That was Friday. I did not color my hair that day. I did go to Home Depot and buy two kinds of glue (for fixing the broken cat figure, and maybe a dimmer switch) and a new light switch. A Lutron one-pole light switch, i.e., on-off, not on-off plus dimmer, which costs 3 or 4 times more. Why we would need a dimmer switch in the hall between foyer and bedroom is anyone’s guess. Anyway, figuring I had a 50% chance of failing entirely, I put on rubber gloves, and with the circuit-breaker off I slowly unscrewed and extracted the old switch. Bits of plastic had broken off the back of the toggle piece, so it would stay on only if you taped it down. In the Lutron forum online I see guys saying they have to use duct tape to keep the light on. I found I couldn’t just buy a replacement toggle at Home Depot, which is why I got a new switch, a simpler switch. It took a while with the needle-nosed pliers to twist the bare ends of the copper wire sufficiently so they’d wrap a little around the screws (formerly they weren’t bent at all, they were joined to the dimmer-switch wires with insulator caps). With the switch semi-firmly screwed into the wall, I went “here goes” and flipped the circuit breaker. Nothing. I turned on the bathroom light (same circuit). It worked. Now the new light switch. That worked too. At last. I tightened the screws and put on the faceplate and snap-on cover.
Another realization about Moki: he had all these dimmers set up, in living room, bedroom, and hallways, because he wanted it to be a swingers’ party pad. I found it a little eerie and annoying in the early days, 1985-86, when he’d have a friend or two over and we’d sit around the coffee table, maybe with drinks or joints, and he’d turn the lights all the way down except for dim lights from the track lighting. Well this was his sex-club ambience. He was always trying to put “scenes” together, heterosexual swingers, mixed queer and straight, later a lot of queer stuff with tina smoking. In the old days he’d rhapsodize about how wonderful the swing scene was, but it always sounded like a bunch of old people from another era.
Here in the bedroom he eventually had hooks installed in the ceiling. They look like something you’d hang planters from, but really they were put in to support a “sling,” a kind of parabolic hammock used for fucking and sex play. I think he still had the sling stored around here someplace. Perhaps folded up still, in one of his drawers, most of which I haven’t really disturbed.
Oh yes, I fixed the broken cat, too, my favorite piece of bric-a-brac. I used Gorilla Glue. This expands and dries white, as you can see. Maybe I’ll sand some of it down and dab a bit of paint. Where will I get the green paint?
Paul and Anthony got in yesterday morning, about two hours later than they expected. Planes held up because of a Microsoft outage that screwed up travel and I think Amazon (the negroes at Home Depot kept talking about Amazon being down). They’d made all sorts of brunch and dinner plans, thinking they’d eat at Smith & Wollensky, at Delmonico’s, maybe even at Peter Luger if we could get in and could brace the trip to DUMBO, with perhaps brunch at The Plaza. I suggested doing Rue 57 as a backup, and that’s where we ended up. (They’re staying at the Warwick.) We walked off brunch, and killed time before their hotel check-in by visiting the Morgan Library. $25 admission each. I think Paul paid. Anthony paid for brunch. These folks have money for everything. Over brunch they told me of staying at the Ritz in Paris at the start of Covid season and getting very ill. They complained of food poisoning but the Ritz people were unsympathetic. Then the two went to Geneva, still sick on the train. Took a lift to the top of Mont Blanc, where Paul vomited.
“Out of the gondola?” I asked.
“No this was in a bathroom. I made it to the lavatory at the top. Fortunately.”
Paul was having trouble walking as we came back from the Morgan. He says it’s because he hardly ever walks in Phoenix. Also he’s had peripheral neuropathy for some years. Pain in the toes. He attributes that to his liver ailments. He’s been dry now three years. Interestingly he went to AA for a while back in his 20s, some time before we met. His doc in Phoenix told he was far enough along that he was a candidate for a liver transplant in ten years, and he’d put him on the list. At that, Paul stopped drinking entirely.
Today, that is, Sunday the 21st, the Western World was hit with the tragic news that Joe Biden is withdrawing from the Presidential race and endorsing Kamala Harris, his veep. On Fox News they’re discussing whether Kamala will even get the nomination. Their brain trust goes 60-40 against it. On Twitter there is a small buzz about Joe Manchin, who in my opinion is the strongest candidate they could get, unless they drafted RFK Jr. (Is there any reason why they wouldn’t draft RFK Jr.?)
Yesterday I had a prefab ice cream cone after the Morgan, then a Healthy Choice chicken marsala dinner with a half-pint of Pinnacle. I wanted more vodka so bought a pint of Svedka before the Chinawoman closed. Delighted to rise from sleep around midnight and find it more than half full. Well that didn’t last long.
No drinking today. Maybe no drinking this week. I walked to St P’s for Mass at 5:30, but felt wobbly and left before the sermon was over. I got a salad ar Chipotle. That went down well. I washed the dishes.
I bought an electric jug at Amazon a couple days ago, only about $12 with points, and unboxed it today. It takes 6 minutes to bring 1 liter to a boil. I think that’s longer than the tea kettle on the hob. So if use it I’ll put a lot less than a liter in there.
On Saturday I posted a long entry on FB about Eric Newman and the Enigma machine that turned up on Newsnight. I later though better of that, transferred the bulk to Substack. Nobody reads Substack.
