Apartment troubles

I have an apartment that I rent out. I've had the same tenant for over a year, and he is paying about the same amount that my tenants have paid over the past 2.5 years. But he may be leaving soon, and I've quickly discovered that in today's economy, I will have to take about a 25% cut in rent. Ad on top of that, that my co-op just instituted a 7% charge for any rentals. Also, my monthly maintenance charges have increased 3%, and last year we had to pay over $2,000 in special assessments to cover the then ridiculously high fuel and utility costs to run the building.

Complicating the problem is that the next-door neighbors have made an very official noise complaint against my very UN-official tenant. So I tried to soothe that over today, and it wasn't easy. My neighbor is a curmudgeonly 60-something doctor, who spent 10 minutes trying to convince me that he wasn't some curmudgeonly 60-something. He tells me that my "friends" (the unofficial tenant) are too noisy when he's trying to sleep at night. I am very sensitive to my neighbors noise concerns, I really am. Partly because I'm a considerate bloke, but also partly because if he makes a stink about it, then I get on the radar of the building management and then questions come up about who exactly is living in the apartment. So I had a long heart-to-heart with my tenant who tells me a very different story. He makes it seem as though the neighbor is being intolerant of any noise at all, even simple conversation, late at night. I tend to believe my tenant, and I think the neighbor is making a big issue of very little, and yet this has the potential to cause me big problems. In fact, he may already have. And so, I may have to make my next tenant "official" which means paying about $900 in applications fees and move-in deposits in addition to the 7%. At some point, (and I'm quickly reaching that point) as I reduce the rent I charge and my expenses to rent increase, it will make no sense to have a tenant, and I will have to move back in myself.

New England

This past weekend, I played at a dueling club in New England. I had played there one night in December, and was finally invited back in March. The entertainment director arranged to put me onstage first as he wanted my first and last sets to be easy and then only the one set in the middle would be critical. I wasn't happy to hear that. After the night was over, he confessed to me that he had been a bit nervous about having me onstage because he really didn't remember exactly how my performance had been in December. That's really frustrating as I work so damn hard to do what I do well, and yet it's seems to take forever to foment my reputation. And I remember that I had completely rearranged my schedule and taken a pay cut to work that first night in December so that he WOULD know exactly what I was capable of and book me for more work. He did go on to say that as soon as he heard me do my first song he knew that he had nothing to worry about with me. He then promised to book me for more work, and did give me a single date in April. Oy...this process is so excruciatingly slow!

On my return to New York I arranged to stop at Yale University for a campus tour. Of course Yale is the very definition of privilege, recognized by many as one of the top 3 colleges in the US. I just had to see. The main library was designed by an architect who believed that every great architect should build one cathedral in their career. As Yale had no desire to build a cathedral, he convinced them to let him design the library as a cathedral to knowledge. It was as grand a cathedral as you would expect from a place like Yale. In the naves were card catalogues and computers, and up front where the alter would be, was the front desk. It would be a great place to study.

The girl that gave the tour was a chatty freshman who had apparently met the Prime Minister of China at one of their monthly fireside chats they hold for the various colleges in Yale. The entire experience made me think of Harry Potter's Hogwarts, except that this was real life. Sort of.

Calling all bums

This guy on a wheelchair is out on the sidewalk begging for loose change outside an all night restaurant on 6th Ave in the village. Not 10 seconds before this picture was taken, he was talking animatedly on his cellphone, telling someone that he would be home in an hour. I positioned myself to the left of the picture (brown jacket) and instructed my roommate to take this picture discreetly as though he was taking a picture of me. But I guess it wasn't too discrete and the bum had time to get rid of the phone.

My Penpal

About a year ago I found an acquaintance of mine that I had lost touch with. I Googled him and found that since I had last seen him over 3 years ago, he had done something really bad and wound up sentenced to 99 years of hard time in a maximum security penitentiary. When I finally contacted him, we began to pen pal back and forth quite regularly. I can only imagine what it would be like to have to spend the rest of your days in jail, and I know my letters give him great comfort. Since he is incarcerated in Texas, I decided to combine a visit with my brother's family with a visit to him. I phoned the prison a couple months ago to inquire about procedure. I was told that he needed to put me on his approved visitors list. So I wrote him and suggested there was a possibility that I might be in Texas and if he wanted, he should add me to his list. He quickly wrote back saying he would do so immediately. Additionally, he told me he would put me on another list, so that I could inquire about things like transfers, medical conditions, or death. Apparently only his brother is on this list. That was a bit more than I asked for, but it doesn't commit me to anything.

