August 29, 1999
10:11 p.m.

i think it was Joyce Carol Oates who said that. more or less.

i did not bring a map today, which is partly why i got lost looking for the burial place of Scott Joplin. i thought i was familiar enough with the area that i would not need a map, but evidently i was wrong, or else the map i looked at before leaving this morning was not made to scale. it was an MTA bus map.

i got tired of walking and ended up on a bus from LaGuardia Airport through Queens and all the way through Harlem/125th Street to where i finally got off the bus at 116th Street/Columbia University.

i guess i've been through Harlem more often than i remember, because it was pretty familiar. there was a long line to get into the Apollo, but i couldn't tell what the show was; The Daily News claims the Apollo is almost broke, and that these days they only have 1 or 2 acts there a week.

people dress really well in harlem. well, i guess a certain quantity of people dress well in any neighborhood. but for some reason i like how the sharp-dressers carry themselves in that neighborhood. nice hats and neckties.

i think Tom Wolfe is the last of the well-dressed Upper East Side people, and i can't stand his get-up.

from 116th Street i took the 1 train to 72nd Street, where i habitually waded through the piano CDs at HMV. then i walked down to 66th Street and habitually waded through the piano CDs at Tower.

occasionally when i go to that HMV on 72nd Street i talk to a friend there named Frank. he is the only person i know of who worked at Tower Records on 66th street while i worked there in 1991 and who is still working at a record store. i always like to see him there because he is the only person i ever worked with at Tower who was happy to be doing that kind of work.

for whatever reason i have been thinking a lot lately about those days working at Tower, and trying to remember what it was like. i did not expect Frank to be any help, but i mentioned it to him anyway. Frank was and still is a fall-down drunk. i don't hold that against him, but it makes it pointless to reminisce: "Hey, you remember that time you came over and got so drunk you couldn't form a complete sentence?" well, of course he can't remember it.

while i was at HMV today a customer started calling Frank "A Great Big Asshole," and that customer did this so loudly i think he could be heard outside.

Frank's Tower Records heritage speaks for itself at times like that; i don't know if it's common or not, but i seem to remember a lot of frustrated customers at Tower calling sales clerks and managers all kinds of rotten things, and Frank brings this skill with him to his new job at HMV.

anyway, i spent most of this day the way i spend most of my Sundays, and most of all my days. wandering aimlessly not knowing where i am going or what i will do if i get there. i try to make plans for where i will take the next bus or subway, but i always forget, or end up doing what i did last time. if i'm not literally wandering from point to point then i am wandering in my mind, not doing anything and not knowing what to do but sometimes hooking on to an obsessive-compulsive drive and doing something to death.

this is how i end up at the Strand Bookstore every Saturday flipping through the classical music bin. it's been a long time since there was anything there worth buying, but yesterday i got a copy of Liszt's "Variations on the theme B-A-C-H" for $3. I've always thought that was a pretty stupid idea for a piece of music (writing a whole big piece based on the notes which spell Bach's name), but it was Durand Edition and at that price who cares what it is.

and this is how i end up at Circuit City on 14th Street, then at the Virgin Megastore next door; the the Strand, then Tower Records on 4th Street, and sometimes that smaller bookstore around the corner from the Strand. i think that other store is on 4th Ave. then i take the N/R up to 57th, or sometimes to 49th if i'm going to stop at the office for some reason. hours pass in which i walk and walk thinking i could go for another cup of coffee, but the lines are always too long or else i don't find a good coffee place until it's too late for me to consume caffeine.

aside from the 2-3 hours i practice each saturday and sunday morning, my days have evolved into a routine that is not very meaningful or productive. there is no one really to talk to most of the time, and i sleep far too long and late.