Visiting with the Dearly Departed

I know it's getting near the Celtic New Year, when I start having vivid dreams of my parents.  I had such a wonderful visit with them.  In my dreams, I went to visit them in Florida. They lived in a modest, suburban style house. The visit was mostly with my mother, who was beautiful, but wasting.  She said she was living with lung cancer, and had 6 months to live.  Jess was there too, and was so happy to see his grandmother.  She was so happy to see him.  Jess was about 10.  I said to my Dad, who was living happily with my mother that we could move down to Florida.  He didn't really like the idea.  I went to the basement, and there was a studio apartment, but a woman with a bouffant hairdo was living there..but she was sort of transparent, not as vivid as Phil and Terry.  Who was she? Was she a part of Beverly?  Was she my Aunt Gini?  She seemed like she was living there only partially, perhaps in a parallel universe.. I told Jess I would have to pursuade Grandpa to let us come stay.  It was so beautiful to see them, since they're so gone..They were in their thirties or forties, and looked vibrant..alive..My mother is gone almost 30 years..My sister sent a picture of them playing makeup sillyness..I think my sis had made Mom up to look like a clown..they loved each other so much..Mutt and Jeff..

Long Island Goddesses

My cousin Bruce and I went out to visit our cousin Linda out on Long Island, Lindenhurst to be exact. When I was a young girl,I thought that they named the town after my beautiful black haired cousin. I idolized Linda, who was two years older than me. Our moms were housewives, and we did a lot of visiting in the summer, especially. I would go out to that house with my mother and my sister in tow, to visit Aunt Betty, Uncle Davy, Kevin and the twins. It was prototypical 50s and 60s suburbia, created by the GI Bill, a lot of fast building on hastily converted farmland. We lived in a "development" out near Riverhead, while my cousins lived in the more civilized South Shore. We spent days at the beaches, clamming at low tide and running down sand dunes. On our way to and from the beaches, bare feet still dragging sand, sitting on the back seat of the giant old black Buick my Uncle Red gave to my mother when he and Aunt Ann moved to 33rd and 3rd and didn't need a car any more, eating sandwiches with lettuce and tuna and sand and laughing at everything, we would pass the Pilgrim State mental hospital, the home of many a late nite ghost story.
My cousins Susan and Linda were twins. Susan was the quiet one, and Linda was the Alpha twin, smoking first, dancing first, kissing boys first, going out to the scrub pine to drink beer first. Linda put on makeup and teased her hair. Linda argued with her parents,while Susan tried to stay out of trouble. Kevin blissfully avoided all this teenager stuff by being sporty.
Nowadays, Susan is married, with the same guy since highschool. Her oldest daughter just had a girl, so she is a grandmother. Kevin was a year younger than me, three years younger than his sisters, and was good at math, so he became a stock broker, living the good life until a crash crashed him. We lived in a working class paradise. Vincent, Kevin's best friend, and soap box car racer, the kid across the street, became the town constable of one of the tonier beach towns on the South Fork. Linda married three guys in succession, working in real estate and at a biological testing lab along the way
I went to college far far far away, and became a singer and songwriter and a drunk, far away from the Suffolk County of my girl scout childhood.
My mother and Aunt Betty are both gone, ghosts in this Celtic drama, (we are for better or worse, an Irish American family, mostly) lost to cigarettes, and in my mother's case a measure of booze, and prescription drugs. Mom lived to 50, Aunt Betty live longer than any of her siblings to the ripe old age of 55. Their brother Jim, who had moved out to Long Island, after marrying my mother's best friend Mary, from beauty school in Brooklyn, won the award for dying youngest at 38, and Claire Ann and Kitty died at 51 and 43 respectively...

Alone, again, naturally

I've got a lot of time on my hands now.  It's an oddly luxurious feeling.  I don't have a job, and have a hearing coming up in order to reinstate me as a new york city teacher.  somehow, tho' i feel that the divine hand of god was there to give me this time and space to myself.  i don't know if i've used it wisely.  i've written a lot, done a film treatment, done some blogging, promoted my band with facebook, developed crushes on (and gotten over) two people.  I've sung with 4, no five bands, and still haven't recorded anything. , which will be a strong way of maintaining my independence indefinately.   I should go on the road to film with Shari.  , now that we've skipped over spring and have bungie jumped right into summer...My son is in his own world, and I don't see him for days at a time. I have empty nest syndrome, with not  quite an empty nest.  Maybe I should just move, while he's not looking, and put everything into storage. That would be nice., so that I could go on the road.. 

