A Writer’s Diary Entries From Early July, 1998

Wednesday, July 1, 1998

9 PM. Teresa went out tonight to have dinner with her sister and cousins. On her way to Manhasset – she was going to make a stop at the nursing home to see her grandmother first – Teresa dropped me off at the Farmers Bazaar supermarket on Forest Avenue in Glen Cove.

Originally I’d thought that it was too far to walk, but actually it was good exercise, maybe a mile and a half. I bought some groceries and came back, listening to NPR on my Walkman as I strolled in comfortable 72° weather.

When I got back, I was energetic enough to put the food in the refrigerator and pantry, feed Ollie, and then walk to the closer Gristede’s, past Teresa’s Birch Hill Road house, and buy some frozen items.

Paul and Jade had pasta and broccoli for dinner and invited me to join them on the deck, so I did. Sometimes I feel awkward with them; after all, they didn’t know me two years ago, I’m Teresa’s friend, and here I am living in their family’s house.

Teresa’s husband and stepdaughter are easy to talk to, but I do feel a bit like a moocher sometimes, and I wish I could do more to contribute to the household. Unfortunately, I can’t cook, and I’m bad at all the house maintenance chores that are so necessary in a big place like this. Of course, all three of them excel at those chores.

This morning I went with Teresa to the post office and got the Times – the New York edition has like seven sections! – and then I accompanied her on a series of errands.

We went to the Ford dealer to discuss her leasing another Villager minivan from them when her current lease ends next month and then dropped off some stuff left by a groom at his mother’s Old Brookville house, which had spectacular grounds (and most impressively, an indoor swimming pool).

Our next stop was Martin Viette Nurseries, where Jade has worked for years. Teresa got some flats – if not for Teresa, I’d never know what flats were, or the difference between annuals and perennials – for her garden, using Jade’s discount.

Back home, we had lunch, and I went upstairs to look at my bill statements. I filled out a form trying to get an extended student loan deferment from Sallie Mae, and I called for another form from the DOE’s Direct Loan program.

I also sent out payments in advance of receiving the credit card statements I should be getting soon. And I sent in another $100 for a credit line increase on my original FCNB MasterCard, which now has a $4,350 credit limit.

While my life is nowhere as complicated as Teresa and Paul’s, I guess my (mostly secured) credit cards are nearly as complicated as they were in the days a decade ago when I lived off my cash advances.

Still, I’ve been paying only cash this past week or so, and I’m going to get cash advances from my Amoco cards and not my MasterCards and Visas. Besides, my PIN numbers were in my lost address book, and I can’t remember them. I’m pretty certain my address book will turn up somewhere in my parents’ house.

Teresa and I went out to Taco Bell for some giant cups of Diet Pepsi which we drank on the deck. After she left, I called Alice and also Cousin Michael at his grandfather’s, leaving messages for both.

I think I can reconstruct nearly all my New York City friends’ addresses through the Internet or my email or in some other fashion. The problem is with unlisted people like Scott Koestner or Ronna and Matthew.

On the XY message board I posted something that told people where they could find my gay-themed stories online. I know XY is for teenagers (“Who is this Oscar Wilde dude I keep hearing about?; “I looooove Leo [DiCaprio]!!!”) but they might like my fiction.

Teresa’s Mac is so ancient, it freezes every time I try to access a website. I really need to get a decent computer when I get settled in Florida, especially since prices are now relatively low.

Hey, 1998 is half-over. Teresa and I were talking before about how close 2000 (or “the year 2000,” as it’s always referred to) is. The Nineties are 85% over. I remember how I counted down the end of the Eighties. I’ve felt more comfortable in this decade.

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Friday, July 3, 1998

7 PM. Last night my neck hurt badly. I once read that neck pains are worse than similar aches elsewhere in the body because we turn our heads so many ways so often. I think the pain is subsiding, but it’s very much like what I felt two years ago, and that was stress-related, mostly because I was unhappy in my job at CGR.

What am I stressed out about now? I’m not certain. I feel at loose ends. I guess I don’t feel productive. In a way I’m anxious to get back to work in Florida; I want to find an apartment and be as busy as I was last fall.

I also need to do some self-improvement. Maybe I could start working out more seriously or finding a new interest. If I sound banal, it’s because I’ve been reading the XY message boards on AOL and have been affected by the writing of teenagers. What a waste of time.

This morning, after a brief run to Farmers Bazaar, I got in the minivan. Because I was moving fast on the LIE, I decided to go into Manhattan and I hit traffic only going over the Williamsburg Bridge.

After finding parking on West 12th Street off Fifth Avenue, by the Forbes Magazine building and the New School Computer Instruction Center where I once took classes, I walked around and called Josh.

