I Just Wanta Hang Around You...

every day and night....hang around you...



And with those words, another unlabeled cassette from 1985 comes back to life. Wish I could. The song I'm referring to is a George Benson creation from 1984's 20/20. Great album. Less jazzy, more bluesy. I'm feeling quite bluesy today.



An embarrassing incident last night made me frazzled: a giant cramp made me forget about $10 worth of Duane Reade purchases in either a Starbucks (thank god for the bathrooms) or in a Petco. I was too much in pain to realize I'd left it behind until I got home. So, now, in typical brick-to-the-forehead fashion, I'm out $10. Nice. My pockets must be filthy, because there's always something to clean them out.



Weird dream, too. I was watching a bunch of Dyker Heights-esque houses--lawns, stairs, trees. One of the trees was growing out of a tiny pool. The concrete, as I came closer, was actually earth. There were koi swimming in it. A black cat who I instinctively knew was female stepped into the water, hovered for a second, whimpered, and began to sink. I lunged forward to grab this creature and pull it close to me. I asked all those around me where I could go for help, but no one answered. I was invisible. As I ran down the block, the cat turned to stone. I dropped it and it dissolved into ash before it hit the ground. I woke up with a start.



The cat is me, no doubt. Am I turning to stone? That debate could take up an entire blog in itself.



What amazes me is that this time of year for children is always about beginnings. The school year, obviously, is a fresh start for many kids. For adults, it's different: we are thinking about the end of the year. With roughly 2 weeks vacation, the average adult in this country can only track the seasons by how many days off we are given. One day blends into the next, with very little stop inbetween. Even RD mentioned how strange this past week felt: it's a sort of slow, dark I-don't-know-what feeling. It's not a beginning as much as a beginning of the END kind of feeling. The days darker, colder, more narrow. Fighting for light, maybe? We will turn the clocks again in a few weeks.



I must already be doing that if I'm playing old cassettes from 1985.



The ice is going down in Rock Center, and I am not there. We will soon be fighting when the Hudson Hawk bites come November. That wind? I could take an umbrella to work and fly like Mary Poppins. Scary.



Tomorrow is the St. Finbar's Flea Market. Frenchy Poliseno, a long-time resident of my old neighborhood, was shot dead after being robbed right near Bay 20th this past week. The priests of St. Finbars all knew her. She dragged herself to the precinct and gave a description of the attackers (who followed her from my old block, the Daily News noted), before dying on the way to Lutheran Medical Center. I was stunned to read this yesterday afternoon. 2 blocks from a police station, and they were that brazen to take an old woman's life? Not the neighborhood I knew.



Weird, weird, and weird. I've got a bad feeling, kiddies. Pray it goes away.