Is that a sausage in your pocket?

I had planned to go over to Lynne's on Saturday so she could help me with my taxes, for I am a moron, and she's one of those smart Asian types. Well, smart enough to pick up Taxes for Dummies, but that's two steps ahead of me, dammit.

But on Friday, I managed to score some comp tickets to Jazz at Lincoln Center. I made a quick call to Lynne to see if she'd join me. Even though she's bored by jazz, she agreed, and we rearranged our schedule.

I met her, Naomi, and their friend Kemp at Ollie's noodle shop at 5 PM. The four of us waited for a table to clear up, and were eventually served. The food was pretty good; I had a "sizzling" tofu platter with veggies in a mildly spicy garlic sauce, with brown rice.

Kemp, the gentleman that he is, paid for the whole meal. Free food: SCORE!

At seven, we parted ways. Lynne and I walked down Broadway towards our destination. She became concerned that she wasn't dressed appropriately: a Tootsie-Pop t-shirt that read "How many licks does it take?" - get your minds out of the gutter; there isn't room for you when I'm there already - a pair of jeans, and a leather jacket. I didn't think she had anything to worry about, but we got there in the midst of a reception, and just about everyone else was in elegant attire. I didn't expect that; the last time I was there, it was really a sweater & jeans affair. But we did see some people in jeans & athletic-style jackets.

The concert was celebrating the City of Brotherly Love, so Philadelphian musicians took the stage. I recognized guitarist Pat Martino, and all the others had served with the jazz greats, like Miles & Coltrane. I enjoyed most of the show, except for vocalist T.C. III. I rarely like jazz singers anyway, so it's no big deal, but he ruined Miles Davis' "Freddie Freeloader" (from the Kind of Blue album. Which kind of blue? Ugh). I can't listen to that song anymore without the deep baritone violating my mind's ear.

Just about every song was performed rather democratically; each musician played a solo in each song. Pat Martino's quirky spasms & thrusts during his blazing solos took me out of the music for a bit, but that's the only other complaint I had. Trumpeter Duane Eubanks stole the show for me. He led one song that just melted me.

Lynne had a different experience. It nearly put her to sleep.

The show let out just after ten. We ran into a Starschmucks at got a cookie to satisfy our chocolate cravings. Then we headed across town to Beau's apartment to pick up some electronics he no longer needed. As we walked along Central Park South, we passed some horse-drawn carriages. The odor reminded me of the farm across the highway from my home in Bumblefuck.

We waited & waited & waited for a train. Lynne went all the way home to Bay Ridge, and I stopped at my old home in Prospect Heights at 1 AM to pick up a W2 form that was sent there instead of Astoria. I guess my old company never got my address when I moved.

On my way back to the Atlantic Avenue/Pacific Street station, this tall, lanky fellow with dark curly hair was walking towards me. I thought, "wow, is that Justin (a former roommate)?" As he got closer, he started talking to me. I pulled out my ear phones, and asked him to repeat himself.

"Do you have a cell phone?"

Naturally, I did. And anyone who knows me well enough already has a clue where this is going.

"Oh thank God, you have saved my life! I would no doubt have died in Brooklyn tonight!" and other grateful phrases poured out. Vern was in town from Boston, a little drunk, a little scared, and very lost. His cell phone battery had died, and was struggling to remember his ex-girlfriends' phone number. Joan lived in the area, but wasn't sure where. I recommended that we walk towards the police station while he tried to remember phone numbers. Vern asked me what I did for a living. I mentioned that I really wanted to get into comics, and he blurted, "Neil Gaiman is GOD!"

You have won my trust, good sir. I handed him my card shortly afterwards.

We hit the gas station when he remembered his roommate's number, who knew someone who knew Joan's number. A few roundabout calls later, I was jotting down instructions as he parroted them from his friend. I asked the gas station attendant for directions, and he was almost clueless. He suggested that we ask one of the cab drivers.

He knew where to go, but I didn't, and I was going to make sure Vern got to where he was going. I opened my wallet, handed him $20, and put Vern in the cab. I called Joan to let her know that he was on his way. I started crossing the street when Vern's head popped out of the cab's window. "Thanks dude! You saved my life!"

I shouted "You're welcome" as I popped my ear phones back in and headed back to Lynne's house via subway.

"This stuff always happens to me," I thought as Lyman's Tasteycakes rang in my ears.

I got to Lynne's around 2:30 AM, hopped online to check emails, and shortly went to living room futon. Because I'm still wired to fall asleep at 4 or 5 AM, I had a little trouble, so I listened to a go-to-sleep hypnosis thing on my mp3 player and eventually passed out.

I drifted out, in, and back out of sleep between noon and 1:30. Lynne shared her lunch with me. A breakfast for slackers: pizza, soda, & some grapes. We spent the next three hours going over all my tax forms, itemizing any deductions I can easily prove just in case I get audited, and double checking all the numbers.

I'm pretty lucky in that I don't have to pay nearly as much as I thought I did. Between federal & state, I'm only out $485. The rest of the money I got back from a certain party can go to my credit card, which paid for the gym membership - which I've been too busy to take advantage of. After the whole roommate drama thing, we had a few jobs needing overtime, and the jerk-off sales rep finally left. My sleep schedule has been thrown way the fuck off, and it's just getting back to normal. I haven't even toured the place yet. I don't know where the locker room is. I don't know where the classes are held.

At least I'm not actually paying for the month I haven't used, but that's little consolation (14 months for the price of 12).

After the tax debacle, I headed back to Prospect Heights and talked to Jan for an hour and a half. I played with the cats a little, ate some cool cheese that had bits of strawberry in it with some crackers, and we just got caught up. Jan's trying to sell the house, but no one wants a single family house. Buyers all want duplexes, so they can rent out half of it and make money. She's not sure what's going to happen.

I left Brooklyn at 8, and got to Astoria at 9, and waltzed into Key Food. There's a company called "Gimme Lean" that makes a lot of vegetarian meat substitutes. Their "sausage" is really well-seasoned bean paste, perfectly imitating breakfast pork patties. Two of these last me just over a week for breakfast, with eggs & orange juice.

I walked the ten blocks to my home-sweet-home, relaxed for a few minutes, changed my clothes, and put away the groceries.

But the two "sausage" rolls were missing. There was a big hole in the bag, but the eggs were still there.

Shit, that's $10 gone.

I quickly changed my clothes again, put on my barely-used gym shoes and ran out to re-trace my steps. I'd be lucky to find just one of them.

And lucky I was. I found the one on the sidewalk, three blocks from home, and put it in my coat pocket. I continued back to the store, but unfortunately the other is lost for good. Since 1>0, I felt better. Back up the stairs, tossed the food in the fridge, and unwound. Chatted with Alex a bit, answered a couple of Myspace emails, paid a bill, took a shower, and wrote this babble-fest that has probably bored you all to tears.

I really need to go to bed.