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NauenThen

Financial Tool II

Here's a picture with money. Alas, their $20s.
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Baltimore II

Classic strip mall bowling alley in Wilmington, enroute to Maryland.
I didn't remember Baltimore much, as expected, except for those great skinny but roomy row houses. Not a walking city & anyway, there was icy rain whenever we had the chance to get out & about, so we didn't do much beyond the bat mitzvah that was the reason for the trip (it sufficed!). Johnny ate crab, & I talked him out of trying octopus: fun-loving sentient creatures!  Read More 
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Baltimore

We're headed there for a bat mitzvah. My old stomping grounds, sort of. When I lived in Severn, we really only went into Bawlmer for stereo components. Annapolis & D.C. were the cities, also Silver Springs for their excellent health food store. Not surprisingly, given that I easily get lost in the neighborhood where  Read More 
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From the Vault: XII

I know this isn't as hilarious as it always seemed to me. Its confident inaccuracy is simply not as funny as it was in 1980. Also, none of the references are in people's minds anymore.

Tongsun Park

Republican Convention: 1972:
in Tongsun Park the
young are voting with their bodies
against Nixon. Blood
flows in the streets just
like the lies that flow from
Nixon’s mouth. Mayor
Daley’s Miami pigs
stick out their piglet tongues
and catch some rays
which are radioactive even
tho nobody cares about that
yet.

Maria Mancini
6/80 Read More 
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From the Vault: XI (someone else's vault, actually)

I found a score of poems clipped together but not identified. It's a Jersey poet—or at least they are largely set in NJ—& there's this one in there for me. Ed Smith? More likely Joel Lewis.

I always think I remember everything until I find evidence of how little is in here. Good thing I write so much down. That way I can go back & see exactly how much I've lost. Read More 
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From the Vault: High finance, 1977

I'm not sure what was so confusing to me in this stab at organizing my money situation. I had never really paid a regular rent before. Apparently dividing a monthly expense into a weekly was beyond me. It's still hard to follow.

In case the graphic is too small or dim:

IN
as of Feb 5 $193
savings $90
cash on hand $40

OUT
owe $230
rent $115/mo
phone $30/ 1st mo then $15/mo
Con-Ed $20

so if I save $40/week I'll be able to pay all my bills — is this correct?? I hope so. I don't know how to figure it out.  Read More 
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16°

Too cold to work in my office... paint fumes give me a headache at home... too lazy to get dressed... starting my yearly feud with Rite Aid, the unneighborly store that refuses to shovel (the 5th Street sidewalk) & are eye-rollingly rude about it... I keep finding bits of old writing, letters, poems, all in my handwriting that is both completely familiar & achingly ancient...

I got this far then jumped up! got dressed! went to the store! came to my office!

Onward!

Got hold of a senior Rite Aid person & supposedly it'll be taken care of now... The threat of calling an executive vice president doesn't seem to loom as large as it did a few years back, when everyone snapped into action after I did.  Read More 
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Memory fail

I remember coming back from my father's funeral to an excited phone call from a friend: "Did you see The Nation this week? You're singled out in a review."

My memory is twofold: sad that by the time I was able to turn my attention away from my dad & to this nice news, it was anticlimactic; and that it was in a review of Andrei Codrescu's anthology Up Late.

The former still holds although it's the faintest breeze of a feeling 30 years later.

The latter was plain incorrect. The review was of zines & I was mentioned for something I published in Baseball Diary. How long have I had that wrong? I wonder. Was there a later Stuart Klawans review of Up Late where he did mention me? Maybe I'll find it as I continue to browse through the infinity of folders in my office. Read More 
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My (bad word) landlord

OK, it's not in the same realm as cutting off the heat but it's so ugly it's making me nauseated (that's also because he is using oil-based paint). I see the ugly bullying power play: "I can get away with it, it makes no difference to me, but if I can bother someone else, I'll do it." He's a mean, mean man. He doesn't grasp that I live here, that I have moral equity in this building. This is my home. It's just money to him.  Read More 
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My door

John Schlesinger painted this in 1983. The last bright spot in the building.

Now brown like everything else.

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