1 hour 31 minutes and 55 seconds


Talked on the phone with a longtime friend, John, for 1 hour 31 minutes and 55 seconds about writing, the decline of New York City, (the decline of) sexy girls, and No Wave.

We've been pals for about 18 years:

Jared and I were on the NJ Transit train from New York to New Jersey - probably on our way home from a punk show. On some weekend nights on NJ Transit between New York and New Brunswick, a handful of friends might be slumped on the brown, vinyl seats after a trip to galleries or a show. On this evening, I saw a couple art school friends and went over to talk to them. 

Jared and John sat in seats across the aisle. They already knew each other. They met years before while Jared was employed at Micawber's Books (defunct, read the NYT article here) in Princeton. Jared's Sun Ra Arkestra t-shirt started a conversation between them.

When I returned to sit with Jared, John cracked off color jokes for the rest of the ride. John and I crack off color jokes now.

Like tonight, he ribbed me about my punk rock days when I had fishnet stockings, as though those days are no more. "I recently replaced my fishnets!" I tell him, and it's true. Jeez, man, not dead yet!

We laugh about older men and younger women. We've both been there, and agree that there are good reasons for this being so.

I ask about how he heard about No Wave, and he describes a flyer for a Mars show at Max's Kansas City, a friend who listened to Glenn Branca...

I think we each made moves to say goodbye a couple times, but the conversations with John are always good ones.