorizing American communities and immigrant families. They’re attacking the final provisions of the Voting Rights Act. And the White House is using the powers of the executive branch to go after political opponents of all stripes, from New York Attorney General Letitia James to comedians to peaceful protesters. Each of these moments might seem isolated, but together, they form a single authoritarian project: silence dissent, project strength and convince the rest of us there’s nothing we can do to stop it”

Klein and Greenberg argue that Dump needs us to believe he’s unstoppable, “that his grip is permanent, that resistance is futile.” They add, “And if we believe him, it just might work. Here’s the truth: It’s all a lie.”

Therefore, I will provide some pics of the protest that I took as I marched proudly today. Look at this acronym made of Dump’s name from one protester: “T (traitor), R (rapist), U (ugly), M (mendacious) and P (pedophile).” Seems to fit, don’t you think?

I just got the figures then for this huge protest: “More than 350,000 people across New York City protested on Saturday,” organizers said. This quote is from an article covering the nationwide demonstrations in Independent. Now the figure for the entire country is pegged at “nearly 7 million,” not 10 million.

As we marched, I forgot to say that we chanted, “Hey hey! Ho ho! Donald Trump has got to go!” and “What does democracy look like?” The answer, “This is what democracy looks like!” Also, in Washington, D.C. alone, more than 200,000 demonstrators turned up. In Chicago, a massive crowd of 100,000 showed up to register their disgust with Dump and his craven enablers. Even actor John Cusack was interviewed on Chicago streets, where he had a direct message to this monarchical president: “No, you can’t put troops on our streets. You can’t create enough chaos to invoke the Insurrection Act so you can stay in power. We all know what your plan is. He also added this wish for the administration, “Go to hell!”

The city of Atlanta had 35,000 protesters in which Georgia Democratic Senator Raphael Warnock told the rally crowd that Americans should be “concerned” about Dump’s recent cringeworthy remarks to the military. This is where he talked about handling “the enemy from within,” code word for Americans citizens who disagree with the asshole’s policies and that “we have to handle it before it gets out of control.” Chump had the audacity to tell the commanders in the room that some of them would be involved in using U.S. cities run by Democrats as “training grounds” for troops. Can you believe this fucker saying something as batshit crazy as this to a roomful of generals and top military brass?

Have a good Sunday!

And so it went!

Two great signs showing some creativity here.

Here is the convicted felon without makeup. Truly ugly!

Here is the crowd at the New York protest!

Here is another creative sign.

Standing around.

More protesters marching down 47th Street.

Another creative sign declaring the enemy within is really made up of Dump’s own cabinet: creepy Stephen Miller, Kristi Noem, and Russell Vought, the horrible architect of Project 2025 and is now the Director of the United States Office of Management and Budget.

A very clear declaring “No kings” here!

I really like the “release the Trumpstein Files” sign, where Drumpf’s and Epstein’s faces merge into one.

This pic is probably at the beginning of the march. We’re still milling around here.

This is the sign that I carried for 3 hours.

And So It Goes

Today is Wednesday, October 8, 2025. Yesterday I was attending my gay men’s reading club meeting along with my friend “Harvey.” I did go to Julius’s afterward for some libation and conversation. Even though I’m more of a coffeetotaler, I relented and had a glass of beer.

I took the F train to West 4th Street around 3 and got down before 4. So I walked to the Jefferson Market Library where our meeting is always held and went to the second floor to comb the books on the shelf to purchase. Of course, I definitely didn’t need any more books; I am close to finally finishing Lake Success by Gary Shteyngart. I highly recommend it to anyone who enjoys an entertaining read and this book is surely that!

Don’t worry, folks, I didn’t buy any more books yesterday. I then started walking back to the IFC Center where I got a text from Harvey saying he would be on time. He had called me earlier to say that the train he would have taken was cancelled and that another train was scheduled for a later time; he expected to be late then, but he wasn’t.

When we met, Harvey indicated he was hungry, so we discussed where we might dine. I heard about a Chinese restaurant called Steam located near the library, but we never got there. Harvey spied an Italian restaurant called Osteria 57 and examined its menu outside and suggested we eat there. I did say that we just dined on take-home Chinese food the other day and said I would be amiable to eating Italian food.

The place was quite empty since it wasn’t even 4:15 yet. But we chose a nice table near the window in the front to sit. We were given two menus: one for lunch which actually ended at 5 and one for dinner. We preferred to choose from the dinner menu, so we selected some nice dishes from that listing. I eschewed an appetizer this time to select spaghetti cacio e pepe, which is basically spaghetti with Pecorino Romano cheese and pepper. Harvey chose some fish entree, fritto misto that included Montauk shrimp, local calamari, and zucchini tempura.

Harvey’s hunger was not slaked until he had dessert which turned out to be gelato. I decided against having my own dessert and helped myself to two spoonfuls of Harvey’s gelato.