Tuesday nites at the Sapphire Lounge

I don't live in NYC because of the glamour or hipness. I've got enough internal hipness to last me through a few lifetimes in Hershey PA, or Cleveland Ohio. The reason I live in NY is so that I can sing with great musicians. They are here, like diamonds in South Africa. They're not easy to find, but they are here..I'm working with Roger Bartlett,who spent his youth working with Jimmy Buffett. Now Buffett makes $60,000 per show at the White House, and Roger is scrambling after a divorce left him stunned. I get to sing with Jimmy Satten, who was the guitarist for Mary Wells, my favorite Motown Diva. He can play "2 Lovers" even when noone else knows the tunes. I get to sing with Roderick Kohn who's trying to pick up the pieces after the death of his band leader, Buddy Miles, and a bike accident which left him with about 3 unbroken ribs. I think we music makers are a little like whalers in the North Sea,, who have no life insurance, little property and a daily brush with death. I stopped drinking and carrying on 20 years ago, so I only have to deal with the aftermath of the high life, the bad liver, and bogus music contracts. Anyway, the one beautiful thing that I do get to do is to sing with all these wonderful people on Tuesday nites, when we record the show for local cable. My cousin Pete, who was in the original Beatlemania and I do a piece called Channeling John Lennon, where we summon the spirit of our dearly departed Celtic brother bard, and ask for suggestions and opinions. In the last channeling sessions, we found that he needed Yoko Ono to heal the wounds of his life, and to inspire him. We found that he thinks Larry Summers is a lousy financial advisor, and that Barack Obama needs Paul Krugman on his staff.. We found that being dead isn't completely without problems, he still works on his art. (or was I channeling my mother?) Anyway, we'ere at the Sapphire Lounge every Tuesday nite at 8pm 249 Eldridge Street..right off E. Houston, where my great great grandmother grew up...

How to LIve Beautifully (like a NY ARTIST) in Tough Times!!

Looking for a job, any job, or almost any job

Hello, I've got a bunch of blogs that I write just to keep from yelling at the TV screen.
Here are some titles:

AlzheimerDad.Blogspot.com
ChristianLefty.blogspot.com
JoyRyder.net
Delta88.blogspot.com

I've been an impoverished musician most of my life, and know what's going in in the poor/working class community. I could have told those idiots in the financial community that the morgage subprime lending practices were reminicent of the techniques used by Brooklyn loan sharks, and would come to a bad end.

I could have told those "Captains of Industry" and "Masters of the Universe" that when you send all the jobs overseas and when a nation brings in one dollar for every six it sends out, somethings gonna collapse.

Oh yeah, I've got a newly minted Masters of Science in Teaching, from Pace University, which I earned while a part of the NYC Teaching Fellows. I am now an unemployed school teacher.

I'd like to work for your outfit, as an associate editor.


Thanks, Joy Whelan

Johnny was a fireman- PTSD

JOHNNY WAS A FIREMAN

they were running out as he was rollin in

rollin to the rescue on the 99th floor

but he was knockin on heaven's door

johnny was a fireman but he played guitar in the bullys band

down at cbgbs on a saturday nite

they loved to drink and fight

HE WAS YOUNG AND HE WAS PRETTY 

A ROCK AND ROLL SON OF NY CITY

HE WAS TOUGH AND HE WAS GRITTY 

THE ROCK AND ROLL SON OF NEW YORK, NY

never had no bigtime fame, but all the fans at cb's yeah, they knew their name'

Bullys were electric, yeah they rocked the show, and everybody had to go'

playing rock n' roll just to get some thrills

working in the day just to pay the bills

million dollar deals slipped thru their hands

so johnny was a fireman

ChoRUS

September morning, 9/11/01

A Five alarm sounded, calling every son

rolling to the rescue on the ninety ninth floor

but they're not there no more

What greater love lives in this land

Who would lose his life to save a fellow man?  Just a punk musician from the Bully's band, cause Johnny was a fireman

He was young, and he was pretty the rock n' roll son of NY City

HE was tough and he was gritty, the rock n' roll son of New York, NY

Go Johnny go

Roll johnny roll

Go, go Johnny

Roll, roll johnny

go johnny go

TWo MINUTES OF HATE - A RANT

file:///Users/Joy/Desktop/i%20hate%20rich%20peepo.rtfd/3197665796_22ba699c00.jpgI hate rich people.  i hate their values, their pettiness.  i hate their liposuction and their narcissism.  i hate their lack of brains and refusal to look deeply into things.  i hate their fish faces, their lacquered fingers, and their fat jewelery. I hate the men with big cars and little dicks trying to impress.  I hate the skinny old ladies with bleached out hair and wind swept faces teetering on high heels.