He said he and his German girlfriend, Gabrielle, were meeting Harry and his wife Sybil at Mayrose, “a horribly pretentious yuppie place,” for breakfast at 11 AM. So I walked up Broadway to 21st Street and found the place closed. The others soon arrived, and Josh suggested we find a cab that would let five of us squeeze in and go to Veselka on Second and East 9th Street, where he had wanted to go in the first place.

I just had a fruit cup and got it right away; the others ordered pancakes, which took half an hour. The company depressed me, and I should have spent my first day in Manhattan on my own.

The city takes some getting used to and I didn’t like feeling I was in a Seinfeld episode, with Josh talking about the one-bedroom in his building that he just put in for and Harry saying he hated to use pay phones because he feared getting an ear infection.

And when Harry’s older wife, a Brooklyn Jewish teacher, went on about how glad she is that CUNY eliminated remedial classes, I went into my outrage mode, making a fool of myself as my blood pressure rose and I accused her of being racist. Later I tried to placate her, but I felt totally out of place.

Gabrielle seems nice, anyway; she’s a blond, thirtyish nurse in Frankfurt. My guess is Josh met her online. She’s going back to Germany tomorrow, but she’s spent the previous three weeks with Josh and is coming back in August. (She said that Josh “would rather die than go to Germany” – probably a combination of fear and his paranoia about anti-Semitism.)

Except for Gabrielle, a foreigner, the others seemed like such Brooklyn-Jewish civil servants and so old – okay, Harry’s wife was older – but the kind of “old” that seems to have no greater pleasure than dissing young people and minorities.

In a way they reminded me of my parents, but then I realized my parents are more liberal than they are.

I wonder: am I the one who’s screwed up because I can’t act my age and place? But having spent most of this year in California, Wyoming and Arizona, I feel alienated from the way New Yorkers think.

Or is it that I resent being faced with my roots? I’m not Jewish in the sense Josh, Harry and his wife are, with that insular, parochial attitude. Josh clearly wanted me to spend more time with them – why, I don’t know, since I was terrible company – but I wanted and needed to be alone.

I walked back to my car and drove down Third Avenue and the Bowery into Brooklyn Heights via the Manhattan Bridge. At a Chinese restaurant on Montague Street, I had steamed chicken and vegetables for lunch and then I sat outside Starbucks drinking iced herb tea.

Maybe I just wasn’t used to seeing so many people. Perhaps the empty open spaces of Wyoming had more of an effect on me than I’d realized. I felt as if I should have been enjoying New York City more.

Parked on Remsen Street, near the office where Shelley Wouk and I had our sessions over 25 years ago – we talked about that place when I spoke to her in California – a Haitian couple asked me if I could give their car a boost, and since they had cables, I got to feel like a good Samaritan very cheaply when I helped them start their car.

Traffic was horrendous once I got past the Kosciuszko Bridge onto the LIE, and I got off at Douglaston and took Northern Boulevard home. Paul took Hattie to Fire Island, and I’m here at the house with Jade. She’s having a barbecue for friends, and I’m supposed to be a “presence” here, according to Teresa. I guess I make a perfect wet blanket.

Speaking of wet blankets, Florida is really on fire. Today they had to evacuate everyone out of Flagler County as the immense fires raged.

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Saturday, July 4, 1998

4 PM. A quiet Fourth of July. Jade doesn’t think I’m here to spy on her for her father and Teresa. She had friends over till 3:30 AM, but I know that only because I awoke from neck pain during the night and I could hear them going out. This is definitely the same kind of neck pain I had in 1996, so I’m going to try to ignore it as much as possible, although I find it hard to get a comfortable position to sleep in.

After getting up at 7:30 AM, I had breakfast and exercised for thirty minutes. Yesterday Josh asked if I exercised, and he said the only exercise he got was walking to work. I need to do something aerobic in addition to my flexibility and strength exercises, but I really have problems with aerobic workouts and seem to prefer long walks.

My first outing today was at 10 AM to the downtown Glen Cove Starbucks, where I sipped that Red Zinger-type iced tea and read the main section of the Times and the advance Sunday edition of Newsday.

It was noon when I got back here, and I left messages with Pete Cherches (whom I suspect is out of the country) and with Justin and Larry (probably away for the weekend).

I called my parents and spoke to Dad before he went to work for four hours, and then to Mom. Marc had yesterday off and again went to Prescott for the weekend, though I can’t imagine he’ll fare any better at the flea market there, though he will get out of Phoenix’s 115° heat.

It’s very hot in Florida too, and the state north of Orlando continues to burn; fireworks are outlawed this year because of the fire hazard. I told Mom to send mail here, that I don’t know when or if I’ll be staying in Brooklyn.

With Teresa’s grandmother so ill, I suspect that her parents want to stay in Brooklyn when they visit her in the nursing home. I don’t know how long I’ll feel comfortable staying here in Locust Valley, so I may go back to Florida earlier than scheduled unless I find a reasonable sublet – but I have yet to look.