Then it was time to stroll toward the Jefferson Market Library, but not until we spent a little time in a bookstore opposite the legendary gay bar called Three Lives & Company. I made the conscious decision before we entered that I would not purchase a book from this lovely little bookstore. But Harvey did! He bought a new hardcover book called 38 Londres Street (which I never heard about) by Philippe Sands that chronicles Chilean dictator Augusto Pinochet and his involvement with a fugitive SS officer. Harvey thought the book would be a nice present for his Chilean wife, “Sofia.”

Now it was time to walk toward the library after Harvey paid for his book. When we got to the room in which we hold our meetings, we already saw an almost full room of sitting avid book readers. When it was time to begin the meeting – at 6:30 – the room must have close to 60 guys.

We started the meeting by discussing one cultural thing we did this month. When it came to my turn, I spoke about seeing The History of Sound. That was last Saturday.

Then it was time we dived into discussing Guapa by Saleem Haddad. All of us dissected the book with erudite analysis; however, Harvey and I had trouble hearing many of the men’s comments. We whispered this to each other during the 90 minutes the meeting ranged over.

Later, I took this up with our organizer, “Jerry,” at Julius’s. He listened to me as I made the suggestion that he announce that members speak up during the next meeting. I do hope he will do this – if not, I’ll remind him of this in November.

I then went home by myself since Harvey did not stay for a drink or to schmooze with the other members.

When I got home, I eagerly went to try out our restored television set which was delivered to us after 5. I took the two remotes and clicked the “On” button. And the set came on and I was able to watch regular TV.

However, when I pressed the button for my apps, the streaming services, I was unable to connect to the services – like Netflix, Amazon Prime, Hulu, etc. The screen where the apps appeared looked very different from what I used to have. And when I clicked on an app, I got nothing. Thus I decided we’d have to call “Ernest” today and ask him to return to get these apps working again.

So I spent another night in the bedroom watching the Ed Gein series on Netflix. This time I don’t think our upstairs neighbor banged on the ceiling as she has since I went in there after the Sony died. Boy, what a victory!

In the meantime, in our fascist American moment, the news just gets worse and worse, with today’s arraignment of former FBI director James Comey for charges of lying to Congress – which is definitely a spurious charge since we all know that Comey was on the Orange Turd’s enemies list and he publicly sicced his lapdog of an attorney general, blonde bimbo Pam Bondi, on him. A trial date was set for January 5, 2026, which is an ironic one, since the next day, January 6, would mark the fifth anniversary of that second infamous date in U.S. history. Comey’s lawyers have rightfully claimed the charges are just the result of a sitting president’s vow of vengeance against the former FBI director. The arrest of a public official like Comey should outrage every American who is shocked by this fascistic regime and to what measures it would take to overthrow the rule of law. I should hope this case will be dismissed outright before any evidence is ever presented in such a kangaroo court in this country.

The news gets even worse as the Supreme Leader calls for the jailing of Chicago Mayor Brandon Johnson and Democratic Governor JB Pritzker because of their opposition to the Orange Turd calling in his private army, ICE, into Portland, Oregon, and Chicago. This is what the Orange Turd actually wrote: “Chicago Mayor should be in jail for failing to protect Ice [he couldn’t even capitalize ICE here – the idiot!] Officers! Governor Pritzker also!” He wrote these incendiary remarks on his stupid “Truth” Social.

After these developments, all I can say is, “Are we living in America right now or in a banana republic?” I can’t wait until the protest scheduled for October 18 to express my disgust of what is happening under Dump and his evil regime.

Maybe tomorrow Ernest will fix the television set once and for all. He’s set to come after 5. In the meantime, I’ll sit one more time in the bedroom to watch another episode of Monster: The Ed Gein Story.

And so it went!

Here’s a great sign from one of the protests I participated in that says it all!

And So It Goes

Today is Thursday, September 25, 2025. I was going to write about the ongoing train wreak known as Donald J. Dump who, just two days ago, delivered the stupidest, most insulting speech to world leaders at the United Nations General Assembly which is still being assessed for its insane, incoherent substance, but something personal in my life has been acutely felt, and that is the death of a friend on the occasion of Rosh Hashanah this past Monday. Today was the funeral service on West 91st Street and Amsterdam Avenue.

I received the terrible news from his husband, “Jeff,” just around 4:40 p.m. while Elliot and I were having a holiday dinner at our friend’s house on Monday. Something told me to answer the call and not let it go to voicemail since “Larry” had been suffering from an aggressive case of leukemia for over two years, I believe, and he was definitely not doing well this past week or so. My suspicions were confirmed when Jeff announced that Larry had just died and that he was going to text me the information concerning the service, which couldn’t be the next day because of the holiday on Tuesday and Wednesday.

Thus I went out today at 8 a.m. to get to the West Side to attend the last rites for Larry. The chapel was overflowing with mourners, many of them friends and relatives, and even coworkers of Larry over the years. Larry served with distinction, first, as a teacher in Brooklyn, then ascended the pedagogical ladder at one elementary school by becoming an assistant principal and then ending up as principal of the school. He began his teaching career at almost the same time as Elliot did – in 1967. Elliot began his career of teaching over three decades in 1968.