I hate women who dump their kids for a boyfriend.

i hate their dumb empty faces

i hate their lack of compassion

I hate the lack of conversation

i hate the  fat men who boss around empty women

i hate the women who chase rich men like vultures

I hate women who have plastic in their breasts and in their minds

i hate the kids who only care for clothes and trying to be popular

i hate the neighborhoods full of people whose minds are full of popcorn

i hate people who spend hours choosing wine and meats and organic vegetables with moral superiority

I hate housewives who do nothing all day and want to be considered interesting

I hate people who shop as a hobby

I hate people who ask if they look fat.

If you have to ask, you look fucked up.

i hate rich old women who buy young dick with their money

i hate rich ugly wrinkly men who buy young women from former communist countries

i hate american fags who go to brazil to pay to fuck kids for fun

i hate american straights who go to bangkok to pay to fuck kids for fun

I hate men who go to the phillipines to pay to fuck kids for fun

I hate third world men who sell their daughters 

I hate third world men who sell their sons

i hate young russian women with cruel faces and designer pocketbooks

i hate old white men who buy young asian women and think that they are loved

i hate drunken white men who careen around in public

i hate women who try to poison their old husbands 

i hate poor people who deify the rich

i hate poor people who will kill for a thousand dollars

I hate poor people who will kill for 40 bucks

i hate groupies who try to make friends of friends of rock stars

i hate gated communities

Some say eat the rich, I say they would be tasteless, tough beef jerky

Something you'd want to spit out.

Everybody's entitled to their 15 minutes of hate, Rod Harrod

ONe more Heartache

I truly don't understand why I can still feel heartache at my age. I'm post puppy love, have been married and divorced, have raised a child, have had boyfriends, .  .  I found an old boyfriend who had been a major  heartbreak in my twenties,  apologized to him for my bad behavior, found out that he was on the latest  of four bad marriages, but wants to make a go of it , but now instead of just retaining a distance, i've gone all romantic..  what a bitch.  it's very ego killing to have a bad love affair late in life. when you're young, you figure you'll learn from your mistakes., but to let my guard down this late in life just makes me sick at myself, makes me feel like a fool...like Marvin Gaye once wrote

One more heartache baby, I can't take it now. my heart is carrying such a heavy load, one more ache could break it. just like the camel with the heavy pack one last straw broke the camels back .  One more heartache, I can't take it now

One more heartache it would turn me right around.  First you build my hopes up, then you let me down. Like a house that's built with toothpicks sittin up on a kitchen table, one last toothpick tore it down, the foundation was not able  Oh, one more, one more heartache, I can't take it now., .

Jerry Agony RIP

I don't know why some people just want to die young and beautiful.  Jerry  Agony was a teen rock star at CBGBs and Max's with the Contortions and Richard Hell...and then he just got sick from too much of everything and then he died.  Two days ago..Never got to be old and 50.  Joey Zero was so messed up, cause they were best buddies.  Jerry's parents were so broken hearted...Felix Cabrera canceled a gig to go to his wake  so that he could translate for his poor mother who just had this one son late in life..and then in her late 80s has to bury him.his father, so sweet, an elegant gentleman..just like Jerry

Uploading Berlin Pics

Letter to a wannabe ExPat Man

Dear expat Man,
I spent a long time outside the US, having been brainwashed by Henry miller, james Baldwin and anais nin, as a child growing up in flushing, Queens. The upshot of running away to Europe was that I was eclipsed in music by babes like cyndi lauper (who was cute but not beautiful), and Madonna, who sounded like connie francis and had dance steps right out of “introduction to Jazz 101”. Sure I hung out with exotic drag queens in berlin (most, I might add, are gone, due to their insisting on tricking with strangers they met along the ku’damm) Toured in now non-existent communist countries, and got to play punk rock (an unfortunate musical form for any vocalist choosing not to bellow) but what was the payoff? Do I own a house, like most people of the baby boom generation?? Nope. Do I have a retirement fund?? Nope, unless I marry someone and then kill them. Do I have a career? Yes, if you call playing old soul classics for drunken tourists in Greenwich village is a career. I say, screw expatriatism. Stay home. Marry for money, have babies, and save your traveling for your retirement days. Sincerely, Joy RYDER (the vanilla queen of soul).

