Tag Archives: fiction

And So It Goes

Today is Wednesday, June 18, 2025. Yesterday, as I expressed here the day earlier, I was probably going to be absent from this venue since Elliot and I were out having drinks with our newest friend “Barry” at the oldest gay bar, Julius’s. We were expected to meet Barry around 5:45, so we left Queens around 4 in order to spend a little time in the West Village before going to our appointed destination. We first had coffee at a place on 6th Avenue near the IFC Center and then we walked to Three Lives & Company, a West 10th Street bookstore. No, I did not purchase another book this time. But I did take a photo of a new hardcover nonfiction book called Eminent Jews by David Denby that I found quite interesting. The book examines the lives and works of such eminent Jews like Leonard Bernstein, Mel Brooks, Betty Friedan, and Norman Mailer. There’s no telling, even, if I would ever buy this book since I’m knee-deep in this month’s gay men’s reading club selection, Evenings & Weekends, by Oisin McKenna. I’m already halfway through the book and I just began it on Father’s Day, June 15. I’m almost at 200 pages in.

We got to the bar close to 5:30 and we sat outside a short while before I decided to enter the establishment. When I did, I saw Barry sitting at a small round table by the window nursing a drink. I then called Elliot to come into the bar and he did. We all hugged and greeted each other with kisses and wide smiles and then sat down, immediately ordering a side of French fries for the table and nonalcoholic drinks for Elliot and myself. Then we filled each other in on what was happening in all of our lives. We hadn’t seen Barry for a very long time, I think since last year, but most of it had to do with Barry going back home to Pittsburgh (where he was born and raised) to help with the care of his father who suffered a fall in his house, breaking a hip. He had also done some traveling, as well as we did. I asked Barry how old his father is, and I gulped when he said, “68,” where I blurted that this is about my age. Barry just smiled at me when I confessed this.

We must have chatted for close to 90 minutes since we ordered another round of drinks and French fries. Unfortunately, Barry had to leave early since he still had to work tomorrow, though he said he was off on Thursday, which is Juneteenth. So we couldn’t have dinner at the bar (their food is not generally great, anyway), so Elliot and I decided to have supper at the Bus Stop Cafe, on Hudson Street. We knew of this place from many years ago, even before the pandemic, so we bid adieu to Barry and walked further West.

The walk took about 10 minutes or so. I had to put on my phone GPS, which still didn’t prevent us from asking a passerby for directions anyway. The Bus Stop Cafe is a glorified diner and the prices are, for the most part, reasonable. So I ordered the eggplant parmigiana and a cup of chicken soup. I couldn’t finish my entree’, so I brought half of it home. I did order coffee which wasn’t that good, unfortunately.

The time wasn’t too late, sometime close to 8:30, so I decided to do something different: go to a gay bar – the Monster – which I haven’t done in quite a long time. Elliot was content to go home, and I said goodbye to him by the bar. I peered into the window to see if the bar was crowded or not, and I did see people enjoying each other’s company, so I decided to enter the Monster without missing a step. The security person at the door had to look at my ID, and I had to laugh over this.

Since I really don’t drink, I went to the rear of the bar to listen to the pianist. I thus stood around looking awkward and just listened to the volunteers who took the mic to sing their hearts out. I talked to no one and no one talked to me. I gave myself a half CBS News

I’m not sure what time I got home. I lucked out with getting an E train to Forest Hills at the West 4th Street station. But I was too pooped to write my blog last night. Excuse me!

Boy, in just one day, the mental deficient president is now almost approving attack plans on Iran, which must horrify everyone here in this country. He told reporters today that he had not made a final decision on whether to strike the country. This is what the dementia-addled president said about declaring war on another country that has nuclear weapons. “I like to make the final decision one second before it’s due, because things change, especially with war. I may do it. I may not do it. I mean, nobody knows what I’m going to do.” Is he contemplating whether to have spaghetti or not in this telling moment? You wouldn’t think he was actually weighing a crucial decision to put American troops at risk in a very dangerous endeavor. It sounds like he has no idea what he intends to do. Iran has said that it would “respond to any threat with a counter-threat.” This is madness that can hurdle us into World War III. Where are the rational lawmakers out there who can stop this crazed man? These quotes are selected from an online article in CBS News by James LaPorta entitled “Trump approved attack plans for Iran – but hasn’t made final decision to strike.”

So, hey, folks, all I can say is try to enjoy yourselves before we declare ourselves fighting in a Middle Eastern conflict that we shouldn’t ever be contemplating in the first place. You can thank this wishy-washy president who is accurately nicknamed “TACO”(Trump Always Chickens Out) Dump. Now he can’t even decide about thrusting the U.S. into a Middle Eastern war which is undoubtably not the right thing to do. The right thing to do in this situation is impeach the dumb bastard, in my humble opinion, before World War III does break out.

And just this from Lawrence O’Donnell, who on tonight’s show, The Last Word, just said about the so-called president: today he thought that the Declaration of Independence was written during the Civil War! Can you believe the stupidity here? Any third grader knows when both events occurred, or I should hope. But this president originally thought that the Continental Army had airports? Huh? Is he mentally all there? There is a YouTube clip of him actually saying this at one of his Nuremberg rallies. Go check it out.