So, I booked my plane ticket to Texas for April. I called back to the prison, to schedule a visit. Since I was flying in, I had been told that we would be allowed a 4 hour visit through a Plexiglas window. Upon calling back today, I was told that his visitor list had not been changed and I was still not on it. I told the woman that I was almost sure that he had put in the request. I heard some tapping of computer keys and she then told me that prisoners are only allowed to modify their visitor list once every 6 months. Apparently he had changed his in January and so I would be unable to be added until July. I explained to her that I had called a month ago and was never told this, and that I had already paid for my flight. She said the only person that could override the rule was the warden and so I asked to be transferred to his office. I explained everything to the warden's secretary who put me on hold, and came back 2 minutes later and wanted to know if I was a relative. I told her I was not. She put me back on hold and 1 minute later told me that nothing could be done.

Now, besides my brothers family, I have a several friends in Texas and was planning to visit them all, so, this won't be a wasted trip for me by any means. But that phone call sure gave me a glimpse into his world. I'm guessing he rarely, if ever, gets visitors. And now he has that chance and someone is willing to get on a plane to see him, but the rules and regulations that he must abide by prevent this from happening.

The Magic Kingdom

OK, the tax prep work is pretty much done. Just got to gather everything together and put it in the envelope for the accountant. This year I kept really good records, so it took me a several hours going through all my expenses to get everything itemize, but I did, and it's done. The last two years I was very late in filing and I paid penalties, etc, and I refuse to do that again.

I still haven't gotten the video from my show in VA, but it is looking more and more hopeful. My dueling partner is in VA this weekend and he is supposed to hook up with the video guy and retrieve the files. I'm hoping that all will go smooth. I had actually thought that I would be able to use data recovery software to undelete the files he deleted originally, but after many many hours, it was ultimately fruitless, so if my partner can't get these files, then I won't have video.

I'm going to backtrack here. After my show in VA Saturday night, I got an early start and to Orlando with my friend in the car with me. I didn't know I had it in me to drive that long, but it was surprisingly easy. I only stopped twice for 20 min and once for 5 min and made the entire drive in almost exactly 12 hours. We spent the next three days in Disney. I was there twice as a kid, but it's been a long time ago. Many times I had moments of deja vu; once standing in the line for Space Mountain, I remembered standing in that same hallway, and it was a really spooky feeling. It was fun to show my friend around the Magic Kingdom, as I remembered the good rides and made sure we went on all of them, including: Space Mountain, Peter Pan's Flying Adventure, Pirates of the Caribbean, The Haunted Mansion, The Jungle Cruise. It was definitely different seeing them as an adult.

My favorite part of the entire trip was the fireworks over Cinderella's Castle at 9:30pm. It was (God, I'm going to say it...) magical! It was quintessential Disney. And Tinkerbell came flying out from one of the turrets, perfectly lit. (that's so gay, i know!) It reminded me of the show I watched as a kid, Wonderful World of Disney that was on every Sunday night at 7pm. At the very end it would show fireworks above the castle and Tinkerbell would fly out. It was the same thing.

As we were waiting in line for the Snow White ride, a little 9 year old girl sees all the people exiting the ride and says, "Mommie, everyone looks so happy. Why is it called Snow White's Scary Adventure?"

The name of the Wedway People Mover got changed to the Disney Transit Authority. Boo!

In Disney World I felt out of place without a stroller, wheelchair, electric cart or other wheeled ambulatory assistance device.

And speaking of baby carriages, I have authored Eddie's 2009 Recession Axiom #37 which states: "The amount of money you have lost in the stock market this past year is directly proportional to the number of cup holders built into the handle of your child's baby stroller." Think about it.

We spent one day in the Magic Kingdom (Magical!), one day in Epcot (wish we had two) and one day in the Animal Kingdom (fun), and then began driving back the last night when we finally stopped for the night in South Carolina. The next day we were on the road for 11 hours including an hour dinner break during rush hour in D.C. Finally back to Philly were I returned the car and we trained back up to NYC the next morning.

Virginia Dueling Pianos

A blog is like a pet. You must feed it regularly or it dies. If you stop writing for a long time, regular readers forget to tune in. So, my apologies to my regulars (about 5-8 readers per day, my counter program tells me). I have been traveling for work and then a quick vacation down to Florida before driving back up to NY. Some highlights:

I arrived at my gig in VA to find to my great surprise that my Aunt had drove down all the way from Philly to see my show. My cousin, (my aunt's daughter), was also there with her new beau. Also going on that night, I had hired a videographer to tape the show. I had my hands full, but it was a good night and I did a good show, working with a partner I had never met before. I was a bit intimidated by my partner as he had been a studio musician for many years, and has been dueling since the late 80's. But, even though he was more musically accurate (by far) than me, I have come to realize over the past 6 months that my energy, my voice and my likability on stage is just as good, and many times, better than duelers with much more experience than my paltry one year in this gig. It also makes me a great partner. I say all of this with great modesty, as I am fully aware of how much I have to learn from these veterans and how much I have to practice to compensate for my lack of experience.