Going to Berlin

Well, Jess and I are finally gonna get on the Queen Mary and go to the other side of the Atlantic. It's a good time of the year, and I've lost my job..so no reason to scrap vacation plans..actually, time to EXTEND the holiday..since it might be one of the last times that Jess and I actually travel together..actually, I'd prefer to tour with him...on bass or guitar or with his whole band...I've got to figure how to upload a pic..on this thing..I love Blogger..

MY kid's baby pix

Well, My son said he had no choice becoming a musician. i disagree, but here's an early pic w/ Will Roper The Sonic Specialist at Monongo Studion in Berlin....

Another shooting on Staten Island

Man, this place is getting crazy. Three nights ago I heard a bunch of "pop, pop, pops" up the street. "Man, THIS TIME it's just fireworks.." I said to myself, I said. "The kids bought them for Memorial Day weekend, by mistake. They got mixed up maybe, and thought you shoot them off like you do on the Fourth of July." In my neighborhood with it's ever growing Indio, Ecquadorian and Hondorian population, some amount of cultural confusion would be understandable. I ignored the firecrackers, and went back to channel surfing; trying to decompress after a long weekend upstate with my ex, his girlfriend and their circle of maniac friends. I was clicking dumbly between Law and Order and some nonsense on Court TV. I was alone, having dropped Jess off to meet his girlfriend at the movies downtown in Tribeca. The next morning, at my son's school, where I was prepping for a 6th grade weekly drama class I teach (presently working on a cold reading of Act 1 Scene One of West Side Story, about a murder and gangs in 1950s Hell's Kitchen), I got a call from a friend who works at Child Protective Custody. "Did you hear about your friends?" She says, laughing..(Nini is on some mental pills, anti psychotics and stuff, so she has a tendency to blurt things out and laugh inappropriately..well, inappropriately to me, but she's funny, so I like her)
What friends?, sez I.
Those guys in the commune. That guy Jeff got shot.
Now, I know a lot of people in the commune. They kind of stand out, since they are the only other white folks in the neighborhood except for Mrs. Adams, and she's an octogenarian shut in, and Jackie and Bill across the street, who are old hippies trying to keep the neighborhood a Sesame Street ethnic mosaic. Oh yeah, and Mary the sculptress and her son....Lately, it's become ghettoville, with drivebys and police helicopters with floodlights flying over my house at odd hours.., as corny as the stuff I watch on Cable TV, but I digress..
I know of Jeff, vaguely. I've seen him with the GANAS crew, coming back from a party, or a group outing. They often go out to events together, and came to a gig I had, years ago, at Le BarBat. They also came to All Angels Church once, to hear us sing. I've been buddies with Katie, crying on her shoulder when I was mishandled at the food stamp office, across from their store, and I met with them once, to discuss the possibility of having an open air rock festival on their land upstate. I know several of the other commune people too, cause I used to be a "thrifty", a compulsive thrift shop buyer, cruising old Pucci, Gucci and Fiorucci stuff in their thrift shop. Eventually I stopped the habit: my costume designer friend Maria from Berlin would always mention how used clothes have a sweat smell and aura of the old people who wore them..Even with all that negative persuasion, I remained a thrift store junkie.... I cruised garage sales and auctions until I was so chock full of crazy stuff that I never used that I started a thrift shop of my own, with a mentally ill boyfriend who was impossible with all the schlepping, and haggling and boyfriend stressing, I got sick of old clothes...before going out of business, I sold the rest of the stuff to the Ganas people...and they were very cool. They bought a lot of really nice 70's bellbottoms, patch pockets and corderoy, unworn, given to me by a church member who also was struggling with a buying addiction..which went back to the 70s, he never wore the stuff, just bought everything on sale, just in case...he was raised in an orphanage, and craved new clothes, but went overboard..so they were exchanged hands several times.Lately, I don't do much shopping..so I haven't seen the Ganas people.... I don't have much money anymore, so I don't buy much of anything...but it was strange to hear that one ot them was shot.
Nini said the shooter was a woman, a stalker...an ex-lover of aformentioned Jeff
Shakespeare said "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned"...ain't that right?