And so it went!

Here is the book I was interested in at Three Lives & Company, on West 10th Street. Oops, you can see a glimpse of my red sneakers here too.

And So It Goes

Today is Saturday, May 24, 2025. Much of the Dump news I missed during the two weeks I was away in Europe was summarized in an opinion piece by Dana Milbank in Democracy Dies in Darkness in which the title of his column says it all: “This is just embarrassing: Everywhere I looked this week, I cringed for my country.”

Milbank begins his lacerating piece on Dump’s bumbling foray into unreality by focusing on the Teflon Don’s sit-down with another foreign leader, this time South African President Cyril Ramaphosa, that ended in total disaster. At this sit-down, the ignorant president narrated a video that showed white crosses lining a roadside, which Chump portrayed as a mass grave for white South African farmers, murdered in what Dump has errantly described as a “genocide.” This is blatantly not true! Confronted with this delusion, Ramaphosa looked baffled. He said, “I’d like to know where that is because this I’ve never seen.”

It was explained that the video was not of graves at all, but of a symbolic protest five years ago. Where do you think this garbage was promoted? On Muskrat’s media platform X not surprisingly. Here Dump seemed genuinely to believe that the phony graves were evidence of an actual atrocity – in much the same way he presented as genuine an obviously Photoshopped image purporting to show the characters “MS-13” tattooed on the knuckles of the wrongly deported Kilmar Abrego Garcia, whom you don’t hear of anymore.

Thus this is but one cringeworthy incident involving the clueless president. Another one involved Dump’s receipt of a donated 747 from Qatar royals that would cost millions of dollars to be retrofitted as a new Air Force One. If this isn’t a blatant example of a violation of the emoluments clause of the Constitution, then nothing is! It just shows that Dump doesn’t even care anymore about bad optics here since he knows there will be no backlash from his pusillanimous repugnicans over this embarrassing announcement. Just think if former president Joe Biden accepted a jet from Saudi Arabia: there would be a frenzy of repugnicans shouting foul here, but when their own Supreme Leader does it, you can hear a pin drop in the room.

And there was that horrible gaffe from Dump on hearing about Joe Biden’s cancer diagnosis last week, where Dump twice remarked that the cancer must have been growing a long time “to get to Stage 9.” Duh! There is – and never has been – a Stage 9, Mr. Orange Cheeto. Then the psychopath directed the conversation back to himself when he announced he aced a complete physical, including a cognitive test. Who asked the dumb cluck about it anyway?

Another way that Dump showed his “brilliance” was when he offered his thoughts on the first American pope in which Chump turned the discussion back to himself, as usual, by saying that the pope’s brother “is a major MAGA fan.” He then incoherently said, “He’s got MAGA and he’s got Trump, and I look forward to getting him to the White House.”

Not only the president is immune from stupidity, as ignorant Secretary of Homeland Security Kristi “Dog Killer” Noem, showed her dumb chops when she was quizzed by Senator Maggie Hassan (D-NH) who asked her what habeas corpus is. This is exactly how this ignoramus answered: “Well, habeas corpus is a constitutional right that the president has to be able to remove people from this country.” No, Ms. Noem, that is not what the term means! Then Senator Andy Kim (D-NJ) continued quizzing the ignorant government official, asking her if she knew which article of the Constitution mentioned habeas corpus. Of course, Noem had no clue! She answered embarrassingly, “No, I do not, sir.” The answer is Article I, Section 9, Clause 2, which mentions the term.

Milbank says the most embarrassing moment of this horrible administration came Thursday with the passage of Dump’s “big, beautiful bill” by the House that is full of tax breaks for the fucking rich and cuts in help for the poor – those in Dump’s base of gullible voters. This came during an all-night session on the House floor, following an all-night session the night before in the House Rules Committee.

As constituted, the bill would strongly increase the federal debt (somewhere around $4 trillion), cut health insurance for 10 to 15 million people, and cut food assistance for close to 10 million people. I’m sure those who voted for Dump expected these cuts to go through during his second term. Not!

To further delude the public about how “good” the bill is, the Dump administration disseminated lie after lie about it. Here Chump promised that working-class people “won’t lose health insurance” when, in fact, they will. Dump’s bimbo press secretary Karoline Leavitt laughingly said the bill “does not add to the deficit,” when in fact it does. To add insult to injury, Dump himself said the bill, which cuts some $300 billion from food stamps, “is going to give everybody much more food.” What alternate reality is he subscribing to here?

But the markets weren’t fooled by this tomfoolery from the administration. Moody’s Ratings downgraded U.S. debt, specifically warning about high deficits “from current fiscal proposals under consideration.” Bond yields spiked on Wednesday, while stocks and the dollar fell. Lawmakers didn’t care about the consequences, as they passed the bill in the wee hours anyway.