I was happy to get the show video'd as it was a good one, but the camera man had a bit of a hissy fit the following day and deleted our files from the removable hard drives that we had provided him after he had spent all morning loading these hidef files onto them. Big, long drama that, as of yet does not have a good ending. I'm still trying to retrieve those files, so we'll see how that goes.

My friend and I headed out on the road the morning after my gigs were over, and I drove for 12 consecutive hours until we reached Orlando at 10pm and after a well deserved steak dinner that I had been craving for about 200 miles, we checked in to our hotel and crashed.

More later. Time to do taxes!

Disparity

Cost of renting an intermediate sized car for 7 days from Enterprise with all taxes and fees and other such rapery:

New York City (Manhattan): $611.70
New York City (Astoria, Queens): $357.40
Jersey City, NJ: $258.62
Bucks County, PA: $194.98

These prices were gotten directly from Enterprise's website today.

Reverend Ike, 2:45 every Sunday

I walk by this grand old theater in my neighborhood called The United Palace Theater", several days each week, and on the marquee it says, "Reverend Ike, Sundays at 2:45." I've always wanted to check it out, and finally today, at around 3:20 I found myself walking by and saw no reason not to enter. It was a really beautiful old theater that is still being used for concerts and the like, but since 1969, it has been owned by Rev. Ike's ministry, Christ United Church and every Sunday, the Rev. Ike holds service here.

My first thought was that there were so few people in the audience, and so many people up on stage. I actually counted 60 audience members and 17 people on stage. As I entered, a singer was belting out old gospel music, and everyone on stage and off were standing, clapping and singing along, the choir swaying back and forth. She was accompanied by an organ on stage and a drum set. After she was done, a woman came on the stage (from stage right) and introduces today's preacher, who was not the Rev. Ike after all. Apparently the Rev Ike was taking the day off for some reason. Perhaps that was the reason that the place was empty.

The preacher spoke about the Lord putting trials and tribulations into your life for a reason. He quoted Exodus a lot. Almost every single sentence he would interject the word "Hallelujah" or "Amen" or "Praise God" either in the middle or at the end of the sentence, so often that it was almost like a tic, or better, like some ecclesiastical version of Turret's. The choir was on stage, and they were all saying things like, "Alright" or "Uh-huh!" or "That's right" or "You tell 'em, Reverend" or my personal favorite, "Mmm, mmm, mmm!" Since the choir was miked you could hear all of these interjections clearly. It gave me a new understanding of preaching to the choir. Most of the people in the audience were not really participating with the enthusiasm of the choir, and so he would ask the audience for an amen or an hallelujah every so often. If he was talking about attitude, he tell us, "Everyone say, 'Attitude,'" and all the sheep would dutifully respond, "Attitude!" Basically, the entire service was one big cliche, but it was quite a performance, and I enjoyed it for what it was.

I stayed for about 35 minutes or so. I took this picture with my cell phone and one of the ushers came to my seat and told me that no pictures were allowed to be taken of the service. Of course by that point it was already a done deal. But for a minute, I thought she was going to ask me for my iPhone, so she could confiscate the picture. If that happened, I would have told her that I had already emailed the picture after I took it and erasing it wouldn't serve God's purpose.

Anyway...I definitely want to come back when the Rev. Ike is performing. I'm sure that will be even better theater than I saw today. I went to his website (revike.org) and this is what he says about himself:

"Rev. Ike has been one of the most misunderstood geniuses of the 20th Century. In the past, his message was often misrepresented by the media who sometimes ridiculed his flamboyant style and daring, unconventional teachings.

Today, Rev. Ike's true genius is undisputed, his teachings are accepted as universal truths, and he is acknowledged as a Master teacher, a mentor, and an inspiration by many famous motivational teachers and authors."

How can I not go back and see this??

My cousin and the iron maiden

Last night I went out for dinner and drinks with my younger cousin "J". She has two sisters as well, and it seems that all three of them have grown up while I wasn't looking, and turned into real people. So, since J is now going to graduate school in the city, we decided to hang out for a night of drinks and dinner. We met at Heartland Brewery in Union Square and had a couple of pints of their micro brews. We both agreed that their light beer, "Indian River Light" was the tastiest light beer either of us had ever had. It felt really good to be together, and our conversation was interesting and fun, even if I did feel like I talked too much. After 3 pints and a bit of a buzz we moved next door to Republic for dumplings and noodles, and more beer and cocktails, of course. Towards the end of the meal, my roommate texts me and tells me to meet him at Hooter's on 56th St. This made no sense to me, as I know he hates those kind of places, but apparently he had been dragged out by a young straight-boy college friend with whom he has a crush on...so you know how that goes.