After retiring in the early 2000s, Larry found his true passion: first volunteering for the CSA – the Council of School Supervisors and Administrators, and then becoming a unit chapter head. Those who spoke at the service recounted how dedicated he was to those he came into contact with at the council and how heconsidered everyone an equal. Speaker after speaker recounted how informative he was about union regulatory rules and would share that information unhesitatingly with others.

Larry received accolades from everyone who spoke. He was primarily described as a generous, kind, gentle, soul who had a complimentary word about everyone. This I can attest to in my association with him over the years. I met him through his soon-to-be husband Jeff who Elliot and I first got to know at the gay/bi dads group at the LGBTQ+ center on 13th Street.

Jeff offered the first eulogy which was spoken in a half-whisper about his loving husband and how he was forever altered for the better through knowing Larry. At one point, he mentioned that Larry told him – on his deathbed, literally – to give up petty grudges, which, I hadn’t known at the time, was actually addressed to Elliot and me. You see, our friendship with both Larry and Jeff was frayed after 2021 resulting from a misunderstanding between Elliot and Jeff. Because of the seemingly petty nature of the grievance, I won’t even mention it here. Thus for close to four years, Elliot was persona non grata in Jeff’s mind. I recently decided to renew the connection between Larry and Jeff when I heard from a mutual friend, “Gene,” that Larry was seriously ill.

Therefore, when I would see the pair generally in Midtown near where they lived, Elliot would stay behind. I never felt good about this, but I went along with this arrangement to not ruffle any feathers, even though I instinctively believed it was wrong.

Today the situation was put into stark perspective with Larry’s untimely death – he was 79 and would celebrate his birthday on the same date as I, which is November 8, but he was 10 years older than I – when I stood in a line of bereavers to hug Jeff in the hallway and he started to say through tears, “Did you hear what I said up there – about giving up grudges?” I said I did, and said something so cliched, like “Life is short!” But it’s the damn truth! I hugged him as he tearfully said he would get in touch with both of us when things settle down. That’s all I needed to hear.

How many of us know about situations when family members don’t talk to one another over some conflict or misunderstanding that occurred over decades ago? How many of us know people who never had the chance to repair broken relationships with sisters, brothers, aunts, cousins, or friends? I would say that number is quite large. So all I can say is life is unpredictable and, if you have the chance to repair a strained relationship with someone you once held very dear, now is the time to do it before it’s too damn late. I’m sure Jeff became cognizant of this very life lesson as his husband’s life was ebbing away.

So if any of you see yourself as being described in the above-mentioned paragraph, you know what to do. Go out and mend those fences – if you can. Time is of the essence.

And so it went!

And So It Goes

Today is Tuesday, August 19, 2025. Did you hear this one about the current president showing further signs of dementia as he dismantles democracy, bit by bit, where he attacked mail-in voting for no apparent reason other than his strongman pal, Vladimir Putin, put the thought into him very recently. He conducted a particular rant on national television in which he told a narrative about one of his own trips to the ballot box in which a poll worker asked him for a license plate to prove who he was. He informed this supposed poll worker, “I don’t know if I have it. They said, ‘Sir, you have to have it.’ He ended this absurd story by saying, “I was very impressed, actually.”

Who has ever heard of being asked to produce a license plate when voting? No one asks for a fucking license plate before being allowed to vote! A photo ID, which would be on someone’s driver’s license, not plate, is usually required as proof of identity. So has the president just made another gaffe here or is he truly delusional?

In the meantime, Texas Rep. Nicole Collier has slept in her chair in the Texas chamber since she has publicly refused to sign some sort of “permission slip” allowing the state police to shadow them until they return to the legislature to vote on this monumental unfair redistricting of the Texas map. Collier should be lionized for her refusal to bend a knee to corrupt repugnicans in the Texas legislature who will do anything in obeisance to their Supreme Leader – like throw away their own principles and dedication to the Constitution.

In an online Daily Kos article entitled “‘Go home’: Voters boo wannabe GOP governor off stage,” by The AP, the brutal reality came home to roost for Representative Elise Stefanik (who, I believe is a total boob) who was unmercifully booed by her constituents when she appeared at an event in her district on Monday. The people in the audience voiced their great displeasure of Stefanik’s total embrace of pedophile in chief Donald Chump and her vote to pass the “one, big beautiful bill,” which is anything but, as it rips Medicaid and food stamps from millions of Dump supporters in order to cut taxes for the richest few.

Aside from booing, protesters shouted that Stefanik “sold us out!” and told her to “go home,” and also shouted that Stefanik should “unseal the Epstein files,” according to a report from HuffPost.

In her case, the boos became so disruptive that the scaredy cat Stefanik eventually left the stage without finishing her prepared remarks. She was allegedly talking about a local government building that was being named after John Zurlo in Clinton County who died in her district at the age of 86. She did not anticipate the enmity that was going to greet her as she took the lectern.