More embarrassing actions announced by this lawless administration involve the vengeance tour of the president in which the Boss himself, Bruce Springsteen, has been threatened with legal action because of his scathing comments about Dump mentioned on tour in England. Other political foes perceived by this president include former New York governor Andrew Cuomo, New York Attorney General Letitia James, and former FBI director James Comey. All have been threatened with retaliation by the occupant in the White House.

Another idiot within the administration is Dump’s own son, Don, Jr. who thought that Biden’s wife who is a doctor of education mistakenly thought she was a medical doctor and accused her of missing her husband’s “stage 5” cancer diagnosis. At least, Jr. didn’t say “Stage 9” as his father did in his comments about the ailing former president.

So, this was some of the “wonderful” news I missed on our cruise and sojourns to England and Wales. I’m certainly happy that I did. But now back to sad reality!

And so it went!

Here is a dancer striking a pose before the show of Moulin Rouge.

Here is the windmill from Moulin Rouge.

A blue elephant from the one show we saw in London.

These are some pics from our canal ride in Ghent. This is one of them.

Another lovely site in Ghent.

This is a castle in Ghent.

More from our canal boat.

Doesn’t the yellow building look like it’s leaning over?

That first building on the left certainly has some strange shape, doesn’t it?

Another striking building in Ghent snapped off the boat.

Now we’re on the Celebrity Apex again and here is the sculpture outside Oceanview Cafe, 14, Deck 14. A waterfall can be seen toward the left.

Here is Captain Nikolaus and activity director Corinne on stage before one of the shows, Rockumentary, is shown. You also see someone’s head in the way. LOL

And So It Goes

Today is Sunday, May 4, 2025. Today Elliot and I stayed close to home because of the inclement weather and because we were both exhausted from yesterday’s commute to Princeton, New Jersey, to attend my closest friend’s granddaughter’s two-year birthday party. The party was called for 2 and my friend “Harold” met us at the Princeton Junction station to drive to his son and daughter-in-law’s house. I believe we were one of the first guests, along with Harold and his wife, “Rachel.” As we entered the threshold, the party girl, “Nina” ushered us in; she was so cute in her pretty reddish outfit. Mother was in the kitchen working feverishly on the food being served at the party. Her daddy was adhering to orders given by his wife.

Food was very plentiful at the party: hot dogs, various hero sandwiches, popcorn, candies, potato chips, and cupcakes for the kiddies. Very soon, guests arrived with their children. I didn’t count how many children were at the party, but there were a sizable number. Elliot and I were clearly the oldest guests at the party and we couldn’t recall the last time we were at a children’s party; it must have been at least 35 years or more for me and later for Elliot. Anyway, it was very nice that we came in support of Nina’s parents.

We left the party after 5 to get the 5:32 train out of Princeton Junction. Harold drove us back to the station which was around ten minutes away, while Rachel drove herself back to her house in Cherry Hill.

As I mentioned yesterday, I did not share information about my second leg of my trip out West. Here I took a flight out of LAX to get to Phoenix, Arizona, on Monday. I was picked up by “Joan” and Elliot and was driven promptly to a friend’s house in Willow where we chowed down on spare ribs that she prepared herself. Her friend “James” joined us for dinner also.

One of the major highlights experienced during my stay with our cousin was going to a petting zoo located in Marana, Arizona, called Ghost Ranch Exotics and Funny Foot Farm, where we took a guided tour of the exotic animals there with the manager or owner of the zoo and where we saw such rare animals as capybaras, porcupines, emus, warthogs, Patagonia maras, and desert tortoises. For this unusual experience, Joan booked us for a 10 a.m. tour, so we got up early that morning to drive close to two hours to the destination. I will show you some pictures of the animals that we fed and petted. I had no qualms petting these strange-looking creatures. As long as there were no snakes in the mix.

The second day we drove to a used bookstore called Changing Hands on Camelback Road where we had a great lunch consisting of hale and hearty cuisine. Then we spent some quality time in the bookstore where I resisted the temptation to buy another book that I wouldn’t read.

The third day we had plans to go to the Heard Museum in Phoenix in which exhibits primarily showcase Native American paraphernalia, including a large collection of Southwestern art, but Elliot nixed the idea because of the exorbitant price of admission, which was $18. (I wasn’t even sure if this were a senior rate.) Thus we stayed indoors and watched an Amazon Prime series that was recommended by Joan. The series had only six episodes comprising one season, and each episode was only about 30 minutes. The series was called The Sticky and it starred that character actress who’s in everything these days, Margo Martindale, and even sported a cameo by Jamie Lee Curtis who was given producer credit on the show. I must say the show was quite good, as it depicted the events leading up to the heist of Canadian maple syrup from a plant orchestrated by Martindale who plays a syrup farmer thrust on hard times, owing to her husband being in a coma and the bureaucracy that is threatening to take her farm away because she’s unregistered. Soon she teams up with a French-Canadian security guard and a Bostonian mobster to carry out a heist of Quebec’s maple syrup surplus. We finished the series in just two days.