J and I leave the restaurant and we both head uptown to Hooters. As we go underground, we have to go through a "high exit turnstile" in order to get into the subway (see picture above). As it encases your entire body, it is also known as an Iron Maiden. So I swipe my Metrocard, and enter, with my cousin right behind me. But when she swipes, before she actually enters into the contraption, she takes her left hand and unwittingly rotates the turnstile so that she has a bit more room to squeeze into the iron maiden, but in doing so, rotates her paid entrance away and looses her "swipe." It's an amateur mistake and New Yorkers see this happen about once a day. Because she had an unlimited Metrocard, she would either have to wait 19 minutes until her card allowed her another swipe, or she would need to buy another cash Metrocard, which is what she finally did. She then swipes the new cash Metrocard and I see her hand moving to do the exact same mistake of rotating the turnstile before she is actually in it! From the other side of the cage, I stop her before she does it but then she swipes again without actually entering, and the machine tells her that the card is not valid. I try to tell her to just go through, because she already swiped it once and has yet to use that valid swipe. She is still stuck on the fact that it is telling her it's not valid so she goes to another turnstile with the (now already used card) and of course it won't allow her entrance, and some stranger enters the first turnstile, thus invalidating her valid entrance!

Meanwhile I am looking around the inside of the station to see if I can locate a station operator who might be willing to help. All I see are a couple of cops, and I know they won't do shit, so I turn my attention back to my cousin, and by now I'm completely exasperated in a way that only a true New Yorker can be when dealing with such an amateur. But she has a solution of her own. With no warning, as a complete stranger swipes and enters the turnstile nearest her, she rushes in behind him, so that the two of them are squeezing through the little space meant for only one. No doubt the strange man though he was getting robbed, as her little body slams up against his back, but the funniest part was that the purse that she was carrying got jammed in the turnstile, which stopped the turnstile from rotating through, trapping the two of them, back to belly, inside the iron maiden as my cousin desperately tries to pull her purse through. She finally manages free her purse, and in doing so, free the two of them. As the Maiden regurgitates the two of them into the station, the guy spins around and shouts at my cousin, "You could have at least ASKED first!" Meanwhile my cousin thinks she is so damn clever that she is laughing, but what she doesn't know is that there are two cops somewhere nearby, and I'm not sure precisely where they are now, or whether they saw her pull that trick. So I grab her by the wrist and say, we need to go, NOW!

We manage to make it unmolested to the platform, where we caught the Q train up to Hooters on 56th. We meet with my roommate and his friends, and all of us had a good laugh at the retelling of how J raped this poor man out of a Metrocard swipe. During this story, my cousin let it slip that she just got a summons earlier that week for entering a subway station (through an emergency exit door) without paying! This girl is a wild woman! We closed down Hooters and convinced J to come home and sleep on my couch, rather than try and navigate the subway system again.

Argentinian Bank Ad

While we are on the subject of advertising, this one is mind boggling in its courage and its humanity. It is for an Argentinian bank. When will we see an ad like this in the US? 20 years? 50 years?

Sponsored without commerical interruption

Before you look at this video below, understand it's a Super Bowl ad for the website Hulu which streams video to your computer, much like Youtube. You can watch TV shows or movies on Hulu and it's free and completely legal, except that you have to suffer advertising, much like television. The Hulu ad was aired tonight by NBC on Super Bowl and I wanted to check out this website, so I went to hulu.com.

I was happy to find that they have already catalogued all of the advertisements for Super Bowl XVIII, and you can view them and vote on them. As I began to watch the first ad, I had to first watch a short spot saying that this video is brought to you without commercial interruption by Halls Cough drops. And then, the video began playing. The video was, of course, a commercial interruption, right?

To ad further advertising bang for their buck, the Hulu advertisement (that originally ran on NBC tonight) was sponsored by TDF Florists. So to be clear, I watched a Hulu commercial on the Hulu website that was sponsored without commercial interruption by a commercial for TDF.

How fucked up is that?

The little paper bag

A little paper bag was feeling unwell, so he took himself off to the doctors.
"Doctor, I don't feel too good," said the little paper bag.
"Hmm, you look OK to me," said the Doctor, "but I'll do a blood test and see what that shows, come back and see me in a couple of days."