News Nation Capitol Hill correspondent Joe Khalil reported, “Rep. Elise Stefanik booed off stage at an event in Plattsburgh, NY.” “After a few uncomfortable seconds of screams and boos, she left the lectern rather than deliver her prepared remarks.”

Protesters said they chose to show up to the event to voice their frustrations with Stefanik because the New York repugnican doesn’t make herself available to her constituents.

Here is a representative who has not shown up in her district for months and months, according to Mavis Agnew, a protester who attended the event as she told a local television news station. “She won’t hold a town hall, she won’t take questions. She’s never in her office. People show up at her office constantly, door’s closed. Her representatives, her employees won’t talk to her . . . So this was her first appearance, the first opportunity we had to let her know we’re unhappy.”

And, boy, did they! As you might recall, Stefanik has remained in her district after the dementia in chief pulled her nomination to be United Nations ambassador out of fear the GOP could lose her House seat in a special election. If this event were any indicator, it would seem that many repugnicans should fear losing their seats in the midterms if the bastard doesn’t rig the election in his favor.

This news out of Plattsburgh should be a warning sign to this cunt who thinks she was going to run for governor in blue state New York against Kathy Hochul. Thus a Siena College poll from last month found Hochul leads Stefanik in a hypothetical match-up by a massive 47 percent to 24 percent margin.

I would think she would easily lose her seat based on this evidence when she is up for reelection. Democratic State Senator James Skoufis had this to say about the backlash at Stefanik for appearing at this event: “Elise Stefanik won’t even hold a town hall in her bright red district – I just held four in one week – but she thinks she’s gonna roll up into NYC and run for Governor without a problem. Congresswoman, meet rude awakening.”

I’m hearing the boos and catcalls right now on Lawrence O’Donnell’s show tonight. Another repugnican congresswoman was booed also in a town hall. I’m happy to hear that people are now standing up to repugnicans who had the audacity to pass this horrible bill without realizing how ruinous it will be for many Americans. They are all getting a rude awakening if they risk showing up at town halls in front of their constituents.

Today’s highlight was my driving to Nomad Cafe in Ridgewood, Queens, in the new car on the Jackie Robinson Parkway and having a different sort of breakfast as compared to my Austin Street Diner fare. I had their “eggscape from NY” that consisted of over-easy eggs, rosemary parmesan hash browns, Black Forest ham, and wheat toast, with fresh berries. I also had the coffee which was very good. Looking around, I noted I was the oldest patron in the cafe.

From there, I walked to the Topos Bookstore, located around the corner, on Woodward Avenue. There I browsed the used bookstore for at least a half hour. I won’t say if I bought any books; you’d be upset with me if I confessed that I did.

Later in the day, Elliot and I drove finally to the Ice King of Corona. I have nudged Elliot to go there since the beginning of the summer, and we’ve always had an excuse not to go, but this time I held Elliot to the fire and we left a half hour or so after I returned from Ridgewood. We both indulged in a medium peanut butter ice.

And so it went!

And So It Goes

Today is Sunday, August 3, 2025. Today Elliot and I spent a day walking through nature’s bounty at the Bronx Botanical Garden, located at 2900 Southern Boulevard. We took the subway instead of driving there and having to worry about parking the car. We went there at the invitation of our Amherst friends “Laura” and “Richard” who were coming in to spend some time with Laura’s cousin, “Albert,” who hails from New Jersey. Albert is disabled and he had his attendant “Kelly” and his wife “Bette” drive him to the Garden. The exhibit we were all interested in seeing was Van Gogh’s Flowers that captures the many multifaceted flowers that constituted some of the artist’s most indelible paintings.

We were all supposed to have met by 12, so we set the alarm for 8:45 a.m. and naturally got up before the alarm. Today marked the second day that the tenants in the building had issues with water pressure due to some mechanical malfunction in the pumps or whatever is responsible for delivering the right measure of pressure through the pipes. Luckily, we still had some water and I was able to take an attenuated shower. We decided to have breakfast outside, so that we could use the bathroom instead of relying on the toilet in the apartment to not do its intended job. And here I just watched Netflix’s special on the doomed 2013 Carnival cruise where toilets failed to flush altogether and passengers had to resort to defecating in biohazard bags. Yuck! I know, too much information, too much information!

Anyway, we walked to Pink Forest on Austin Street and had something (I had a ham and cheese omelet while Elliot had a vegetable sandwich) to tide us over until lunch at the Garden.

We then walked over to the subway to wait for the E to take us to 7th Avenue, where we then transferred to the uptown D train and got off at Bedford Park Boulevard. The train ride took all of an hour before we came to our stop. As we exited the station, I looked for signs pointing to the Garden and found a small sign saying to exit the station to the left. When we got outside, I thought we were walking in the correct direction until I stopped a young girl lost in listening to music on headphones who couldn’t answer where the Garden. It was then that a woman overhearing my question stuck her head out of a second-floor window and pointed us in the right direction. That is who we need to guide us in the right direction: a woman in an apartment building listening to us from a second-story window. I find it very New York-ish. Only in New York then!