The last day, Thursday, was spent shopping in a Costco and going out with Joan and her friends from Monday, “Emily” and her gentleman friend, “James.” We went out to a steak restaurant called Steak 44 in Phoenix and it was a lovely way to end our stay in hot and sultry Arizona, where the temperature was in the 80s every day of my four-day stay, as opposed to the cool 60-degree weather experienced in Los Angeles. Here I wore shorts almost every day, except when we went out to dinner on Thursday.

Well, that’s it in a nutshell. We enjoyed Joan’s company, along with her ailing Labrador Retriever, Raya. She is now 13 years old and has trouble with her legs. She is showing her age like all of us, regretfully.

It’s another week.

And so it went!

Here’s a sitting emu at that Ghost Ranch.

I believe this is called a red-rumped agouti native to the rainforest. They are known for their ability to break open Brazil nuts, and we saw this when we saw this reddish-furred critter breaking open these kinds of nuts in his enclosure.

Here is a porcupine gnashing on his steel gate. I was able to touch this extraordinary creature without being pricked.

Here is a capybara looking up at me. They belong to the rodent family and they are very gentle. I was able to pet this creature without any repercussions. They usually subsist on a diet of grasses and our tour guide gave us lettuce to feed them. Adults can weigh up to 143 pounds.

This is another capybara and I believe it’s a male because of the hard ridge on its snout.

Here a capybara is taking a dip in his pool to escape the Arizona heat.

And So It Goes

Today is Wednesday, April 9, 2025. It’s pretty late here owing to us being out with our adopted “niece” “Esther,” so I won’t belabor you with any more venom directed toward our moronic president who just announced a 90-day pause on his disastrous trade war which clearly demonstrates he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing with these tariffs. This patently demonstrates that he’s the most economically illiterate president in U.S. history. But enough of him!

Before meeting Esther at a local Chinese restaurant, Spicy C, on Austin Street, I drove to my usual comic book store by the name of Royal Collectibles close to 11. The extent of the traffic snags encountered on just this 15-minute drive could cause anyone to suffer agita. Not only did I encounter the usual number of double-parked cars in every major road, which is so exasperating, there was also a clogged line of traffic on 71st Avenue and Continental Avenue that forced me to go another way to Metropolitan Avenue. I had to wait several minutes longer for the directional light to flicker allowing me to turn left onto Continental Avenue which I avoided this time. So my complaint is with rude drivers who fail to show any common courtesy to other drivers by parking willy- nilly in narrow roads, thus blocking cars from getting around them. Before I got to that turn on Continental Avenue, I was driving in back of a Rogue driver who positioned her car in back of a car pulling out of a spot. She positioned her damn car in such a way that I couldn’t get around her, so I honked her right away which caused her to abandon the spot. This is the kind of discourtesy that I’m referring to here. It’s infectious just like the Dump virus these days.

We met Esther around 7:30 and had a wonderful dinner with her, as we ordered scallion pancakes, steamed pork dumplings, won ton soup, hot and sour soup, and chicken rice noodles. Esther ordered mapo tofu. The only one to take food home was Esther who retained a lot of her tofu dish as a take-home supper for another time. After dinner, we walked down to Martha’s Country Bakery where we sat down for dessert: Elliot and Esther had some gelato (Elliot enjoyed chocolate gelato, while Esther asked for mango gelato) and tea, while I ordered a piece of strawberry banana cake and coffee.

We got home close to 10. We asked Esther to text us when she got home and she did.

And so it went!

And So It Goes

Today is Friday, April 4, 2025. I know, I said I might not be here, but here I am. I did not stay in Manhattan as I said I probably would because I was standing on my feet for over two damn hours at a DMV office on West 31st Street waiting to hand in my application for a Real ID. And here I supposedly had a definite appointment at 1:15, but that was all bullshit, as I certainly passed that appointed time within a half hour or so. I was allowed to come up to the office even though I was about 40 minutes early. I had to first fill out an application which I handed in and was given a ticket with a number on it: LU220 (I had this number for so long that I remembered it without any difficulty). I was quite shocked when my number was called within minutes; how did I know that this was only the first procedure of a two-hour-and-fifteen-minute ordeal where I stood on my poor feet for that long a time. I went to Counter 24 after eating on line for about 15 minutes; this was only the picture-taking line, not my actual appointment with a DMV clerk. I had to get off the line and wait until LU220 was called again. Luckily, I met a fellow traveler standing on her feet like I and we commiserated together for those two hours. Instead of having LU as her first two letters, she had LN. I believe her number was LN085. We were taking gentleman’s bets as to which number was going to be called first: hers or mine.

When my number was finally called, I hastened to Counter 16 and took my Strand bag and my folder containing all of my documents that I expected to hand in to the clerk reviewing my application. In it, I had my birth certificate, my moldering Social Security card, my passport, and two recent bills with my address on it. I still had some anxiety that these documents were not enough in order to get my Real ID approved, so I could get it before the May 7 deadline. I thought this because the woman who I was talking to in the office had more than five forms of identification – with tax documents with her as well.