I bought the paper, and found the article on the front page, all about the Ganas commune, their free love philosophy, their property, and about Stalker Lady. Apparently the cops hadn't followed up on Stalker Ladies' threats...I had a stalker too, when the thrift shop partner/boyfriend decided he was going to either marry me or kill me...and he kept harrassing me. The cops wouldn't do anything about it, either..there's a loophole in the law, because he wasn't my common law husband....Thank God boyfriend gave up after 2 years. He slowed down with the threatening calls and surprise visits to my home and workplaces..but that was lucky. Jeff's stalker was chasing him for 15 years.

Before I read it in the Daily Blues, I had heard that the Ganas people were into free love. This was another reason I backed away from hanging with them. I'd read about the Oneida community and the DaDa community in the 19th century..the former made nice silverware, the latter nice art, but that stuff's not for me....I'm a monogamist or at least a serial monogamist...and don't like open relationships..having been around during the experimental sexual revolution..most of that stuff was ugly..it always gave me the creeps..whether they were alternative hippies, or suburban swingers..yuch..I agreed with Wilhelm Reich and considered Satyr's Disease or Nymphomania forms of mental illness. I had been the babysitter for the head of the John Birch Society in Queens. as a teenager. I didn't know the political platform of the group, but I came to find out that John Birch was close to the Ku Klux Klan as you could get in NYC...I learned that he and his wife were swingers..so I always saw wife swapping as the behavior of the depraved mind...so I have always steered clear of that stuff. Despite all that, some of the folks at the commune were nice, kind people, and I genuinely liked them.

I laughed with Nini.We talked of being women cast aside....I guess some people can't handle that free love stuff....I know I couldn't. Looks like the 10 commandments were right, after all. Nini and I talked of going to the commune to do some Christian preaching....It's just a bitch that we've had shooting number 3 within a 4 block radius of my house (two on my block) within 3 weeks..it seems that the world is getting more violent...and this isn't even Iraq.

housing issues in the economic empowerment zone

I live in an "economic empowerment zone"....the PJs are down the street..complete with urine
in the hallway..most of my son's elementary school friends have moved away to better neighborhoods, making this nabe constantly struggling...My house is okay, sort of...The only urine odors in my house I encountered were from the feral
cat that got in through the basement window. (I think he slunk
around to the Chinese joint on the corner and wound up as General
Tso's Chicken)..
This week we have had
1) A shooting in a house with 2 kids..noone was killed but the shooter got away
2) A shooting across the street, while a bunch of loud kids were having a party, 3 shots fired, shooter got away.

I called the police today and they said to call 911 asap anonomously..next time it happens..

I still am trying to figure how to remove the window with the bullet hole that landed in my son's bedroom window last year. I've just taped it up. This neighborhood is getting stupid.

One of the things they tell us in AA is not to make big
decisions in the first year after a major event..ie after the death
of a loved one..or after a divorce..or even after positive
things..birth of a baby or falling in love...so not to make rash
decisions. I will wait to see if the Teaching Fellowship pans out,
where they're placing me..I'll be losing my housing subsidy due to
the income spike, so I should slowly look for something...as for the
kid, I may want to move to a state that has better instate
tuition..I'm all for the multi generational family...He's finished
with HS next year..but I doubt he'll be mature enough to survive on
his own til his early twenties..I wasnt, but had to..and I wouldn't
wish my hardscrabble life on anyone..I'll try not to be rash..