The little paper bag felt no better when he got back for the results. "What's wrong with me?" asked the little paper bag.
"I'm afraid you are HIV positive!" said the doctor.
"No, I can't be - I'm just a little paper bag!" said the little paper bag.
"Have you been having unprotected sex ?" asked the doctor.
"NO, I can't do things like that - I'm just a little paper bag!"
"Well have you been sharing needles with other intravenous drug users?" asked the doctor.
"NO, I can't do things like that - I'm just a little paper bag!"
"Perhaps you've been abroad recently and required a jab or a blood transfusion?" queried the doctor.
"NO, I don't have a passport - I'm just a little paper bag!"
"Well", said the doctor, "are you in a homosexual relationship?"
"NO! I told you I can't do things like that, I'm just a little paper bag!"
"Then there can be only one explanation." said the doctor...
[wait for it]....[waaaaait]..."Your mother must have been a carrier"

A drinking club with a running problem

On Friday my roommate talked me into hashing with him. No, that didn't involve a pipe or rolling papers. A hash is sort of like a race in which you must follow clues laid out beforehand in order to get to the end, which is always a pub where there is free-flowing beer and pizza. Hash clubs have Hashes weekly or biweekly for the purposes of exercise, socializing and drinking.

I met my roommate at 7:00 at night on the corner of 96th and Central Park West for the annual flashlight hash. After the requisite bitch slapping to determine which of us was going to use the fancy flashlight flashlight (the flashlight was mine, but the idea for the hash was his) he snarkily informed me that the race was actually 5 miles, not the 2 miles he had initially told me. Since it has been quite a while since I have done any cardio excercise, I knew it would be painful. About 30 or so people showed up and the organizer called for all the "virgins" so that he could explain to us what the different clues meant, so that we could navigate our way through the race. There were check marks, chalked arrows on pavement, toilet paper wrapped around trees, ketchup (organic, we were told) arrows in the snow, etc.

The organizer pointed us in the direction of the first clue and we all began running, directly into Central Park, with our flashlights lighting our way. Through the fields, over the hills, in the tunnels, under the bridge, we ran, looking for marks indicating the way to the next check point. Every time we would reach a check point the trail would stop, and we would have to send people in all directions to pick up the trail. The trail was picked up after finding 3 consecutive clues in any direction. The person who found them would shout, "found 1," "found 2," and finally "found 3!!" and then everyone would abandon their own searches and follow him to the next check point. The most colorful clue along the race was a mark "YBF" chalked on a pavement meaning You've Been Fucked, which would indicate that all the clues we had been following since the last check point were incorrect and we all had to go back to the last check point and look again for the correct direction.

About halfway through the race I got really tired running through snow covered hills, stairs, and icy paths in my sleek, fashionable and now soaked pumas. My calf muscles were giving me a sharp pain with every step I took and I really wanted to stop. Luckily, the group invariably slowed down at ever check point to look for where the trail would pick back up, and I used these opportunities to rest.

The race took us through Central Park, up into Harlem, up an impossibly long and icy staircase in Morningside park, through the campus of Columbia, over to Riverside park, and finally ending up in a beer joint on Broadway and 132nd, where there was an open bar of about 30 different beers on tap. Pizza was ordered and songs were sung. Participants were roasted and one was made to drink beer from a sneaker. The two "virgins", myself and another girl, were brought up and everyone sang dirty and slightly insulting songs to us while we chugged beer. My roommate had tripped somewhere along the race, so he had to come up and take a heap of abuse from everyone while he chugged beer.

All in all, it was fun, especially the beer part. It was a really great way to socialize with people you've never met before with no agenda other than to have fun. I need to get back in shape with running. I really liked it and want to do it again.

Blogging

When I returned from Florida, I found myself in the very bar in NYC that Brittle Ego Boy was performing at. (Remember him? My nemesis-turned-paper-dragon mentioned in an early December post) Not surprising, really, as I knew he would be there, but I was meeting a friend there before we would then chose a dining spot and it was a convenient location. The bartender that was working that room that evening was also a close friend of mine whom I hadn't seen for a couple months. As I sat down to wait for my dinner companion to arrive, he served me my usual and then turned to me, eyes wide open and exclaimed: "Oh! My! God! I read your blog post about Brittle Ego Boy!" (Brittle Ego Boy is singing in the backround as he says this.) Honestly, when I was writing that post, I had forgotten that my bartender friend is a consistent reader of my blog. He is also friendly with Brittle Ego Boy, perhaps even friends with him, and of course works with BEB every week. My friendly bartender continues, still wide-eyed and excited. "I wanted to print out your blog entry and post it in the employee area!!" Oh shit. This is the price for putting my life out on the blogosphere.