However, when I saw the staff member assigned to my case, I could see that she was not one to be feared. I handed her my application, and she asked for the proofs of identification that I had with me, and she basically approved every one. She looked at my driver’s license and mentioned that it was expiring on my birthday this year. Oops, I didn’t notice that! I thought it was good for a few more years; I was wrong. I didn’t have to sweat over being denied this new form of domestic travel identification since she said everything was copacetic. I just had to pay for the darn thing, which turned out to be about $80. I thought it was less, but who am I to know these things. I mentioned to the clerk that my husband had no intention of even applying for a Real ID since he was comfortable carrying his passport around all the time. This is when I told her that is was usually I who was responsible for carrying these documents for the both of us and that I didn’t want to do this without this new form of identification because it’s just another opportunity to lose your passport. She laughed when I said this. Then I asked her how long will I have to wait for my new ID; she answered, “two weeks.”

When I got to the counter, I looked to my right and the woman whom I was talking to was at Counter 17. So she was called, surprisingly, at around the same time as I.

I think I left the office around 3:15; I felt I needed to have a bite to eat. So I ambled up 8th Avenue looking for a place to have lunch. I almost walked into the Tick Tock Diner, but their prices scared me away. So I selected a bagel joint instead, where I just had a sesame bagel with strawberry cream cheese and a coffee; that cost over $9, which wasn’t cheap either. I certainly didn’t need the strawberry cream cheese, that’s for sure.

After my little repast, I decided to walk to Midtown Comics, on West 40th Street. I walked up the stairs to the store’s second floor and browsed the establishment for something to purchase. I couldn’t find anything, so I exited the store and called Elliot to say I wanted to come home instead of going to see a play. He welcomed my decision to return home rather than wait on line at the TKTS booth to find a play to see. I decided against staying out because of all the documents that I had in my bag that I worried about losing if I had stayed out until 10 or 11.

When I got home, we left around 5:30 to take the subway to Elmhurst where we walked to the Cheesecake Factory for dinner. We decided against driving since there were no parking spots by the restaurant. This was only a few stops on the Queens local.

After dinner, we lounged around a little in the Queens Mall and walked through Macy’s. When we got tired, we exited the mall and took the subway home.

Instead of writing this blog, we decided to watch The Man Who Would Be King, based on the Rudyard Kipling novella from 1888. This adventure film starred Sean Connery and Michael Caine as two rogue ex-soldiers, former noncommissioned officers in the British Army, who set off from late 19-century British India in search of adventure and end up in faraway Kafiristan, where one is taken for a god and made their king. The film was directed by John Huston. We watched about an hour of the film before Elliot got up to say he was leaving for the bedroom.

That’s when I chose to write my blog. I wanted to provide my DMV story for your edification.

Tomorrow then marks a day of protest! I do hope to make it, as two of my group members stated they hope to participate. Now Elliot has indicated he might join me after the demonstration, so it’s tomorrow I might not post my blog, if we go to TKTS to see a play.

So have a good Saturday.

And so it went!

And So It Goes

Today is Sunday, March 30, 2025. I failed to post a blog yesterday because I did see a Broadway play, or more aptly, an Off-Broadway play since the playhouse was on West 42nd Street, close to 11th Avenue, and the theater was called Theater 555. The name of the play was Conversations with Mother and it was a two-character play, set over five decades. More of the play later.

Another reason why I didn’t write my blog is the outcome of my resistance group which was supposed to have met at 3 yesterday afternoon. At the time I left for the alleged meeting, I had two members attending, one less than the last one which attracted only two persons into the city. The site was the same place where I had our last “meeting,” which was Albert’s Bar, located on 41st Street. This time I arrived pretty punctually – sometime before 2:45. I asked for a table and was ushered to a table near the wall. I put on my trusty name tag and waited. And waited! I asked for a cup of coffee while waiting and when it was past 3, I texted a friend who called me, whereupon I mentioned how no one was coming. He provided reasons for why no one was coming and one of the reasons had to do with the unseasonably warm weather outside. I believe the temperatures were in the high 70s or even the low 80s at some point. I waited until 4:15 and then made my hasty retreat. I did go up to the front of the bar to wait for people, but alas, I didn’t see any of those who said they were attending. I was just very disappointed and disillusioned after this setback and just walked to Times Square to get Broadway tickets at TKTS.

In just two days, a crucial race is going to be determined and the outcome of that race can very well be viewed more as a referendum on the bastard in charge of DOGE, Elon Muskrat and his democracy-crushing intervention into political races, as he’s poured millions into defeating the liberal candidate for Supreme Court Justice, Susan Crawford, than on anything else. Today an online article for The Hill covers this consequential race in a piece by Sarah Fortinsky entitled “Musk: Wisconsin Supreme Court race ‘might decide the future of America and Western Civilization.'”

It was this odious, far-right tech billionaire who made such a hyperbolic statement about the Wisconsin Supreme Court race, and let’s pray that Wisconsinites are not fooled by this gaslighting asshole.

