Saturday, August 23, 2003
The Rahway Homeless Journal
Outside my window an attractive but glum young woman, an immigrant from some Caribbean island, is painting the fire escape black. It's at least 100 humid breezeless degrees out there under the blazing August sun. She's not a professional painter. She just does her assignments. I'm wondering if she's covered by Workman's Compensation. In the parking lot below stands The Landlord in his fresh, blue "I sell real estate" shirt. He's wearing a tie. He's calling up to her in his peculiar, expressionless, nasal voice, "Can we get you an extension cord, maybe set up a fan." She declines. Blow hot air on her sweat & she's liable to suffer sunstroke without even feeling it coming on. "I have water," she replies. The Landlord walks away, whistling to himself. He always whistles. He's a happy man. There's a real estate boom in this town & he's finally making a lot of money. He wants to retire early. Since he's in his mid-fifties one could hardly say it's that early. Or blame him for the dream.
In that same nasal voice he leaves a message on my answering machine asking for the $200 or whatever it is I owe him, "like you promised," he adds. & I do generally keep my promises. Although I don't recall actually saying, I promise," to him.
Doing a fill-in show at WFMU a few weeks ago, for which I breathlessly arrived only 15 minutes before airtime (I usually get there about 2 hours beforehand), it occurred to me that I hadn't been late or had to make an emergency cancellation for a program since the mid-eighties. I couldn't even recall when it last happened. It was probably a rush hour traffic jam on the Parkway, I don't know. Bruce Longstreet, the station manager when I joined, appreciated DJs who were reliable clock-punchers (figuratively speaking). Current manager Ken Freedman feels the same, as does Program Director Brian Turner. As do all the hosts in the prior air slot. I can be a very responsible person.
So The Landlord is asking for this money, which might as well be ten times that amount for all the hope I have of paying it immediately. He's asking for it because he must. & because he's a Scorpio? Because he feels like pissing on me? "It's not personal, Sonny. It's strictly business."
Over ten years here in this box. My affection for these digs died couple of years ago. I can't afford to live here on a fixed income (SSD). My rent has been taking exponential leaps upward while the building itself isn't getting any better. The parking lot is unpaved & throws up clouds of dust not to mention exhaust fumes. I have a crazy man living above me who leaves the building only to pump gas three days a week, eavesdrops on my phone conversations & even seems to want to hear me fart in the bathroom. There's hundreds of sparrows living in the untrimmed ivy out front; no one needs that much bird chirping. The plumbing is not adequate. I have an antique gas stove that I turned off several years ago, it was so inefficient. The apartment wasn't painted for ten years until some inspector insisted upon it, & even then, I was loathe to let The Landlord's Paint Crew in here messing with my stuff. The parking lot is separated from 6 foot drop-off into Rahway River by a permanent temporary orange nylon fence - I'm amazed no one has backed a car through it yet.
I'm the acknowledged Unofficial Poet Laureate of this little city - a city I've come to like very much for its size, diversity, tidal river & general convenience. Now, with my eldest brother finally pried out of his dangerous neighborhood in Paterson & safely sheltered at a Vets Hospital, I also feel like taking a leap into the unknown. Perhaps becoming this city's First Homeless Unofficial Poet Laureate. I can even keep a journal of the transition & subsequent experiences. A daily e letter from whatever PC I can get to. Make arrangements to do live weekly reports over WFMU. Put my important stuff in storage, pay my website fee for the next year, & GO.
While my ubiquitous homeless presence around town won't bother an ex-Landlord (he resides in Pennsylvania), it will prove somewhat annoying for the police, who have more serious matters to deal with like fatal car crashes on Route One & violent domestic abuse, than rousing a harmless local eccentric (with a very small but loyal fan base) off various park benches, dropping me off in Linden, where the Linden Police will bring me to Elizabeth, where I take a train back to my Hometown. I can even be the first homeless person to fall asleep in the public new library. & that right has received the protection of the courts. I have until August 31 to decide.
