Hey Howie

Oh, my. Howie Rosin called.

Howie's a guy I knew way back from 1988. Just the voice I needed to hear on my answering machine last night. We met outside L'amour on May 30, 1988. Tommy Cassidy was there, too. With a big guy named Al.

My number pops into his head every now and then, and it popped up yesterday afternoon. He's still in Hawaii after having been in the Navy, and basically following the Grateful Dead around the country before Jerry Garcia died. The last time I heard his voice was May 31, 2001. The next day I found out my father died.

Howie, an Italian Jew descended from Rossini, has acquired two acres of land and is married with a daughter, Irie Jade. That's just wonderful. I love knowing where my Brooklynites have gone. He used to live in Luna Park before his brother got married and his parents moved to Arizona. His mom had lupus and needed a warm climate.

We used to laugh and laugh. It's so good to know my past hasn't forgotten me. (I also met Danny & Chris 18 years ago today at the St. Rosalia feast.)

And Monster's finally working! More phone calls. September's looking like it's gonna be nice.

(and keanu reeves is 41 today. whoah)