This unelected government official suggested that if Democrats win this hotly contested race, they would “redraw up districts and add seats for Democrats.” That’s the idea, fucker! He posted to his platform that “What’s at issue here is control of the US House of Representatives.”

These comments made by a Nazi-loving billionaire come just before he’s expected to speak at a town hall in Wisconsin, where, I hope, he’s soundly booed by those who attend. I haven’t heard what’s happened yet since I don’t have the news on.

Muskrat”s political and financial influence will be put to the test this week. He spent $12 million through his America PAC to support the far-right candidate, Brad Schimel, whom I call “Schlimazel” instead. Building America’s Future, a group that has previously received funding from Muskrat, added $4.7 million to the race.

The election has been viewed as the first critical bellwether of Dump’s second term, as Democratic energy appears to be growing on the grassroots level. Democratic donors have also opened their pocketbooks in the race, including most notably George Soros and Illinois Governor JB Pritzker, underscoring the degree to which both sides see the election as crucial.

Let’s pray that the first good piece of news out of this disastrous second term is delivered this Tuesday. May the only best candidate win!

Now to the play: Conversations with Mother. As I wrote above, it’s a two-hander character story of the 50-year relationship between a strong-willed Italian mother, Maria Collavechio, played by Caroline Aaron, and her gay, playwright-aspirational son, Bobby. From childhood to adulthood, Bobby, here played by Matt Doyle, tries to stash away his mischief and secrets while fielding his mother’s tough love that weeds out his confessions.

It’s great fun following the pair throughout the decades as they rotate around bereavement and rocky relationships and life’s downfalls. This is a relationship that is fraught with disappointments and early death, as in the death of Bobby’s father at a very young age. There is a very touching monologue that is delivered by Aaron as she recalls her late husband’s snoring. And now she doesn’t even have evidence of that anymore, which is quite poignant.

What distinguishes this 85-minute one act play about a son and mother is the mother’s total acceptance of her son’s gay identity all throughout his life, which is quite remarkable, given that Maria is a pious Italian Christian. There is an early scene where the pair thrash it out over the son’s supposed attendance at church in which he passes it over to play hooky with a close friend. But Mother has a way of coaxing the truth out of her lying son and she does – very beautifully.

Most of the interactions between mother and son occur on the telephone, often existing in their own spaces but inching physically closer as the play proceeds. Wilson Chin’s scenic design suggests a drawing room, backdropped with Caite Henver’s projections to signify location and time period.

The semiautobiographical play is the brainchild of Matthew Lombardo and the direction is provided by Noah Himmelstein. A nice paean to motherhood in the theater lobby are the portraits of all of the principals in the play, from Matt Doyle to Noah Himmelstein, hanging on hallway walls as you walk toward the theater entrance. It gives the play a very poignant touch.

I believe the play is ending May 11, so if you want to be touched by this endearing chronicle of a son and his mother over five decades, go see it – maybe with your mother if she’s still around!

And so it went!

And So It Goes

Today is Saturday, March 8, 2025. Well, I did have my group meeting today and there was no need to be nervous since only two people attended. Originally, I was expecting four, so two dropped out for whatever reason. Unfortunately, I had no one’s cell phone number in order to contact them if such an exigency developed. Thus I was on my own at Albert’s Bar on 41st Street.

To get to the designated rendezvous, I left the borough pretty early: around 1:15 or so. I took the E train to 53rd Street and Lexington Avenue and switched to the 6 local downtown train and got off at 42nd Street. I then walked down to 41st, but it was only a little past 1:30, so I ducked into a Le Pain Quotidien for coffee and a croissant. Even downing this repast, I was still early, so I began my search for the bar and found it very easily. It was right off Lexington Avenue. This time I walked to 3rd Avenue and slipped into a CVS where I picked up a bottle of water. I thought I packed everything that I needed for the meeting: notebooks, pens, markers, articles, name tags, etc., but I left bottled water at home.

Soon it was a quarter to 3; I determined it was time to walk to the site and enter and talk to someone about getting a quiet table or room. At that time, I had no idea how many members were really coming. I talked to a bearded chap who informed me that their separate room was already booked. So I just sat down at the circular bar and waited. I think that by 3, I recognized one attendee by his picture on the website. I was correct in assuming he was a member. Here “Stanley” walked through the revolving door and met me by the bar. I shook his hand and introduced myself. I actually put on a name tag before the appointed hour. I was still expecting three more people by then.

Stanley took a seat at the bar and we immediately conversed about the group. Within a half hour or so, we decided to take a booth since no one came through the door to attend the meeting. We were then given menus by the waitress and we told her we were still waiting for others. Checking my phone rather casually, I saw a text from “Paul” who came to my February meeting in Rego Park. He asked if we were still there, and I replied we sure were. He was just a block away and texted me that he was coming. Within a few minutes, I recognized him outside the restaurant, so I walked over to him by the entrance and took him back to the booth.

