To read Henry Miller while being a suburban wunderkind perched on a suburban back porch, drinking coffee, eating cake, ah to be a bohemian. Memories of Paris. Being stupid again.
Finally, yesterday, after four months, they got back to me about my license renewal (school actually started in September...) only to inform me that they had lost the documents I sent them.
Apparently, the teacher who I filled in for for a semester at Tottenville High School shot her husband in his sleep. This, kids, is why its bad to be a teacher or a policeman (he was) in NYC. It drives you insane. I never her met her except in a sex dream in which I reluctantly made love to her obese self in a restored Federalist wooden boat.
Speaking of those boat things, I now work on the Scotia Sea
, out of Philadelphia. It is probably the easiest job in the world. I work a week on (living on the boat) and a week off. My principle challenge is not watching too many bad DVDs, as we do an average of two to three hours work per day (whilst I am still getting paid for twelve hours). Mostly we bring oil and ship's stores out to foreign freighters. Sometimes we take their crews ashore. The company is an odd place because they were bought by the largest marine transportation company in the country and soon after that all the rivals of this larger company stopped doing business with its (now) subsidiary. On the bright side, I will eventually transfer to New York Harbor (ancestral homeland, higher pay, busier), and/or Alaska or Seattle.
I had originally worked in New York for the same company my great-grandfather and grandfather worked for, Great Lakes Dredge and Dock. It was dirty and I was constantly being woken up off-shift to go out on deck and be dirty. I made hella money because of over-time but the chief delight was the other deckhand, who I worked closely with. He had two cell phones. One for his personal use, and one for the police
! He told me some great stories about going to jail-yes, child-rapists, even if they are 6'6" Hells Angels will be made to cry, have their clothes burned, etc, if they go to prison, marriage-he once burned all his wifes clothes in his fireplace which caused a ten foot high flame to shoot out the top and required the fire department to fill his living room with water, ash, and half-burn clothing, and how to treat "foreigners"-he had endless stories about his relationship with Slobodan Peepovitch, a dumb Croatian who he apparently convinced the Washington Monument was known as "Genocide Park," and was a tribute to John Wayne. The captain was also a sweet guy from Port Richmond with the heaviest New York accent I've ever heard not from a guido. He would wake up everyday and growl about his coffee and ask me questions about teaching and then growl some more in commisseration. Somehow, he knew my great-grandfather and said he was "a nice guy." He remembered the boat he had worked on.
Just so you know that Staten Island is not composed solely of guidos. This here is people I know acting like people I know.