The World Needs A Stronger Blog...

It all happened on the Queens bound D. She was searching for a minimally invasive emotional relationship and he had Jerry Orbach's eyes. Literally. Jerry was an eye donor when he died and as a result saved two people from blindness. This guy was one of them. The other, well the other doesn't matter to this story. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let's start from the very, very beginning.

I guess it all started in Maui. Used to spend the weekends there. Right off La Perouse Bay. And I really got into it. I even had a giant mural of Queen Liliuokalani hanging over my California King. I'd had a late night with some friends and my head was throbbing like a digital clock yet to be set blinks 12:00. I was up until the sun rose talking over macadamia nuts, papaya and a whole case of Taittinger rose champagne and now I had the headache to match. Now my better half was up making coffee and I was trying to make out what record she was blasting in the living room. I was on the second floor and it was muffled but it sounded like Motown and the coffee smelled like home, like Brooklyn. Temptations maybe? I could only really make out the bass and the drums from upstairs. Martha and the Vandellas perhaps? I knew it was something classic. Something iconic. I heard that famous Holland-Dozier-Holland rhythm. Gladys Knight? The Marvelettes?! A-ha! It was The Supremes, "My World Is Empty Without You"! Of course! We both loved this tune. I'd even gone fishing once with a few of the remaining The Funk Brothers up in Woodstock. I knew if baby was playing this song it meant I had to get out of bed and go downstairs to be with her. She had gone to sleep long before I did the night before. I stayed up late smoking R & J Hill's with the locals. She probably wanted to know what had happened to the case of Taittinger.

Back home I'd instructed our cleaning lady, Vienna, to line the birdcages with whatever newspapers came over the weekend; Financial Times, The Journal, The Times, The Observer, whatever. I liked the idea of our two budgies shitting on the Financial Times while we were in Maui. It just felt right. Vienna was good. She had the keys to everything and her own debit card linked to my account in case of emergencies. We trusted Vienna with our world. So when the phone rang in Maui I knew it was bad. "Honey", she said in that sugary voice, "Vienna is on the phone. She sounds confused". I didn't even know we had a phone in the Maui house. I'd never heard it ring. We had two red Dobermann's as doorbells and that’s all we really needed.

"Hello, Vienna. What's up?", I didn't give her the Hollywood "this had better be good", because I knew it was. Vienna would never call otherwise.

And that's when it all came crashing.