Thus began this very casual, informal meeting among three individuals. I told both gentlemen that I was going to start by reading the quote from a French senator who aptly captured the zeitgeist of our Dumpian age. I handed out the notebooks that I intended to give to the other attendees. I even distributed the article that I copied yesterday, with suggestions as to how to get more involved. However, the conversation was more casual befitting the number of people attending the meeting, which was fine with me. Eventually, we all ordered something off the menu; I ordered chicken pot pie and so did Stanley. I couldn’t really tell what Paul ordered. I did order coffee – what else?

By 5:15, we exhausted the trove of subjects to be discussed like linking up with other organizations, the things the Orange Blob was doing to wreak American democracy, what we expected to get out of the group, and we even discussed seeing comedy shows. I stated this is a great time to see any comedian because of what is going on right now in this country. Stanley provided some names of YouTube channels we might be interested in.

I discussed having another meeting, but this time in two weeks, on Saturday, March 29. I also asked that they provide feedback as to where we could meet if Albert’s Bar wasn’t deemed satisfactory by them. I must say I had a little trouble hearing both Stanley and Paul because of the large table of revelers in front of us making merry. So this location was definitely not a quiet nook in the restaurant.

That’s it, folks. I wish more people had attended, but Paul commented that what I was doing was all right. He didn’t criticize anything I was doing to get people into the organization. I considered this to be somewhat of a compliment, given his long history of activism. He said that this could take a little longer to get off the ground. I’m just wondering where the other 23 people were hiding. Well, as the old saying goes, “Rome wasn’t built in a day!”

I’m dreading the beginning of DST, which is tomorrow. So don’t forget to move your cocks , er, clocks, ahead, folks.

See you tomorrow – maybe. On the first day of DST, I’m not happy that we have to set the alarm in order to see Elliot’s daughters tomorrow morning since they’re visiting their mother on the Island. Don’t get me wrong, I do love seeing them, but did it have to be the day we lose an hour of sleep and have to get into a car so early? We’re supposed to meet them at 11. Because of that commitment, I will try to get to sleep a little earlier tonight. No more hitting the hay at 2:30 or later. At least not when we move the clocks.

And so it went!

And So It Goes

Today is Monday, February 10, 2025. It’s late here, owing to my attending my very first meeting of my so-called group called the “anti-Trump patriots,” with the subheading “Defenders of Democracy,” held at a local restaurant in Rego Park, Diner Bar. I scheduled this meeting at the behest of a member with the name of “Paul,” who suggested I arrange meetings later in the day to meet the needs of those interested parties who work. Thus I scheduled this meeting at 7 p.m. instead of in the height of the afternoon. What excuse did I have not to have the meeting at 7? The only thing I was involved with on this cold day was driving to a new breakfast place called Florence Prime Diner with our new car, the Subaru Forrester Sport. I surely regretted my decision to drive to this new site since I had to put the GPS on in the car and when I finally got to the diner, I unfortunately discovered there were no parking spots. I should have called ahead to ask if there was a parking lot next to the diner. I didn’t.

Elliot and I separated early in the day, as he went to see a new foreign film called Rose at the Kew Gardens Cinema, while I went on a wild goose chase, as they say, for this new diner. After I passed the place in Elmhurst, I drove back to Forest Hills and stopped at a Rego Park coffee shop located in my former neighborhood. It was close to 12 when I was able to sip my first cup of coffee.

For the meeting later, I took the subway to 63rd Street in Rego Park and walked to Diner Bar. I believe I got there around 6:30, so I sat inside for close to an hour or so, before I met Paul who did text me that he was indeed coming. I was going to wait until about 8 before calling it quits. I met him around 7:40 when he texted me that he was sitting at the bar.

When I walked to the bar area, I saw a dark-complexioned, youngish man with a gray woolen hat having a drink. I extended my hand in greeting and I introduced myself as the organizer of this new group. I offered him the booth where I was sitting drinking cup after cup of coffee and partaking in onion rings as a side dish.

We immediately connected and we engaged in a lively discussion of the sorry state of affairs under the Orange Turd. One thing we both agreed on was that this sitting president truly represented an existential threat to the preservation of democracy and that ordinary Americans better get off their asses and stop scrolling on their fucking iPhones to launch the resistance against this lawless avatar of awfulness before it’s too late. Germany fell to Nazi rule in just 53 days, I’ve learned. It could happen here in even less time, given what Chump is doing right now in only three weeks. Paul impressed me with his knowledge of current affairs and his ties to many friends who expressed interest in my little group. He gave me hope that the group could finally pick up steam. Paul did suggest that I hold meetings not only during the week but on weekends, preferably on a Sunday. I did not rule that out considering I have all the time in the world. Manhattan was also suggested as the venue for the group since many of his friends hail from that borough. I didn’t rule this out either. I said I could definitely consider Manhattan as the venue to hold group meetings there. Another suggestion that Paul offered was to rename the group – he suggested something simple, not the “anti-Trump patriots” or “Defenders of Democracy,” which is what it is also called. The second name conjures up something of a far-right nature, not what it is supposed to represent, so I agreed with him.

