From The Ashes ...

Yesterday

I awoke with a plan. I was to help The Hellcat get the last of his paperwork in so we could get the details of his housing in order. For reasons that can't be told here, we had to go to Kinko's and *ahem* adjust some of the information to more advantageous (for us) details. Sort of like adding a couple of zeroes to a check before cashing it. It was surprisingly easy but considering we got (another) late start, plans to get some sun had to be scrapped and besides, the previously forecast sunny and warm day showed up partly cloudy and muggy. We did some light shopping and then decided to find a place for a beer and/or margarita as we had finally managed to negotiate a labyrinthian government maze and had emerged (seemingly) victorious at our piece of cheese. After a series of false starts and a failed attempt at finding that new gay bar XES, we ended up at a dive on 3rd below 14th street that has had a series of incarnations over the years but has basically served a succession of fireman and phone company workers as well as nearby NYU students. It smelled like piss. I didn't mind. A quick pint glass of margarita and we were headed home. It was approaching 5pm already. (I said we got a late start.) It wasn't until we got all the way upstairs that The Hellcat remembered he needed dog food. You know I couldn't stop myself.

"Do they sell it downstairs?" Meaning the 24 hr. deli on the next block.

"Yeah."

"How much is it?"

"A dollar."

"What kind?"

"Pedigree, beef chunks."

"I'll get it."

"You sure?"

The Hellcat had an hour to shit, shower and shave before a platonic date for dinner and Shakespeare in the Park.

"I'll be right back."

Not entirely true. Apparently, when I said downstairs I meant the all-purpose deli. The Hellcat's definition of downstairs apparently means anywhere not upstairs, or in this case The Gristede's 3 blocks and one avenue away. I swear, this man will be the death of me. I returned to a soothing glass of red wine, followed by another margarita. We were both feeling quite relaxed.

That's when Neo called. I had heard from him the day before as he left a message about a bad experience in a Jersey park and some nasty cops. Neo had been relaxing in a public park reading a book, and if you knew Neo it's probably true, he loves the outdoors and always has his nose in some book on spells or psychology. The police passed him on more than one occasion, as it appears he was behaving suspiciously, what with the reading and all. And most assuredly not because a Puerto Rican man covered in tattoos was parked in a public area. The reading thing? Come on, a Puerto Rican? You can see why our most assuredly not bigoted police investigation had begun. Why they searched him and his car. Why they ran him for warrants. (none) Why they accused him of having drugs. (none) This was all related by message over the phone with Neo sounding angry and sad at the same time. I left a message back how sorry I was and offering to get together the next night (yesterday) if he wanted to catch a movie or go for coffee or whatever. And now he had spent the afternoon trying to file a complaint with the police department, all to no avail, as the desk sargeant set about defending the cops as "just doing their jobs" and further verbally abusing Neo as a liar. Needless to say I attempted to return to sobriety as fast as possible, since I agreed to let Neo pick me up.

He arrived a half hour later and called me down, with The Hellcat heading out the door a minute ahead of me, but a solid half hour from when he should have been leaving. I hopped into Neo's deathmobile and off we went. Headed to Jersey. Neo had asked me previously if he could pick the place for dinner (how cute is that?) and me being the food. good. eat. person I am I said sure. I wasn't even sure where in Jersey we ended up. Some tiny little row of businesses with a nail salon, a liquor store etc. and a restaurant that obviously used to be someone's house. Now serving Cuban/American specialties. A menu heavy on chicken and chorizo so it's all good as far as I'm concerned. We had a deep disussion about my parents and my relationship with them. Then we moved onto Neo's experiences with racism and classism. It's an ongoing discussion about which I feel some ambivilance. It's hard for me to articulate. My relationship with Neo runs so deep that I no longer see the tattoos as "saying" anything. I certainly don't look at Neo and see Puerto Rican. But I never did think of him like that. There was never any point in my relationship with Neo where his backround was even subtext for me. Neo was always just Neo. But logically, if I even take a baby step back, his heritage is a consideration for others. A body covered in tattoos does "say" something to some people. While I only see Neo and Neo feels he shouldn't be judged, people do make evaluations based on what they see. It's fast, it's easy, it's simple. People with tattoos smoke pot. Peurto Ricans sell drugs. Why get to know the real story? And I'm torn between my sympathy for Neo and what he experiences versus my belief that you cannot opt to present yourself as outside the mainstream, and then cry foul when the general (lazy) public reacts in a manner you deem unfair. Of course it's unfair. This is America.

Dinner completed with nothing solved Neo wanted to take me to this ice cream shop he goes to. It was just down the street from the restaurant. It was the strangest place. When I think of an ice cream shop I think bright colors and lots of white tile, wrought iron furniture with marble tables. This place was white plaster simulating cave walls and private grottos carved out with seating. Some of the walls had naked body parts (mostly tits and ass) protruding from them. And it was the darkest ice cream shop I've ever been in. Most of the lighting was provided by candlelight. And people were smoking inside. A sure sign I was out of Manhattan. Neo got some ice cream and hot fudge and I opted for a mocha cappa something or other with espresso and vanilla ice cream. I was hoping the caffeine and sugar would keep me going. It was then that Neo informed me that after the movie we had planned on going to he was kidnapping me (I wish) to Feather's, a legendary Jersey gay bar I had heretofore only heard about when referenced with their Monday night dollar drink night. It was around 9 pm by now. I still hadn't showered all day. Neo claimed that's a great time to meet guys. I have some very strange men in my life. We gabbed some more and unfortunately the caffeine and sugar had no effect on me. If anything I was getting more and more tired. The service was unbelievably slow. Nice, but really slow. We paid the check and headed out in to the wilds of New Jersey. We were running late, the movie was in 10 minutes and Neo was being nagged by phone to hurry by his "boyfriend". So there we were hurtling at white-knuckle speeds through these winding Jersey two lane roads in Neo's deathmobile. I have no real night vision so how Neo was able to navigate the roads was beyond me. It's possible it was also some horrid combination of alcohol followed by caffeine and sugar plus the creatine shake I let the Hellcat whip up for me the afternoon before. Something was terribly off inside my body and by the time we arrived at the theater I was literally shaking, sweating and just feeling like I needed oxygen. It was like a mini panic attack, but not. Neo noticed and asked if I was OK. I said I was fine and we arrived at the Bergen Mall. It was after 10 but I figured with previews we were good to go. Turns out, I, Robot had already begun, which started a little squabble between Neo and his "boyfriend". Lovely. We watched the movie in silence. It wasn't as good as people have said. The plot was OK and the effects were also OK. (Pithy review, no?) After the movie I tried splashing some cold water on my face as my little trip to Jersey had left me feeling shaky, gritty and frankly a tad stinky. Neo could see apparently that I had had enough and asked if I wanted to be taken home. I'm smelly, tired and almost broke so I say yes. The ride back to Manhattan feels interminable. My body chemistry is fucked the fuck up and I am one gay raw nerve. We finally arrive in front of my building around 1 am, I say my goodbyes and return to my castle high atop Second Avenue. I wouldn't feel right again until the next evening.