Storm Warnings

I know there is a hurricane somewhere out there. We are grey-skyed and wet for several days. It is Tuesday afternoon and I am lying on bed, having eaten a cup of oatmeal and one of those foil packets of tunafish before that. Lots of coffee, mild euphoria from that.

Feet were hurting yesterday: plantar fasciitis that keeps erupting when I’m on nruns jobs. Was out at Gov Is on Sat and Sun. Hot and humid on Sat, for the 10k, merely humid and overcast on Sun for the 5k. Now, the problem with the feet is that I just haven’t stretched the way I used to. I mean downward dogs and Wharton foot and leg exercises. Stretch the hams, stretch the toes. As an example of how little I’ve stretched, the other day I leaned on a tree to do a quad stretch (foot behind you, grab ankle or instep) and it was really hard to get a grip. I’ve been doing this all my life, now I’m totally out of shape.

I have mentally canceled the Sheehan 5k in Asbury Park on Saturday and online-canceled my ridiculously expensive ($270?) room at a shitty motel in Neptune, NJ, some three miles away. Had the idea I’d jog from there to the AP boardwalk as warmup. But it’s just not a convenient place to get to, and the logistics are made unnecessarily complicated. The race used to be in Red Bank. You pick up your bib and whatever in Red Bank, you run in Red Bank. Now you pick up your bib at Road Runner Sports in Shrewsbury, a mile or two south of Red Bank, and you race at the Asbury Park boardwalk. Asbury Park is about half nigger, and the motel I booked looked to be along those lines.

But as a consolation prize, I’ve bought me a train ticket to Red Bank on Friday. I intend to go down there, find my way to and from Shrewsbury, and get my shirt and bib. If this seems totally insane on Friday I’ll just blow it off. The senior-priced RT ticket was only about $17. I can have lunch in Red Bank.

A picture of Stacy Creamer showed up in social media, running the Club Champs last weekend. She looked good, same as ever. She was nearly my AA sponsor once. Luckily for her she dodged that bullet by not showing up for a meeting at a cafe near her Rizzoli office.

I see by the website there is now a Rizzoli bookstore at 26th and Broadway, just north of Petsmart. So this NoMad is really coming up in the world. No bookstores at all in my part of the world (Rizzoli used to be across the street). There is now a McNally Jackson down in Rock Ctr, the holdout B&N at 46th and Fifth, and a Shakespeare & Co. way up around W 70th or so. Nothing on 57th, once home to Coliseum Books, some B&N remainder outlets, a Borders on Park Ave, and that Rizzoli from the late 80s to late 00’s.

Last night I was going through some mini-diaries from 2018. There was a period, around August 2018, when Michael was very much out of sorts. I didn’t write down details, other than that he was going to need to be put away in a mental hospital. I remember that around then I suggested it was time for a divorce. I think he actually looked into this and came back with an answer. It would be a simple procedure as we owned nothing and had been legally married for only five years. Whatever this spasm was all about, it never returned. In fact, the next five years were probably the happiest we ever had together. Mainly in bed together, I think. No sex. Occasionally tina when Jeffrey came over. That ended in 2019 or early 2020. He brought us N25 masks. Michael was often speaking to Brian then. Brian was paying our rent. Anxiety arose in early 2021 when Brian was sick. In hospital. Had a toe amputated (diabetes). Michael had to call B’s secretary to get a rent check. Shortly after that he died. I was at Chelsea Piers in August, Michael texted me to ‘Come home, Brian died.’ I came across that text recently. It’s not on my mobile, so must be on Michael’s. (Note, I have looked now and can’t find that message. Not in text messages, e-mails, or diary notes. Yet I’m sure I saw it just recently.)

One thing very appalling about these mini-diaries, 2015-2019, is the often illegible scrawl. I often affected an illegible scrawl to defeat nosy parkers, but in this case I was losing motor control from alcohol consumption. During the dry periods of 2016 I noticed my hand become steadier and my handwriting become more lucid. The regular intoxication really began to be noticeable around 2011 or 2012 and I wondered whether I was developing Parkinson’s or a severe case of essential tremor.

No drinks for 2 days, though I downed a pint on both Saturday and Sunday. Rationalized this as a need to get sleep. As a matter of fact I have spent most of my waking hours here trying to catch up on sleep, even to the point of taking a half Trazodone. (Some stiff coffees are needed the next day of course.)

Tim Walz, an extraordinary nonentity from Minnesota, was chosen by Kamala Harris for her running mate a short while ago. The only advantage to her campaign is that she may not lose Minnesota. Otherwise this will prove to be a disaster choice, somewhere between Dan Quayle and Tom Eagleton, when the pundits and admakers really get going. (I do believe Quayle and Eagleton were treated very unfairly.)

Listening to the Andrew Roberts bio of Churchill, over and over. Familiar material, I can’t take in anything new just now.

Pieces on Weiss and Elle Reeve in C-C last week. I did not realize Greg was paying me all along.

Last Monday, July 29th, I went to Dottie’s where she barbecued sardines, salmon and kebab, while we tried to stay out of the blazing sun and then the rain. I brought Prosecco from Astor Wines. My left knee was not hurting significantly as I went up and down all those stairs. Could be result of the glucosamine I’ve been taking sporadically.

Teeth and gums not hurting much.

I have a phone appt with the WTC health people in a couple of weeks, and then a live appointment at Bellevue way off in October. Someone from WTC Health, a John Koffis or something like that, phoned last week to tell me to bring the pathology report for the lymphoma when I go to that October appointment. I asked the Bern LLP people if they’d received my files from MSK, but Khadija, the golliwog who’s the legal assistant, says that’s still pending. I signed off on the requests back in January, I believe. I am going to have to make a request to MSK myself, just to be sure.

Strange nasty fat man in Chipotle two Thursdays ago. Fleeting memory that will vanish if I don’t make note of it now. I was curious about what he had put into his bowl. He made irrelevant replies. I said, “Gawd he’s fucking with me.”

I continue to use that sphyg I bought a few weeks ago. Sorry to say my BP is usually high. Sometimes around 130/75 but more often in the 140s or even higher. As with Dottie, I generally find it to be lower later in the day. After 4pm now, let’s test it out:

149/89, HR 63. Just extraordinary. Though not extraordinary for the past few weeks. It wasn’t until they took my BP at NYU Dental on July 8 that I even knew I had elevated BP. Then I bought the monitor and found I was often around 127/72, which seemed about right. For the past week it’s always been 130 or above. What are the variables? I don’t feel hypertense at all.

Subjects to write upon: Unity Mitford (did something a few years ago, rather deep research as I recall) and Philip Larkin. Would have to do the first by tomorrow.

Stuck on the Cuffey sequel on Substack. Made a long digression about Paul Printon. Shall I take it out? The second Printon 56 storefront is now proclaimed to be Corporate Chef. That’s 50 West 56th, the old Larré’s address. The first door, 48 W 56th, I think the original Mangia, has a Printon 56 still, but then a sign about Catering, and half of that storefront looks to be given over to a wog selling lottery tickets.

Haven’t done anything for Teentime there. I think I only need to double the current wordage to have something we can call a book.