We spoke animately until 9:15 or so, until I noted the late hour, and said it was time to call it a night. He said he lived in Harlem, which is about an hour away, and mentioned he might have to take three trains home. To me, this alone tells me he’s committed to this organization. Look how far he came to a meeting dedicated to commiserating about the results of the election. At the end of the evening, I left the restaurant with some hope that the group could take off when we come back from Argentina at the end of February. So let’s see what could be afoot in March.

And so it went!

And So It Goes

Today is Wednesday, February 5, 2025. As you know, I was absent from this venue yesterday because of my having lunch with an old school colleague on East 70th Street and Second Avenue, at a place called Beach Cafe. From there, I rode downtown to West 4th Street to meet my friend “Harvey” in front of the IFC Center whereupon we had a very pricey repast at the Waverly Diner, then walked to the Jefferson Market Library to attend our gay men’s reading club to discuss the novel Martyr! by Kaveh Akbar. The meeting was very well attended, what with possibly 57 people all sitting in the round. I learned so much about the book which I finished about two weeks ago from the scintillating analyses offered by a cluster of the most articulate members at the meeting. That’s why I would easily consider this book club as one of the best that’s offered. We never veer off course to discuss personal matters. We truly stick to discussing the book at hand. This time the organizer waived the introductory comment section of the meeting in which everyone speaks about a cultural event they’ve attended in the previous month. There were just too many people at the meeting to even do this. That in itself would probably have taken a half hour or so to do, so it made sense to just dive into the book right away.

Earlier, I traveled to the East Side to meet my former colleague, “Sally,” whom I recently reconnected, in all places, Instagram when I posted a video of our cat Atticus. We were originally going to meet in January, but she had to cancel that rendezvous because of illness. Therefore, yesterday was chosen, even though I had the second event scheduled at 6:30. However, even if we had an extended lunch, there was no way I could be late for the men’s reading club, which turned out to be true. Sally and I did chat for a long time: about 3 hours. We had many years to catch up with. Also, her husband, “Stuart,” joined us as well, about 10 minutes into the get-together. We had such a good time filling each other in about our personal journeys since retiring from teaching that we promised to get together after Elliot and I return from Argentina at the end of February. Luckily, for me, I discovered early on that Sally was on the same political page as I: being an anti-Trump patriot.

That still left me enough time to take the subway to West 4th Street and meet my college pal, “Harvey,” in front of the IFC Center. I waited for Harvey inside the movie house because of the cold. He did arrive a little after 5 and we then walked to the Waverly Diner, where we had a quick bite. Actually, Harvey just had a bowl of lentil soup, while I had a cup of the same soup and a tuna melt.

After dinner, we ambled over to the Jefferson Market Library. Before long, the room filled up with over 50 bibliophiles, ranging in age from the early 30s to the 70s, I would imagine. The discussion soon got hot and heated, with opinions expressed by a smattering of the 50 men in the room. I was more of a spectator this time; I might have ventured to speak only once or twice. I preferred to listen to what the other guys said about the book.

After the meeting, a cluster of us walked over to Julius’s where we stood in the rear of the bar and talked about more personal matters. I spoke to three guys primarily. One lost his partner just three years ago. The other was celebrating 35 years with his significant other. The third gentleman was not as forthcoming about having anyone else in his life. In about an hour or so, I declared it was time to leave and go home.

To more prosaic matters: Who has heard the massively unpopular garbage from the sitting president the other day in which he insanely proposed that the United States occupy Gaza in his joint conference with his MAGA counterpart, Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu? Isn’t this the height of tomfoolery? I think the only reason the bastard is proposing this is so that he can raze the area, throw out 2 million people living there, and build Trump hotels on the land. I think the guy is losing it from this ridiculous suggestion. This immediately resulted in pushback from other countries in the Middle East. One must ask how would this country go about removing and housing 2 million Palestinians? It’s logically impossible without sending in masses and masses of U.S. troops, spending trillions of dollars, and coordinating with regional powers who would not want to cooperate, to say nothing of how cruel it is. Dump stupidly called the area “the Riviera of the Middle East.” This foolhardy proposal should – and must – be shot down by Congress before it ever sees the light of day! Hey, I’m now hearing that Democrats might announce a movement to impeach the twice-impeached Orange Turd a third time over this absurd idea. It could happen.

There is a sliver of a silver lining in this dire dystopian situation, though, emerging right now in these dis-United States in the number of protests that were held in all 50 states directed toward Dump’s authoritarian agenda. If I had known about this, I might have participated, but I think our protest was in Albany, not New York City. There is now also more blowback by Democrats against the disgusting executive actions taken by Dump in his first three weeks of his second term. Five former leaders of the agency targeted by Dump and the Muskrat, as I’ll now call this South African billionaire rat, the U.S. Agency for International Development (USAID), have also spoken out against the Chump administration’s horrible attempts to dismantle the humanitarian agency and called on Congress “to swiftly protect the Agency’s statutory role.” So there is, finally, some pushback against this evil regime. We’ve had enough and it’s not even four weeks into the guy’s term.

And so it went!

Here is Atticus resting on Elliot for the first time. It’s taken a long while for him to get close to us like this. And we love it!