We made a left and here were clearly posted signs telling us we were walking in the right direction and that our destination was just eight blocks ahead. We must have arrived close to 12 and I looked for Laura and Richard at the front of the Garden, but they weren’t there. So I called her and she said she was at the other entrance to the Garden and that we needed to walk there after buying our tickets. We were at the Mosholu Parkway entrance, not at the Southern Boulevard entrance, so we made our way through the park, past the reflecting pool, and to the other entrance, where we now saw Laura and Richard.

We hugged and embraced and then waited for Laura’s cousin to arrive. We didn’t have to wait long, as Laura soon recognized her cousin’s car. Kelly was waving out of the car so we all walked to it and introduced ourselves to Albert and the others.

In all, I think we stayed at the site for about 3-and-a-half hours, if you include lunch at the Pine Tree Cafe. We were a little disappointed to discover our admission ticket did not give us access to the Enid A. Haupt Conservatory in which everything was inside. There were so many acres and acres of plants and flowers that we could only see that much, given how warm it was in the sun. Of course, I would forget to use sunscreen on my skin today.

There was a tram running through the Garden, but we discovered that it wasn’t wheelchair accessible, so we had to eschew taking it. Therefore, we just used our feet to get around and I feel we barely scratched the surface of seeing mostly everything in the Garden. Maybe this means that we can return to the site in the fall or early spring when it’s not so hot.

One highlight of our visit today was the opportunity to take watercolors and a palette and to draw a picture of nature on a small piece of paper. This was provided in some pavilion near a lake with turtles swimming in it. Laura took the plunge, so to speak, while Elliot and I were picture shy. Sadly, I have no talent in that area and have always known it.

When it was time to call it a day, we walked Kelly, Bette, and Albert to their car in the lot, saying goodbye. We then walked to Laura and Richard’s car at another locus point in the vast parking lot, whereupon Laura gave us a little bag sporting maple syrup and Laura’s own special brand of chocolate cookies. I can’t wait to sample them later or tomorrow. They also drove us to the nearest subway stop, so we didn’t have to walk those eight blocks back to the D. We were very grateful for that.

Now we just took the subway back to 7th Avenue and then transferred to the E once more. In that time (the trip back just consumed a little over 65 minutes or so), I was able to finish Edmund White’s Hotel de Dream, just one of White’s many novels he wrote over five decades.

I enjoyed this reimagining of American literary phenomenon Stephen Crane’s last days wasting away at the young age of twenty-eight from tuberculosis. The novel deals with his relationship with his wife Cora and presents a novel within a novel, as Crane feverishly dictates the story of a married banker named Theodore Koch who falls in love with a young male prostitute named Elliott. Crane called this story The Painted Boy after the mascara the 16-year-old wears to attract male customers. Even though Crane was patently heterosexual, it is pointed out that his early days as a journalist sensitized him to the plight of the poor, and it was quite possible that he did meet such a lad in his days wandering the lower bowels of Manhattan. And it is possible that Crane originally planned the book as a companion piece to Maggie, Girl of the Streets which is obviously about a female prostitute.

Anyway, it’s getting late here, so now I can move on to another book, this time one of nonfiction. This one is called Dark Carnivals: Modern Horror and the Origins of Modern Empire. I saw this book at this new Kim’s Video store in Brooklyn, and I just ordered it on Amazon two days ago, and it just arrived today.

Oh, good news: our water pressure issue was resolved by the time we got back from our visit to the Garden. Even though we met a neighbor by CVS on Queens Boulevard as we got out of the station who informed us that things were still the same, so maybe it got repaired just about the time we returned to the apartment after seeing her. Who knows? All I know is that I won’t have to use the bathroom at the Austin House Diner tomorrow. Boy, is that a relief!

Have a good week, everyone.

And so it went!

Here is the sign announcing the exhibit that we saw today.

Here is a floral palette. Anyone care to draw?

Here is a field of yellow.

You read the sign stating what these flowers are.

This I can read as Japanese maple.

This is that reflecting pool I mentioned earlier.

This is a cool Bedford Park Presbyterian Church that we passed on the way to the Garden.

And So It Goes

Today is Friday, July 18, 2025. Elliot and I have returned from spending less than 24 hours with my friend’s son, his wife and toddler daughter. But it seemed much longer because of our interaction with “Naomi,” “Zander” and “Nalah’s” whirlwind of a daughter. When we last saw her for her birthday on May 3, she wasn’t this verbal, but yesterday and today, she was as voluble as a wind-up doll. She was actually almost a little shy for her birthday, and that was just a few months ago.

We left Forest Hills yesterday around 9:30, had breakfast at Jackson Hole, and drove straight to Princeton. When we arrived a little after 1, we learned that Naomi was in day care and we had some time to ourselves before we had to pick her up. So after the usual greetings and hugs, we piled into our host’s white SUV and drove to the Dinky Bar & Kitchen, located nearby, in Princeton. We learn that this casual restaurant serving beer, cocktails, and small and large American plates served as a onetime train station. For lunch, we shared several small plates among us and everything was very tasty. After lunch, Zander and Nalah drove us to the Main Street in Princeton where we browsed the Princeton Record Exchange and the bookstore called Labyrinth Books. Actually, I walked into these places with Zander, while Elliot sat in a park with Nalah. It was quite hot then. First, we had to have some ice cream at the Bent Spoon.

