GOOD MONEY

While the people I deal with at Trinity Church (the "clients") are essentially the homeless, working poor, or sponging-off-the-system poor, it's not a given that they're criminals and/or ex-cons as well. But considering that the USA has 5% of the world's population but 25% of its incarcerated population, ya gotta figure there will have to be some jailbirds thrown into the mix.

FLYING SOLO

I don't just live alone (and have for a very long time). I do a lot of things by myself that most other people don't. For example, I almost always go on bicycle excursions and hikes without a companion. Mind you, I'm not self-conscious about this. It's just that I like to do everything off peak. And that means that most of the few people who might be receptive to joining up with me aren't available. So just by chance, I actually pursued two of these activities with a partner recently and found that the results left a little to be desired.

THE SECOND COMING OF HARVEY WEINSTEIN (AND DONALD TRUMP)

The comments on Yahoo News were too funny. "There will be some hard evidence in this case." The evidence will be piled 9" high." "His female lawyer promises to get him off." If you haven't heard, the Me Too Movement is about to take down another masher. This one is Ronald Jeremy Hyatt, known to the world as Ron Jeremy, a guy voted #1 porn star of all time by Adult Video News, which as the title implies, just might be an authority on these hard news (couldn't resist) matters.

JUST SAY NO TO BMO HARRIS

OMG! If there was ever a bank you don't want to go near, BMO Harris wins the gold medal. What a total rat fuck. I am so relieved today to know that my money is back at HSBC.

As I'm sure I've mentioned earlier, I am in the stock market - a fact of life which does not make me comfortable. It wasn't really my idea. Once my portion of the seized money came back from the IRS, I vowed to put it all in 5 year CD's at banks. That would earn me more than I live on without eating into the principal. 

FUCKING INMATES

"Fucking" the verb - not the adjective. And I mean literally fucking - as in having sex with an inmate. 

I live in an apartment building which features an elevator, laundry in the basement, and 40 studio units. Considered temporary housing (by yours truly) when I first rented the place after coming off a year on the road with a no-name band, I somehow find myself living in the same 225 square feet 46 years later!

THE $64 QUESTION

With several recent documentaries on the subject of Jeffrey Epstein, I find myself once again answering a barrage of questions about the inmate with whom I spent several hours while working the suicide watch during the year I was imprisoned at MCC federal prison. And I'm reminded of an observation I made about Jeffrey Epstein while serving my yearlong sentence at the facility.

ACAPULCO GOLD

No, not the stuff you smoke. I'm talking about the Mexican guys who worked the dishwashing machine at MCC federal prison. I don't know exactly why (though I have my suspicions) our south of the border brothers drew the short straw for long duty in a hot kitchen's hottest area. I wasn't one of the dishwashers. But because I'm semi-fluent in Spanish, liked the dishwashers better than the other guys, and wanted access to the officers' mess food leftovers (which the dishwashers commandeered), I joined in and helped with the dishwashing duties.

RETURN TO SENDER/VEHEMENT DISCLAIMER

Yesterday's snail mail included a piece of correspondence from the IRS. Of all the people or governmental agencies I don't want to hear form, I think the IRS would top the list. The last time I heard from them, they sent me a bill for $40k I didn't owe. The time before it was a bill for $700k I didn't owe. And once upon a time, they saved the postage and dispatched two agents to my door! You get the idea. 

SIDE BENEFITS OF FULL TIME EMPLOYMENT (What a Girl Wants)

Besides the obvious stuff which I won't bother to mention, two characteristics by which women judge a man are a) his footwear...and b) the contents of his refrigerator. I'll give you a perfect example of the former: 

BITTER SWEET IRONY/MIRACLE OF MIRACLES

Curious as to why Trinity Church suddenly obtained enough funding to hire two new full time employees, I inquired therein to discover that almost the entire soup kitchen and pantry program is a government-funded operation and moreover, the money I'm being paid comes from a special Covid era federal grant.

So let me get this straight: The "people" take 2/3 of my life savings and then after I've volunteered thousands of hours of my time to feed the poor and homeless, it rewards me with a $20/hour job? Doesn't strike me as a huge concession. 

WHAT LOCKDOWN?

If there's a pandemic gripping the world's collective consciousness, you certainly wouldn't have known it by the number of people out and about on the East River promenade yesterday. Try keeping New Yorkers cooped up on a gorgeous and warm Saturday. Not happenin'.

4' x 6' LOCKDOWN

Now that I have a job which requires I rise at 7 AM, I'm up and at 'em bright and early nowadays whether it's a work day or not. So this morning, I decided it would be laundry day. I don't even want to tell you how long it's been. Notwithstanding my owning tons of underwear, t-shirts and socks, it was getting ridiculous.