Now, don't get me wrong. I am aware that I really can't control who reads this blog; it's a public forum. But I also keep this blog anonymous, meaning that unless you know who I am before you come to this blog, you won't be able to easily figure out my identity by reading any of the entries. That's why I use nicknames or vague descriptors for friend and foe alike. I also don't use this blog with any kind of agenda, or to cause harm. I generally am aware of which of my friends and family read this, and I don't use it as a forum to manipulate anyone. I am always honest, even at the expense of showing my flaws and faults. My intent upon keeping the blog initially was as a place to collect my travelogues. Before that I sent them out via email to about 20 friends that had expressed interest in my wanderings. But it has grown beyond being a collection of travelogues into a personal journal, a practice in creative writing, and a place I collect information and pictures, so that I too will be able to read this in 5 or 10 years, much like looking at a photo album of my life, and remember what I was thinking, and some of my thoughts, attitudes, observations and experiences. But, having such a journal available to anyone can be complicated, and can backfire. Now, as far as having my bartender friend tape up my blog entry about Brittle Ego Boy in a place where he and all the people he worked with would see it, well it was a kind of funny idea, but it would have complicated my relationships with the people in Florida that had worked with BEB. My friend decided to be prudent and not print out my entry for all to read, and I appreciate that. Ultimately, however, I stand by everything I say in this blog, regardless of who reads it or what wall it is tacked up upon.

Oooopps!

I was on the downtown A train, going local, headed to see my friend that lives in midtown east for our monthly dinner and catching up, when a Chinese man of about 24 comes on the train at 110th St, with his bicycle. The bicycle looked like it had been spray painted a dark charcoal gray and had been reinforced with a steel pipe that was wrapped around the top bar with a lot of electrical tape. It was clearly a bike that had seen a lot of use, and as ugly as it was, I suspect it was a really solid bike that had given it's owner solid service for many years. As the man situated his bike on the train he decided to chain it to the vertical steel pole on the train with a massive steel chain secured by an industrial padlock, a setup that only professional delivery people in NYC seem to get a hold of. He sat down next to his bike for about 30 seconds and then stood back up and started taking off the front wheel of the bike. The man then undid his rear bike wheel, and freed it from the chain, so that he had both wheels in his hand. I was listening to some music I was trying to memorize on my headsets, but I could tell something wasn't quite right, as this guy quickly disassembled his bike. I turned off my music to eavesdrop on the conversation that the man was now having with the stranger that he had sat next to for half a minute. It turns out that after he locked the bike to the post, he realized that the only key he had for the massive padlock had fallen off the string on his wrist (still wrapped around his wrist) where he kept it. He immediately realized that he would have to abandon the bike, as there really was no way to get the bike off the steel post. Perhaps he was an illegal alien and did not want to involve the authorities, or perhaps he realized it was time to replace the bike. I don't know, but it struck me as tragic as he left the train at 72nd Street, two wheels in hand, leaving the abandoned bike behind. One of the other things that struck me was how quickly he had accepted the fact that he would have to leave the bike behind. As soon as he had realized what he had done his reaction was immediate: save the wheels and get off the train. No regret, no remorse, no anger. An interesting NY moment.

Learning songs

I played piano bars for years convinced that I was the one piano player that could and would never be able to memorize my songs. When I got into dueling, that shit didn't fly, so it was either figure it out or not do DP. So, for what it's worth, here's how I learn a song:

1. I have a playlist on my iPod of every song I want to eventually learn (currently there are 140 songs). I listen to this play list on shuffle whenever I have time.

2. When I have time to sit down and begin learning a new song I do a few things. First, I pick a song that I've been listening to for at least a couple months and have become familiar with. Since there are so many songs I need to know, i stick with the ones I generally like. Then, I look up the song on Wikipedia, to get any background or history I might want to know...i.e., who originally wrote it, who did the definitive version, when did it make the charts, will it be useful over in Europe, who has remade it recently, what movies was it in, etc. etc. etc.

3. d/l or type a lyric sheet with space between each line. If it's not a core song, I sometimes choose to shortcut and only memorize 2 verses since I generally want a three minute arrangement anyway.

4. Go to a website with chords, such as ultimate-guitar.com and get the (best rated) chord chart for that song. It will almost always be either wrong or too simplistic for professional use, but it's something to reference when working out the correct chords. Since I was not gifted with a particularly exceptional ear, doing this saves me time. I always notate the groove and tempo on my charts and I notate if there are solos or particular licks that will be important. The intro will be of particular interest.

5. Once I have a functional lead sheet, I carry it with me for a few days. Whenever I have a free couple of minutes, work on memorizing it. I usually have 3-5 songs I'm working on at any given time. The thing that helped me immensely in memorizing lyrics was doing idea associations between the lines. (Check out the Memory Book by Lorayne and Lucas. It's well worth the time.)

6. Once I have the lyrics 70-90% memorized, I practice the song at the piano at least once every day, for maybe a week, or if it's complex, much more.