We then picked up little Naomi at her day care center which was a private residence nearby. It was then time to decide on dinner. Instead of going out again or even ordering from somewhere, we ate Nalah’s food that consisted of rice, mashed potatoes, and fish. We found ourselves watching a film I’ve seen before and have forgotten much of it, 2005’s Red Eye starring the man of the hour, Cillian Murphy, and Rachel McAdams as two supposed strangers who meet on a red-eye flight from Texas to Miami, Florida. Lisa Reisert who is portrayed here by McAdams is a hotel manager at a luxurious hotel in Miami and Murphy is a mysterious charmer. Soon we learn that he has a sinister purpose in seeking her out as they first meet on line getting their tickets back to Florida. He soon informs her that he works for a terorrist organization which is planning to assassinate Charles Keefe, the current United States Deputy Secretary of Homeland Security. Lisa’s managerial responsibility at the Lux Hotel in Miami, where Keefe and his family are staying, is crucial to the plot. He also tells Lisa that an associate is outside her father’s house in Florida, who is here portrayed by Succession’s Brian Cox. If she does not carry out what he wants her to do concerning the Deputy Secretary, which is to call her hotel to tell her coworker, Cynthia, to move the Keefe family from their regular suite to another set of rooms, he will give the order to kill her father. The tension soon builds as McAdams has to find a way to fight this once-charming stranger and avert an impending catastrophe. There were some good fight scenes and moments of suspense in the film, I thought. However, Murphy does not come across that convincingly as an amoral terrorist. So the film loses something in his portrayal.

Anyway, it was a little over 11 and it was time to go to bed. I had little ability to read my new book, The Day of the Locust, by Nathanael West. I had read this book many years ago and just picked it up again. I still can’t find the book I have to read for my gay men’s reading club, so I just have abandoned the idea. I’ll read anything now.

I have no time to write about what happened today. Suffice it to say we left our genial hosts right after breakfast, had coffee in Grovers Mill, New Jersey, which is well known for its association with Orson Welles’ 1938 “War of the Worlds” radio broadcast. This amazing broadcast depicted a Martian invasion beginning in Grovers Mill which caused a widespread panic and hysteria among many of its listeners who took the program as the God’s truth. We had coffee in a shop that is themed around many iterations of “War of the Worlds.”

After this wonderful find, we drove back to our hosts for the day after I realized I left a charger for my phone and a bottle of water. Then we drove to Edison, New Jersey, to have lunch with my newish friend “Harvey.”

We spent a little time with Harvey in his ranch house (we met only two of his six cats) on a quiet residential street and then followed Harvey in his red sports car to a mall where we had lunch in a restaurant called Seasons.

Now we began the drive back to New York after saying goodbye to Harvey in Edison. It took almost two hours to get back to Forest Hills. I just hate the traffic you have everywhere these days.

Tomorrow we have another drive: this time going north, to Sullivan County, in Phillipsport, where we will stay over “Sue”s house until Sunday. Another sleepover!

Have a great weekend.

And so it went!

This was on the wall of that coffee shop in Grovers Mill.

A picture depicting the supposed Martian invasion at Grovers Mill.

More stuff on the wall.

And So It Goes

Today is Wednesday, July 2, 2025. Yesterday I was indeed out attending my gay men’s reading discussion group at the Jefferson Market Library at 6:30 p.m. The subject of our discussion was a new book by an Irish writer called Evenings & Weekends by Oisin McKenna. The book details the comings and goings of a motley group of thirty-somethings over one hot June weekend in London pre-COVID, in the summer of 2019. I read the book surprisingly in just over four days in the middle of May, so I had to reacquaint myself with the plot by printing two reviews of it. I deemed the book quite readable, but really couldn’t declare it a masterpiece of delectable writing and plotting. But I was very interested in hearing what the other members had to say about it, so I was determined to attend the meeting, even though some thundershowers were forecasted in the evening. My New Jersey friend “Harvey” did cancel going at the last moment because he claimed it was raining by him.

When I left Forest Hills, it wasn’t raining quite yet. However, I did take an umbrella with me just in case. I left around 3:40, a little early, so I could get to the library before the meeting to check out the books on the second floor. Here are displayed many books on three shelves for a nominal fee. Like I needed another book! Guffaw! However, as I was browsing the titles of the books on the first shelf, what do I spy but the latest memoir by the late author Edmund White called The Loves of My Life: A Sex Memoir, released this year, right before his death at 85 just a few weeks ago. It was in hardcover – it was still so new! When I brought it up to pay for it at the front desk, I started talking to the male librarian about the group and how hard it was getting the books on the reading list. I then mentioned the book I had in my hand and he waved me off, saying, “Just take it!” And I wanted to leave him $5 for it.

