Sing with me

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Woke at 4AM to inebriated neighbor lamenting loudly on her rented deck that she doesn’t know “how he expects [her] to pay for it!” and kindly asked her—kindly but sharply—to keep her voice down. LB 2.0 asked much more kindly than the older model might have, and it worked, but the damage was done.

I saw a sticker the other night that said, “Make Montauk Less Great Again,” by which they mean bring us back to the days when it was a rustic, salty fishing and surfing town whose character couldn’t be compromised by the influx of people who come to admire its beauty every summer. I’ve been coming here for a couple of decades and though technically “part of the problem,” I, too, remember fondly the days before it became what it is today. I never came here for “the scene.” Then again, I’ve never really gone anywhere for “the scene” except maybe Café Tabac in the early-mid ’90s, and even then I was a spectator on the periphery. And what a periphery it was.

I digress. I huffed back into the room and declared that I’d be unable to fall back asleep to which B mumbled, “Count something.” I got to 5 and decided to switch to letters, which are much more my thing.

When I’m lying in bed in a state of insomnia and trying not to let my mind wander too far I play alphabet games, things like, “People in my life, excluding family and partner: Ana, Brian, Claudia, Delene, Erika, Francesca—does it count if I only see her once a year?—Gary, Hannah …” and so on. Or I’ll do “Things that have been part of my life in the past year: Asanas, Bottino, Cinema, Dogs, Exercise, French, Gingold Group, Hawaii (see: possible plans to visit) …” like that. Or I’ll do exercises like, “Alan Alda, Bryan Batt, Carol Channing … and then get to Don Draper/Dirk Diggler and my thoughts will become consumed with figuring out the rules of the game and I’ll have to change course.

In any event, I finally fell back asleep and in so doing got lost on my way to an Aretha Franklin tribute and wound up spending a confusing but manageable weekend at a retreat on the newly renovated grounds of the house where I grew up. Then Amy Schumer and I tried to pull a fast one on an alleged guru she’d met at my grandpa’s funeral in 1992.

Sorry, Other-Peoples’-Dreams detractors, I came in through the out door with that one.

For the first time maybe ever I find myself comparing the merits of frequent shorter posts to occasional longer ones. In all likelihood this won’t be an issue once I’m back from vacation. If you care to opine, you are welcome to.

Thank you, neighbor, for honoring my request. Thank you, coffee, for being strong.

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