Teresa hasn’t mentioned anything, but I can’t keep imposing on her, Paul and Jade. I guess the sooner I go back to Florida, the sooner I get my own place there. At least I got to see Josh yesterday, and I will be seeing Alice tomorrow.

I read most of the afternoon, but I also cleaned the microwave and did the dishes and tried to tidy up the kitchen. Carpenter ants are coming into the kitchen from the deck, and Paul and Teresa have tried everything to get rid of them, without any success.

A little while ago, I went out for Diet Pepsi at Taco Bell, where I read the Long Island Voice as I watched the cars go by on Forest Avenue. Because of the fireworks traffic, I definitely want to stay off the highways today.

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Tuesday, July 7, 1998

9 PM. The weather continues to be pleasant, and although a rainy spell is coming, it’s still so much cooler than South Florida or Arizona (which is now humid due to the monsoon, according to Sat Darshan’s email).

I drifted in and out of half-sleep and radio listening until 7 AM, when I exercised to Body Electric. Then I had breakfast, showered and dressed.

Calling Florida Unemployment, I applied for two weeks of benefits, so a check should arrive at my parents’ by the weekend. I sent Mom a Times article on tourists in Brooklyn that mentioned the swanky new Marriott Hotel downtown, which I saw last Friday.

After getting the Times and iced tea at Starbucks, I read happily while sitting outside in the middle of downtown Glen Cove for an hour.

Back here, I got online and had email from Sat Darshan, Christy and Amy, who said she is thinking of going back to school but has to get a job for a while first.

Everyone’s been giving me their addresses, and I finally figured out how to get Ronna’s phone number: I’ll call her sister at 1-800-960-VIRX. I also emailed Mark and Gianni, and I answered two ads in the South Florida Digital City personals.

At first, Teresa told me to pick her up at the 1:30 PM ferry, but she called back later saying she’d wait till tomorrow to visit her grandmother and I should come at 5 PM. So I had the house to myself most of the day.

Justin phoned, but I ended up being annoying with our conversation because I felt he was so judgmental. Like Alice, he suggested that my getting the $5,000 Florida fellowship is a bad thing because it would keep me “in a rut” there.

I told Justin that I’d just spent four months all over the country and that I’d stayed in Fort Lauderdale only six months in the last seven years. Of course he doesn’t know the difference between Gainesville and South Florida.

And he was so New York-snobbish about Los Angeles, just like Alice: “It’s so vapid there.” What an asshole. I’m supposed to call him on Friday, but I won’t because I don’t think I want to see him.

Is it me who’s defensive? There’s something about some people in New York City who really can’t function anywhere else. (Alice, Josh, Justin, Elihu and Pete all have one thing in common: they don’t drive.)

Not everyone in New York is like that, of course, and I shouldn’t judge the city by a few people, but I think I prefer the prevailing attitude I sensed out West. Justin tells me I’m in a rut and “need to build something solid” in my life – as if I don’t have anything solid.

But at least I haven’t spent my whole adult life on President Street in Park Slope, working as a drudge at Brooklyn College and temporary jobs, living in that tchotchke-filled crappy little apartment.

Getting angry just raises my blood pressure. I noticed that my neck began to ache after I got off the phone with Justin, so it’s clear the problem there is tension.

Better for me to forget about friends like Justin (who said he hadn’t seen me in two ears, forgetting completely about last summer) and concentrate on people who make me feel good about myself.

One positive effect of the judgmental attitudes of Justin, Alice and Josh is that they made me appreciate my parents a lot more. Mom and Dad have never, ever criticized me for my life choices – not even with their glances or silent pauses – and I’ve failed to recognize how wonderful a quality that is in them.

Anyway, Justin said that he and Larry went to his parents for their fiftieth anniversary and then his grandmother died (Justin never liked her and vice versa, so he didn’t care) and then he went upstate for a reading of his Heart play. He’ll be back at Brooklyn College next year but isn’t sure about after that.

Hey, maybe Justin feels threatened by my moving around. Maybe he puts down L.A. because he’s such a New Yorker that can’t fit in there, let alone in Florida, Wyoming, or Phoenix. But I can, so he feels he has to put me down for that.

On my way to the ferry, I got a little lost trying to get to Northern Boulevard, going way out of my way and doubling back, but I got to Bay Shore just as Teresa’s boat came in. She and the dogs and her old-lady shopping cart got off, and we drove back here.

Teresa told me Paul felt I was snubbing him when I didn’t hang out with him and Jade – but I was trying to make myself inconspicuous. Tonight I had dinner with the family, and I enjoyed it. But I’m not sure how much to be a part of the family here.