Multitasking

New Years Day I was returning to New York on the train with 3 other friends from the retreat. 5 minutes before we were pulling into the train station where we had to catch our connecting train, I got a call from my best friend and roommate who was stranded in an airport in Ecuador and needed me to call American Airlines and straighten it out for him. Knowing that he is on a cell phone and paying $2 a minute for this call I frantically search for pen and paper to write down his confirmation number. My friends are handing me pens, and of course the first two don't work. Finally, I have a pencil and a tiny post-it note that already is full of writing. I copy his info in the only unused corner of this ragged, sorry excuse for a note paper, using my damp, cupped hand as a writing surface, and then hang up to call AA.

As I get a snippy AA woman on the phone the train pulls into the station. One of my friends grabs my luggage while another leads me out the door as I try to explain to this woman that my roommate is stranded in an airport and the American Airlines people aren't rebooking him until tomorrow. She wants to know why they won't let him on the plane, because according to her computer, the plane is at the airport, not scheduled to depart for 35 more minutes. Of course I don't have this information. Meanwhile I have walked over an 8 foot metal scaffolding structure that bridges the sizable gap between train and platform. I see a local news crew on the platform, about 10 feet away from me, doing a story. Meanwhile, in my ear, the American Airlines agent is acting very put out by my request, telling me she needs to know why they won't let my roommate on the plane, before she will even attempt to find another flight. So I hang up and wait for him to call me back with more info. He calls back immediately, and I ask him why he can't get onto the plane as it won't depart for another half-hour. As he begins his answer, the train pulls away.

I was about 7 feet away from the metal scaffolding type bridge that I had just crossed to get to the platform, and the news crew was about 15 feet away but on the other side of it. As the train pulls away this two-ton metal structure is ripped off the platform by the departing train, flipped up in the air and lands on the track behind the train, only a few feet from me. The news crew immediately swings their camera around and gets a good shot of the structure, now lying on it's side, and then proceeds to interview, on camera, my three friends. Back in my ear, my roommate is trying to tell me that the gate agents in Ecuador closed the flight, stating that he should have arrived 2 hours prior, and they are not letting anyone on. He gets cut off. I redial American Airlines as my friends are now leading me to another platform to catch the connecting train that has now been rerouted to another track. When the second AA agent gets on the phone, my story has now become, "My son is stranded in an airport in South America and he needs to get back to the US today to take his medicine!" This agent was actually helpful. As she is searching for another way to get him back, he rings back on call waiting from Ecuador just as my connecting train pulls into the station. I am trying to merge the calls as my friends lead me onto our train and find us a seat. I let them stow my bags as I have now successfully merged the two phone calls and am introducing the two people on the phone to each other: "Stranded Son, this is Henrietta, Helpful Agent. Henrietta, Helpful Agent, this is Stranded Son." As I am trying to come up with creative ways to repatriate my medicinally deprived son the train leaves the station with the news crew still visible from the window of the train. One of my traveling companions indicates that I need to get my ticket out. I reach into my wallet, my tiny cell phone wedged impossibly between my cheek and left shoulder, retrieve my ticket, hand it to my friend who then hands it to the conductor. (Yeah, I was THAT guy!).

Finally all the tasks of transferring trains and the tasks of dealing with my stranded friend come to an end at about the same time. I hang up the phone, thank my traveling companions seated next to me, and ask them about the news crew. I was told there had been a fire at the train station the day before and the news crew was there interviewing passengers to see if people felt safe with this mode of travel, when the 2-ton metal scaffolding was ripped off it's mooring, and careened past my fragile head. Nice.

Peggy - Zen Retreat, part 8

As we returned to our cushions to begin the service for Peggy I began to quietly cry. I didn't know Peggy at all, but i suspect that being so close to any death brings out feelings with every other death you've ever experienced. At that point I was so open after having experienced a week of meditation and the beautiful New Years Eve service and celebration that there really wasn't anything stopping my feelings from coming through. Roshi began by speaking, addressing her comments to Peggy. At one point she let out a loud wail that was part of the ceremony (we had a memorial service the year before and she did the same thing at the same time). The ceremony involved a lot of different chanting and then once again everyone formed two lines, but this time we headed to the alter where two by two we each burned incense.

While the bass drum beat out its' complex sycopation, we all chanted:

KAN ZE ON
NA MU BUTSU
YO BUTSU U IN
YO BUTSU U EN
BUP PO SO EN
JO RAKU GA JO
CHO NEN KAN ZE ON
BO NEN KAN ZE ON
NEN NEN JU SHIN KI
NEN NEN FU RI SHIN.

The chanting started out subdued, but in each subsequent chorus there was a little more energy in the chant.