Rethinking my Performance Character before the Great Depression

I've been informed that Mae West was the wealthiest woman during the Great Depression. My new CD has been pressed up, so now I have to make a feeble attempt to promote the thing. The songs are good, the production isn't so I'm pretty lackluster about hustling the disc..But Peter has been helping me get a decent live show together..complete with great old obscure blues tunes..so this could be interesting....I maybe be po'..but there are some cool things that have happened because I've spent some of my time creating sounds/stories from ideas....the mind of an artist is tuned differently. As an artist, I get to see movements, trends, and truths before they're available to the general public. (Hell, I knew Iraq had nothing to do with 9/11 before we invaded the country..so I knew more than most US Senators..dig that...) So now I see a great depression coming, unless we get rid of these foolish men in DC. They've hocked our country up to the eyeballs, to Saudi Arabia and Communist China, abolished tariffs so that our balance of trade is off the charts... Mao Tse Tung said that the Capitalist would sell you the rope to hang him..and it's coming true...Well the depression is almost here, so it might be worth the effort to work on a new singing personae, before the collapse. My former political science professor, Ted Becker, has suggested that I model my aging singing self after Mae West, but I told him I think Lil' Kim has taken over that iconic place in the collective unconscious.. the risque busty, slutty chick with a sense of humor complete with trips to the Women's house of Detention..or in Kim's case Bedford Hills.....I think there are a finite number of roles in the game of life....like characters in the game of Clue..Mr. Whiskers, Dame Flookie..etc..When one human is knocked out of the role whether thru death or age, another takes their place. HOWEVER...the Jean Harlow "white Goddess" (first identified by Robert Graves as a muse/spirit )Is an amazing exception. She has morphed into a zillion interchangable seedpods, Brittany Spears Christine Aguilara, Gwen Stephanie, Ashley and the other Simpson, Paris Hilton , etc..My son's personal ideal is Trish Stratus, a skantily clad lady wrestler..I wonder where he got that imprint..?? I guess being around strong women....speaking of my son..and ..School..school..how wierd..the kid will have to go somewhere..and he's slacking big time..The only places that will take him will probably be Berkelee school of music, or maybe Antioch, or a place I heard of in S. California, that has a pop music department..Unless I let him hang with some scientists..I wish he was a bit more focused on science and math and could get into the tuition free Cooper Union..Blahhh..U of Miami..classical and jazz..and a good GPA...BLAAAHH>>> maybe the U of Florida...also kind of skewed toward classical and big band jazz but PERHAPS..maybe he needs to go to a community college, get a good GPA then transfer to a decent school.. He's a good actor...I'd like him to take more acting.. BLLLAAAH anyhow, so much for schooly stuff. He might just have to play bass for my band...

12 million shadow people

Alex and I ran around the demo in front of City Hall on Monday. We were in the front, but were pushed around, the police using the same old crowd tactics they used in the anti-war demonstrations of years past..noone got let into the parade route, everyone got let out..to minimize the crowd..the immigrants were hopeful..upbeat, positive..Last week, in the LA demos, the immigrants were waving Mexican flags, but since that created angst in the Nord Americano collective unconscious, the meme was telegraphed that it would be more friendly if all the Mexicanos waved Yanqui flags..which they did...wow..ideas get around fast when people are focused. If only the impeachment movement was as focused..these nutjobs would be out of the White House, and we could become a visionary, progressive humane nation.....I noticed a distinct difference in the attitude of the South Americans and Mexicans since the big demonstrations on Monday. Before, most would avoid my eyes, look down, as if to stay in the shadows. Since Monday, I see a yearning for recognition...a selbstbewustsein..self confidence, after years of dodging police, immigration people, gangs, and whatever...The labor unions were behind the marches, to a great extent, because if they include these folks in their ranks they will no longer be competing as scabs, undercutting US workers wages..How come noone talks of busting Walmart for hiring undocumented workers illegally? When I got home I turned on CNN, and saw the reportage. I was proud of Ted Kennedy and the Irish American priest (who spoke beautiful Spanish) and the Congressman from Maryland with the Irish last name who addressed the big demo down in DC. The Irish, who came en masse, who were vilified, spat on, ignored, hated by those who came before..it was right that their decendants chose to address the unloved and abused immigrants. They need to toughen up the borders, sure, AND they gotta start busting the people who hire people for less than minimum wage, without disability insurance..who don't pay into medicare, social security, taxes, etc. The sons and daughters of the Incas, Aztecs and Mayans are back..Montezuma's revenge??
Maybe I'll take my social security when I retire, and move to Guatemala..just as long as it's peaceful..they can work here, if I can get a nice cheap hacienda there...

America is beautiful.

Church Street NYC

The new Americans...They sure organized themselves quickly. I wish the antiwar people could come out as quickly and strongly. Then we'd see some changes.

Job opportunities

Annie asked me to call her friend Diane, because she's been evicted from her trailer near the Goethals Bridge. She wants me to move her buddy. Today the school called me back, to invite me to sub. Yesterday I had a fat little Chinese kid threaten to hit me..in drama class, he's in Special Ed..the subject I'm supposed to teach soon..so I decided to write and play piano at home today..as poor as I am..I want outta here!!!