Getting the Edmund White book right before the meeting, to me, was a sign that I should ask our group leader, “Jerry,” about inserting a book by White in place of one of the other books on the list. If Harvey were there, he might have proposed it, so it was up to me to mention it, and I did. I didn’t like Jerry’s response. He was not in favor of getting a book by White on the list because he feared members would complain. You see, he gave out the reading list two months ago just like professors do in a college course and it was now up to us to get the books anyway we could. I still request the books from the library, but many of the guys probably order the books from Amazon. It’s a whole lot easier!

Anyway, the discussion was quite illuminating as always. I even threw in more comments than usual. The highlight of the entire meeting occurred at the end when a new member – whom I’ll call “Sanjeev” – read an original poem he wrote that summarized the book we just discussed. Unfortunately, I couldn’t hear most of it, but I told him at Julius’s – after the meeting – that he should post the poem to the website, and he said he might do it. He actually complimented me on some of the points I made during the discussion and I was dumbfounded. I usually am rendered speechless during these meetings since I’m struck by so many intelligent comments made by the members that I feel I have nothing worthwhile to contribute. But I was a little more vocal last night which again is most unusual in my situation. Oh, even in the rain, we had more than 40 guys in the room. Not bad for early July!

As for what’s going on in the country right now, all of the attention is being directed to Chump’s “death” bill, as I now call it, not the “big, beautiful bill” which is a misnomer if there was one. And now my contempt is reserved for one “moderate” Republican from Alaska, Senator Lisa Murkowski, who originally indicated she had reservations about the bill and the cruel cuts on health care it was delivering to millions of Americans, but in the latest tally, this traitor voted “yes” on the bill in the Senate. In an opinion piece by Brian Tyler Cohen entitled “Lisa Murkowski cements her legacy,” the podcaster details how Murkowski has sold her soul to the devil.

As Cohen writes, the bill “strips healthcare away from 17 million Americans, takes food assistance away from 3 million Americans, eliminates school meal access for more than 18 million kids, adds nearly $4 trillion to national debt, sends electricity costs surging. and substantially raises health care premiums for older adults with ACA (Affordable Care Act) coverage, all to fund tax cuts for the wealthiest Americans.” As far as Murkowski was concerned, she recognized that the fucking bill was not good for the nation (an understatement if there ever was one) and noted, “This bill needs more work across chambers and is not ready for the President’s desk. We need to work together to get this right.”

Cohen excoriated Murkowski for actually voting for the bill even though she had reservations. He writes if she didn’t like the bill, she shouldn’t have voted in favor of it. The reason she changed her mind is that she presumably received some perks for her own state from meetings with other senators. She was able to secure some tribal exemptions on cuts to food assistance, a tax break for the fishing industry, and $50 billion to offset hospital closures, but Cohen notes that those cuts will have no effect in a bill that contains over a trillion dollars in healthcare costs within it. Murkowski’s “no” vote would have been the deciding vote to torpedo the bill, but she chose to take the easy path rather than show courage like the late Senator John McCain who had the deciding vote on repealing the Affordable Care Act, but chose not to by giving the thumbs down in the Senate chamber, thereby saving it.

Therefore, Senator Murkowski is my new person to hate in the repugnican party. Of course, there’s no one in the party who I like, as you can tell.

I probably won’t be here tomorrow since Elliot and I are seeing a play tomorrow, Angry Alan, starring John Krasinski. It’s a one-act play that Elliot heard was quite good, but I have no idea what it’s about, and I really don’t want to know. I can wait until tomorrow to see what it’s all about.

If I’m not here tomorrow, have a great Thursday.

And so it went!

And So It Goes

Today is Saturday, June 28, 2025. Elliot and I are back visiting our very good friends in Highland, New York. We came back around 5:30 after stopping in New Paltz and Ellenville for lunch, as we left our friends after breakfast in their complex’s restaurant, From the Ground Up Cafe. Our visit just about consumed 12 hours, as we arrived at “Peter” and “Ted’s” house about 12:30 and left close to 11:30 on Saturday. We had breakfast on the road on Friday at Jackson Hole, then wound our way on the New England Throughway, going through New Jersey first. This time the traffic was minimal, which was fine with me.

We spent the rest of the day Friday catching up with our friends’ experiences since we last saw them months ago. We would have seen the pair sooner if it weren’t for Peter’s ongoing health issues. So we were overjoyed that they didn’t cancel with us for another time. We were even contemplating bringing Atticus up to their apartment, but Elliot nixed the idea at the last moment. As a poor substitute for the real thing, I showed the guys recent videos I took of Atticus over the last several days.

From the beginning, we were treated to a lunch consisting of bagels and cream cheese. We were then informed that at four, two new friends from the development were coming down to have dinner with us, “Lucy” and “Jerrold.” We said wonderful!

We did have dinner with their new friends at 5 or so. We were treated to Peter’s great lasagna, salad, and home-baked apple crisp from Lucy. The meal was topped off with my seven-layer cake from Martha’s Country Bakery.