After everyone had burned incense and returned to their cushion, the service was ended. Someone placed Peggy's meditation bench on the floor along with a bud vase with a single flowering branch. We then made a circle around it and began to share. With the exception of "Charlie", no one single person seemed to know Peggy all that much, yet so many people had very vivid memories of exchanges they had with Peggy, strangely enough, many of them in elevators with Peggy holding on the person's arm and intensely engaging them with her eyes. As people shared their individual stories, a vivid picture of the person that Peggy was began to materialize in the circle. I heard one person later sum her up as "old school, New York salty ex-nun...you would have loved her!" Charlie shared that he had known Peggy for over a year and Peggy had been given 6 months by her doctors over 2 years ago. She would tell anyone who would listen about how she was cheating death. She also used to tell Charlie that she wanted to die in the Zendo on her cushion, and that she wanted Charlie to be there when she did.

The empty bench stood as a silent witness to all of this, and as a powerful statement of the immediacy of life.

I have never before experienced a funeral service for someone who had died only 1 hour before. I guess very few people have. It was so real and connected. But more than that, I have never witnessed nor have I ever heard of a more beautiful death. Girlfriend knew how to make an exit!

New Years Eve (cont.) - Zen Retreat part 7

After the "Carol of the Bells" died away we were allowed to stretch and then once again resumed our sitting. There was a large bowl shaped bell that was brought to the center of the Zendo and as we were sitting in silence someone rang the bell. It was a profound and resonant note, rich with overtones and a slow beat frequency (sorry, always the engineer) towards the finish, belying the great mass of metal and the mindful craftsmanship with which it was made. It took about 8 seconds for the sound to die away, only to be rung again. After about 20 strikes of the bell, the ringer gradually speed up to a rhythm of one strike every 6-7 seconds which he maintained for the remaining rings. Each strike of this bell seemed to reverberate through every cell of my body. It was a time of connection and thoughtlessness for me that seemed to go on and on. The bell was rung 108 times before it was done. Apparently this is a significant number, although I couldn't begin to explain why. It is really impossible to articulate the experience to anyone who wasn't present. It was as though I was one with the sound, and it flowed through me, rather than me merely observing it. That, of course, was the point, I'm sure. The Buddhists believe that everything is connected, and when we become completely silent, only then do we begin to realize this fact. I have no idea if that is true, but perhaps I caught a glimpse in that direction.

After the bell was rung 108 times, we all got an opportunity, presumably for the first time in 6 days, to speak. Every one of us was given 60 seconds to share something significant about their experience of this Seshin (retreat). This is called "open Sozan." Common themes shared were gratitude, struggle, back pain, realization, awe and simplicity. There was a woman who had been sitting across from me all week who I came to learn was named Peggy. She was a short, white-haired pink-faced Irish lady who had been wearing a bright white zippered jacket the entire week. The color of the jacket isn't really significant except that all of the rest of us were wearing dark colors, mostly black, and so the white coat really stuck out. When it came her turn to share, she said that after sitting the entire week her experience was life changing. She said that she wouldn't be the same person as the one who drove up. "I have to grieve the person I was and greet the person I will become." I remember hoping that the person she would become involved dark-colored clothing.

We then all got a chance to ring the great bell with our New Year's vow. We formed a line to go up to the bell, chanting a New Years Dharani in Sanskit: Namu to nen jo hon myo ganshin! Namu to nen jo hon myo ganshin! over and over as the bass drum thrummed out a complex rhythm while we slowly filed up to the great bell and individually rang it. As this was going on, a commotion occurred. One of the monitors entered the zendo and and ran over to someone and grabbed them by the wrist and dragged them quickly out of the zendo. No one runs in a Zendo, let alone physically removes someone! I looked at Roshi, the abbot, who was at the front of the room, yet she gave no clue as to what was happening, and we all continued our chanting and ringing. When the last person rang the bell, and everyone returned to their cushions Roshi announced that Peggy was having chest pains and that an ambulance had been called. Since the hallway outside the Zendo needed to be kept clear for the medics we should all move directly into the adjoining room where a New Years Eve party had been planned. In spite of the emergency that was going a few yards away from us, everyone was mingling, eating and talking as this was the first time in a week or so that we could chat with each other. After 45 minutes a nice buzz of energy had built up in the room when Roshi came in and asked us to gather 'round. "Expect the worst," she said. She told us that Peggy had died at the hospital, and asked us to file back into the Zendo where would would immediately hold a funeral service for her. "I have to grieve the person I was and greet the person I will become." had been Peggy's last words in open Sozan an hour before her funeral.

Guess who I saw today, my dear.

WARSAW (Reuters) - A Polish man got the shock of his life when he visited a brothel and spotted his wife among the establishment's employees.

Polish tabloid Super Express said the woman had been making some extra money on the side while telling her husband she worked at a store in a nearby town.

"I was dumfounded. I thought I was dreaming," the husband told the newspaper on Wednesday.

The couple, married for 14 years, are now divorcing, the newspaper reported.

(Writing by Chris Borowski, Editing by Matthew Jones)

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