"If a nation expects to be ignorant and free, in a state of civilization, it expects what never was and never will be." Thomas Jefferson
Outside my window an attractive but glum young woman, an immigrant from some Caribbean island, is painting the fire escape black. It's at least 100 humid breezeless degrees out there under the blazing August sun. She's not a professional painter. She just does her assignments. I'm wondering if she's covered by Workman's Compensation. In the parking lot below stands The Landlord in his fresh, blue "I sell real estate" shirt. He's wearing a tie. He's calling up to her in his peculiar, expressionless, nasal voice, "Can we get you an extension cord, maybe set up a fan." She declines. Blow hot air on her sweat & she's liable to suffer sunstroke without even feeling it coming on. "I have water," she replies. The Landlord walks away, whistling to himself. He always whistles. He's a happy man. There's a real estate boom in this town & he's finally making a lot of money. He wants to retire early. Since he's in his mid-fifties one could hardly say it's that early. Or blame him for the dream.
In that same nasal voice he leaves a message on my answering machine asking for the $200 or whatever it is I owe him, "like you promised," he adds. & I do generally keep my promises. Although I don't recall actually saying, I promise," to him.
Doing a fill-in show at WFMU a few weeks ago, for which I breathlessly arrived only 15 minutes before airtime (I usually get there about 2 hours beforehand), it occurred to me that I hadn't been late or had to make an emergency cancellation for a program since the mid-eighties. I couldn't even recall when it last happened. It was probably a rush hour traffic jam on the Parkway, I don't know. Bruce Longstreet, the station manager when I joined, appreciated DJs who were reliable clock-punchers (figuratively speaking). Current manager Ken Freedman feels the same, as does Program Director Brian Turner. As do all the hosts in the prior air slot. I can be a very responsible person.
So The Landlord is asking for this money, which might as well be ten times that amount for all the hope I have of paying it immediately. He's asking for it because he must. & because he's a Scorpio? Because he feels like pissing on me? "It's not personal, Sonny. It's strictly business."
Over ten years here in this box. My affection for these digs died couple of years ago. I can't afford to live here on a fixed income (SSD). My rent has been taking exponential leaps upward while the building itself isn't getting any better. The parking lot is unpaved & throws up clouds of dust not to mention exhaust fumes. I have a crazy man living above me who leaves the building only to pump gas three days a week, eavesdrops on my phone conversations & even seems to want to hear me fart in the bathroom. There's hundreds of sparrows living in the untrimmed ivy out front; no one needs that much bird chirping. The plumbing is not adequate. I have an antique gas stove that I turned off several years ago, it was so inefficient. The apartment wasn't painted for ten years until some inspector insisted upon it, & even then, I was loathe to let The Landlord's Paint Crew in here messing with my stuff. The parking lot is separated from 6 foot drop-off into Rahway River by a permanent temporary orange nylon fence - I'm amazed no one has backed a car through it yet.
I'm the acknowledged Unofficial Poet Laureate of this little city - a city I've come to like very much for its size, diversity, tidal river & general convenience. Now, with my eldest brother finally pried out of his dangerous neighborhood in Paterson & safely sheltered at a Vets Hospital, I also feel like taking a leap into the unknown. Perhaps becoming this city's First Homeless Unofficial Poet Laureate. I can even keep a journal of the transition & subsequent experiences. A daily e letter from whatever PC I can get to. Make arrangements to do live weekly reports over WFMU. Put my important stuff in storage, pay my website fee for the next year, & GO.
While my ubiquitous homeless presence around town won't bother an ex-Landlord (he resides in Pennsylvania), it will prove somewhat annoying for the police, who have more serious matters to deal with like fatal car crashes on Route One & violent domestic abuse, than rousing a harmless local eccentric (with a very small but loyal fan base) off various park benches, dropping me off in Linden, where the Linden Police will bring me to Elizabeth, where I take a train back to my Hometown. I can even be the first homeless person to fall asleep in the public new library. & that right has received the protection of the courts. I have until August 31 to decide.