So anyway...I gathered all my dirty clothes, dragged the whole load into the elevator, and descended to the basement. But a funny thing happened en route. The elevator quit at the second floor! Just fucking stopped! First, I pressed every button on the panel. Nothing. 

STANDING AT THE CROSSROADS

My irreverent old man used to muse about how fortunate hookers were in that they could sell it...and sell it...and sell it...and still have it. Of course, the same could be said of barbers, manicurists, advisers and really, anybody else in a service industry. 

I recall the moment he made that ridiculous statement today because yesterday I had something of value that two buyers wanted. And I had to choose which to sell it to. I hate how freelance writing works. 

BAG NASTIES/PHONEING WITH CINDY/LOCKDOWN JAM

I'm always looking for a silver lining in a storm cloud. Ya know...like monetizing my stay in prison by writing and doing numerous interviews about Jeffrey Epstein? And I've found one in the covid pandemic.

Back in my lockdown days (I'm talkin' real lockdown - not this bull shit everybody's so freaked out about), prisoners were stuck in a 60 square foot cell (with a bunky) and fed what the officers used to call "bag nasties" (because they came in a bag for one thing. And they were nasty for another).

PAINLESS POTTER

Among the voluminous advice columns to be found on the internet concerning what to take care of before surrendering to prison, almost all advised that a soon-to-be-incarcerated defendant see the dentist before entering lockup. By all accounts, prison dentistry is a nightmare best avoided if possible. I took this sage advice and had my teeth taken care of before my in date. 

THE PRISON ECONOMY

"Wow! Look at that," I explode to Officer Richardson. "Money! I almost forgot what it looks like." Officer Richardson was taking $5 out of his pocket as we rode the elevator to the basement kitchen where he would be buying a special meal prepared by one of the officers who runs the area. Her cuisine was known to be so superior that officers ponied up for the treat.

By now you've probably guessed that legal tender was not something an inmate saw often (or ever) in prison. And there's a good reason for that. There is no money in prison. But that doesn't mean there wasn't a robust throwback economy which operated more or less like an intricate barter system.

A LITTLE MUSIC BUSINESS FAMILY HISTORY

With the quarantine still a harsh reality, I spend my spare time doing all sorts of things I might not normally do to keep my mind occupied. Like just yesterday, I decided to Google my father's images. The old man produced and or arranged on 17 gold and platinum records and worked with not just pop stars the likes of Louis Armstrong, Andy Williams, Barbra Streisand, Met Torme, Robert Goulet, Patti Page, Marty Robbins, Aretha Franklin et al...but pimple rockers (at least at the time) Frankie Avalon, Bobbie Rydell, Bobby Vinton, Dion, and many more. The point is there were literally hundreds of image references to peruse.

LUCK OF THE DRAW

I'm not in the habit of re-reading my old Quora answers. In fact, I almost never do. But this morning, I clicked to answer  a question and found an answer I'd already written at the top. With nothing much else to do, I checked out my response and was somewhat amazed at how good it was. (I often don't like posts I've written after stepping away for a while and then reading them as if somebody else wrote them.) The question was "How are cells assigned in prison? How can you change cellmates?" Obviously, a good question deserving of a well thought-out answer.

WARDENS WARDENS EVERYWHERE - AS FAR AS THE EYE CAN SEE

Being named warden of the infamous MCC federal prison in downtown Manhattan is not an appointment synonymous with job security. And probably not one that anybody would want to keep in the first place. It's a circus with way too many untamed animals and clowns who aren't funny.

To non ex-cons, it may come as a surprise to discover that we inmates actually had the privilege of meeting up and talking with our main captors, generally on mainline day when the heads of each department would briefly convene in the unit's central area for the purpose of allowing inmates to air their grievances. Presumably, that concession would effectively operate as a safety valve for prisoner tension.

EXPRESS YOURSELF

One of my wannabe book's less interesting chapters:

Orientation class for soon-to-be-surrendering defendants given by the Eastern District was a bad joke. While I’d done my research and figured I knew what I was in for, what harm could there be in attending the class? It turned out to be almost a total waste of time. Mostly, what we got was a boatload of misinformation.

The officer teaching the class was coincidentally my favorite pre trial officer. But he couldn’t answer any of my numerous questions. And worse, he claimed that there would be computers for word processing, and musical instruments to play. With the former, he was just dead wrong. And the latter? It took me fully 7 months to get near a guitar.