We all had a lively conversation with this couple, who just befriended Peter and Ted over the last year. We were amazed over Jerrold’s relationship with his many siblings and his early moving around because of his father being in the military. To me, Jerrold reminded me of an anemic Ernest Hemingway. His face was wasn’t as florid as his, but something in the beard and twinkle in his eyes reminded me of the late American author. Lucy had some health issues of her own, as she was in a wheelchair. Of course, Elliot and I wouldn’t ask her why she was in one. I thought she was suffering from Parkinson’s disease since her hands continually fluttered. However, her mood was buoyant and ebullient.

After the couple left, we all settled down to watching some D-minus horror films, movies such as 2019’s Clown and 1980’s Prom Night starring that ever-reliable “scream queen,” Jamie Lee Curtis and Leslie Nielsen (in a serious role) as her father. The first film was laughingly unbelievable, as a group of young teens (instantly interchangeable) wander into a ghost town that hides a funhouse where a murderous clown lives and systematically kidnaps and tortures the unsuspecting young people. Not very credible or suspenseful.

The second film starring Curtis right after her breaking role in Halloween, Prom Night revolves around an early incident in which several youths chase a young girl in an abandoned school, causing her untimely death as she falls out of a window. Years later when all of these youths are in high school, a savage murderer appears at prom night to quickly dispatch all of those he holds responsible for the young girl’s death six years before. In a very old review at the time, the critic reinforced what all of us were thinking as we watched Curtis and other female stars go through the halls of Manchester High School: They all look “as if their school days are a long way behind them.”

The one thing that distinguishes this subpar horror film is that it was one of the first entries into the slasher subgenre. The film, regrettably, has a low-budget feel, poor lighting, and cinematography that detract from its total enjoyment. Anyway, we just enjoyed the camaraderie that came from watching these two potboilers.

After watching these two films, we decided to call it a night, even though I stayed up to read a book I took from the development’s extensive library, which Peter took me to before Lucy and Jerrold arrived: The Killer’s Shadow: The FBI’s Hunt for a White Supremacist Serial Killer, by John Douglas and Mark Olshaker. The book looked interesting when I spied it in the vast room containing many hardcover books and paperbacks. Peter said that I could take it and would not need to return it.

I started to get sleepy by 1, so I called it a night and walked into the single bedroom where all of us slept. Elliot and I slept on the floor on an air mattress.

Today after getting up initially at 7:30 to use the bathroom, I got up finally close to 9:30. Eventually we all made our way to the complex’s restaurant: From the Ground Up Cafe.

The food served here was very tasty; I had the French toast and it was excellent, even the coffee was quite good. We were not able to spend more time with the boys since they were invited to a resident’s 90th-birthday party down the hall.

So we left after 11 and drove to New Paltz to browse the two bookstores in town: Inquiring Minds and Barner Books. These great stores are on opposite sides of the street, Church Street. Oh yes, I did purchase another book, this time at Barner Books, with the title of The Friday Afternoon Club, by Griffin Dunne. It’s a juicy memoir written by the actor, producer, and director of numerous films. Dunne’s aunt was Joan Didion, one of the great nonfiction writers ever to wield a typewriter. As you might know, Dunne suffered a personal tragedy many years ago when his sister, Dominque Dunne, was strangled by a boyfriend, John Sweeney, in a fit of rage after she tried to break up with him. Griffin’s father was Dominick Dunne who wrote about the trial of his daughter’s murderer in a stunning series of articles for Vanity Fair which launched his career as a crime reporter. He also penned several works of fiction, notably The Two Mrs. Grenvilles which became a 1987 television miniseries. Dunne’s book was a fictionalization of the real-life 1955 murder of William Woodward Jr. by his wife, Ann Woodward. This story was also taken up in the more recent series Feud: Capote vs. The Swans that aired on FX a year ago. In that series, Demi Moore played Ann Woodward.

We then drove to Elliot’s old stomping grounds, in Ellenville, where we had lunch at Cohen’s Bakery, a popular eatery and pastry shop. There we had sandwiches and coffee.

Now it was time to drive back to New York. We made only one stop at an antique shop on the road. We certainly didn’t need any new shiny objects to stuff into our one-bedroom apartment. I almost broke down to buy a $22 music box – why I needed something like that is beyond me. So I didn’t buy it!

The ride home was long but smooth. I think we got home close to 5:30.

Tomorrow is the 55th Pride March in New York. Because of the perilous times we’re living in right now, I’ve decided to attend it, possibly with Elliot or not. According to a piece online, “about a million people are expected to gather in Manhattan for the annual Pride March.” Generally, I wouldn’t even go to such a crowd-busting event, but as I said, this cruel regime and its policies are spurring me to go.

I might also hand out water with my friend “Seth,” who does it as a member of his church on 28th Street. I don’t know if we’re going to have dinner afterward either.

Maybe then I’ll see you tomorrow or – if not – on Monday.

And so it went!