Paul’s 50th birthday party is on Sunday – in the past few days he got his AARP card and a copy of Modern Maturity in the mail – and Teresa’s convinced it will be a surprise.

They’ll be in Fire Island on Saturday, so I’ll help Cat and Jade set up before Teresa gets here; she told Paul she has a party to cater. Thirty guests are coming, but mostly not Paul’s friends.

Igor phoned from his in-laws’ in Queens; I could hear his eight-month-old daughter crying in the background. He’ll be going back to Florida in August after failing to get a job here, and Violetta will return to optometry school. Igor will call on Thursday, so maybe we’ll get together, possibly with Kostelanetz.

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Wednesday, July 8, 1998

9 PM. I may be going home to Florida soon. Today, while I was at the nursing home, I phoned Mom, and she said I’d gotten a notice from Unemployment that I have to appear for a job search review.

I knew it would come, and I don’t want to give up benefits. My $550 check was mailed from Tallahassee today, and I hope eventually to get the $576 check sent to Libby and Grant in Woodland Hills.

I don’t want to try to do interstate benefits from here, but if I’m not going to stay in Brooklyn, I don’t want to stay here in Locust Valley for another four weeks.

Besides, my experiences seeing friends in the city have not been all that pleasant, and I’ve been traveling so much the past five months, maybe I need to settle down in Florida for the next year or so.

I’ve got to think about it for a while. I don’t know when I’m supposed to report, but I guess I can get to Unemployment in Florida by Monday, July 20, and still manage to get benefits for this week and next.

This morning was a typical Teresa morning: intending to get out early to do many errands, she ended up getting a zillion phone calls, and we didn’t get out of here till 11 AM. I don’t know how Teresa handles all the stuff she has to take care of; as I told her, she needs a secretary.

We had to go to several different banks to make deposits to her business and personal accounts and Paul’s, and we spent thirty minutes at Restaurant Depot, the warehouse store filled with mega-sizes of food and restaurant supplies, open only to businesses.

It was 1 PM when we got to the nursing home in Manhasset. Teresa’s grandmother wouldn’t eat much of everything, and to me, she looks like a 99-year-old woman who is tired of living.

She didn’t know who Teresa was. And when she said, “I want to go home,” she didn’t mean Conselyea Street but Sackett Street, where she grew up; she said her father was waiting for her there.

At the pay phones I left a message for Carolyn and one for Michael (only today did I get the message that Michael phoned on Monday) and then I spoke to Mom and became preoccupied with the prospect of leaving New York sooner than I’d expected.

From the nursing home, Teresa and I went to Macy’s, where I started getting antsy while she unsuccessfully looked for a gift. I felt better when she went to Bed, Bath and Beyond and I could get a great salad bar at Fresh Fields, the tony supermarket next door.

Home at 4 PM, I read the paper, listened to NPR, and sent out for a walk to clear my thoughts. Teresa had to take Ollie to the vet when she found a bleeding cyst on his check; it needs to be cut out in surgery, the vet said.

I had some veggies and ice milk while I was alone and later had spaghetti with Teresa, Paul and Jade.

It’s nice to be part of the family here, but if I do go back and stay with my parents and Jonathan, I’m going to try a lot better to fit in with them and be less judgmental.

After all, they’re moving to Arizona, so this will probably be the last time I spend with my family. And in Florida, I have my car and I can do stuff away from their house.

Carolyn phoned tonight and we chatted for a while. I really want to see her before I leave, and she said she’d call this weekend.

Too bad I didn’t know she was also in Manhasset this morning, at her mother’s house. She said I could stay in her guest room in Montclair if I visit.

Mark emailed this morning and gave me his number and his parents’ number in Brooklyn where he was spending the day, but I didn’t call him. I don’t think I’ll get to call Scott or Mikey. Basically, before I leave, I’d like to see Carolyn and Michael and Mark and maybe Igor and that’s it.

I won’t have the car this weekend, and of course Sunday is Paul’s party anyway. (I’m not sure Paul buys the story about Teresa catering a christening for a couple around the corner.)

Anyway, I’ll probably end up being here over two weeks, about the time I spent in Phoenix and twice the time I spent in Los Angeles.

Maybe I can come back to New York sometime this fall for a weekend with one of those American Airlines cheap fares I get in my AOL mailbox on Wednesdays.

Well, I’ll come to the city itself another time.

I guess it sounds as if I’ve decided that I’m leaving New York Soon. Teresa wants me to stay longer, but I feel as if I’m imposing on Paul and Jade. Two to three weeks is enough for a house guest.

I did start to adjust being with my family by the time I left Florida. I need to make amends with them.

One good thing that Alice did when I saw her was to help me see that I can’t keep feeling so angry towards Mom and Dad. Well, I seem to be appreciating them a little more each day now.

Today was a rainy, cool day; I wore a jacket for the first time since Billings on June 1.