From Boardwalk-To-Boardwalk, Part VII

Continuing my account of my second day of filming on "Boardwalk Empire": 


I walked over the threshold and into another world. It was a bar, circa nineteen twenty. It was dark, with lighting rigs positioned outside the windows to control the light levels. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dimness. Once I got my bearings, I could see to my left against the wall was a smaller bar with three or four stools up against it, to my right was a longer bar nearly the length of the room. Behind it was an ornately carved area for the liquor bottle shelves with mirrors between each section. The wood went up to the ceiling. Along the back wall was a three-quarter height wooden partition, with a miniature bannister running along the top, that ran the length of the room sectioning it off from the back offices and bathroom area. In the middle of the space were tables and chairs, with taller round tables along the left side wall and and the far end of the room, where the principal actors would perform most of the beginning of the scene. Strewn about were the lighting rigs and other filming equipment with the crew adjusting things everywhere at once. I was given the larger bar to run and I found my way in and made myself comfortable. At least this time, I had a better handle on what I was doing, I have spent most of my adult life behind a bar. The director was busy doling out the mini-roles to the rest of the background cast and positioning them around the room and I made myself busy looking around and watching the action. I realized that behind the bar, amid the cables and boxes stored there from the film crew, were working sinks and beer refrigerators, drawers and cabinets full of items and modern-day bar equipment. This was an actual working bar the production rented out and redressed for the series.  Although everything above the bar that could be seen on camera was period era, below it was all modern. There were only four sorts of glasses stacked behind me along the wall, rocks glasses, high-ball glasses, small Martini glasses and brandy snifters. All were very plain. The liquor bottles were lining the bar against the wall and they all had vintage labels, almost all of them were whiskey of some sort with an occasional gin bottle here and there. There were two prop guys behind the bar with me, furiously running by me back and forth getting everything ready for filming. There were vintage lamps on the bar at each end with dainty lampshades adding to the atmosphere. 
I noticed in one of the sinks there was an alchemist's collection of jugs and funnels and droppers and vials. It was the one prop guy's tools for making our "drinks". He had pre-set a few of them, gallon water jugs containing spring water coloured with brown food dye. Precisely fourteen drops in each to make it look like scotch. He finally seemed to notice me and instructed me on which bottle to use, a few of them were considered the "hero" bottles, they had better labels and were in pristine condition, and he wanted me to make sure I give the "hero" glasses (slightly larger and in perfect condition) to the principal actors. The rest were for the background actors chosen to receive drinks during the scene. I waited for the director to finally come over and give me my instructions, I was to slide over three drinks to one of the principals then go down the line, giving out Martinis (clear spring water with an olive on a large wooden stir-stick) and Manhattans (the fake scotch with a little ginger ale) and the regular whiskey drinks to various "patrons" at the bars. Each action was to be done at a particular time during the scene so I had to keep aware of what was going on during the scene to hit my marks at the right times. 
There were stand-ins taking the principal actor's places during some quick rehearsals and then, before I knew it, they called for play-back (the recording of music from the era), the principal actors were on set and we began filming the scene! 


Michael Shannon plays Agent Nelson Van Alden on the show. He was in this scene and I was very surprised when he walked on set. He is extremely tall, much taller than I am and I'm six foot one inch tall. He's very imposing physically and emotionally. He seems to remain in character and I didn't see him chatting with the background actors like I saw Jack Huston (Richard Harrow, the masked sharpshooter) do when we filmed the carnival scene. I watched him from the safety of my bar and was impressed at the presence he made in the room. Very intense. Very focussed.  


Believe me, I was doubly glad I was behind the bar because they had packed the place with extras doing all sorts of things. People coming in the door (which had a little peek-a-boo door in the middle for the password to get in), coming up for drinks, dancing, sitting at the tables, milling about, it was just like the Studio Six used to be on a Saturday night (minus the drugs and drag queens and the drug using drag queens).  I got into a rhythm behind the bar and redid the scene over and over every time they called for a re-set. The fake smoke combined with the real cigarettes, non-filtered since they didn't become popular until the nineteen fifties, made me think of the days before they banned smoking and I was glad that I didn't have to work in that environment on a daily basis any longer. 
We did the scene over and over to make sure it was right and then took a short break while they re-set the camera angles. 


Once back, we continued to shoot the scene over and over. The prop guys had to refill my bottles a few times and I went through a lot of glasses, the more I was there, the more I felt like I was working at Studio Six again (although I would have had half a bottle of Ketel One by now!). After another short break, they re-set the camera for an overhead shot. By now in the scene, we were getting raided by the prohibition agents, who come busting through the door and rough everyone up. They gave each of us our different reactions and we rehearsed the scene a few times. Then they brought in the prop department who made the door jamb breakaway so it had more impact when the agents bust in. Surprisingly, it only took a few minutes and we were back to filming. Stunt guys were brought in and we continued the scene, once again the word "reset" was used over and over, back to the first mark, do the actions and then all over again. We finally broke for dinner so we could film the next scene. 


The craft service was excellent as usual, they feed us so well I went back for seconds and dessert. It's amazing, they actually have a carving station, several different salads with all the fixings, various sides, everything was delicious. All of this in a YMCA in the middle of Brooklyn. There was a door to the rest of the building with a little window and the kids from the other side were constantly peeking in on us all in costume, it must have been as exciting for them to see us as it was for me to be doing this. 


The break was over and we had to return to the set for the next scene. This time, the agents had arrested half the people and one of them recognizes Agent Van Alden, the other bartender and I are being interrogated by a prohibition agent at one of the tables. They were packing up all the liquor bottles and carting everything away. Here, the other actor playing the bartender and I began to talk. It was funny, he's done all three seasons and played a bartender in the third episode of each season. His name was Jack (I think, it's been a while) and he was very funny. During the scene, we had to mime an intense conversation but he kept saying funny things trying to crack me up and he nearly succeeded a few times. I would have killed him if he made me ruin the shot by laughing! Then, later in the scene, the agent does a cross of the bar to us and begins the interrogation. He was a veteran background actor and was interesting to talk to, giving me some very good advice. He had a lot of fun stories and it was great to hear, taking our minds off the the fact that it had been such a long day. 


We did a few more camera angles, replaying the same movements and waiting outside in the cold while they moved things around and then, after letting nearly everyone else go, told us we were done and could go to wardrobe to change. 


I had to pee so badly, I ran the few blocks to the church where wardrobe was and made a beeline to the men's room, relieving myself with a heavy sigh. That's when I heard the outer door to the church slam open, heavy footsteps running by the bathroom and then an excited voice saying, "Where are the bartenders!!!" I immediately knew what it was. They needed us for another shot. I zipped up and found the PA and we grabbed Jack on the way back to the location set. Evidently the last camera angle faced a mirror the reflected the table where we were being interrogated and now we were missing. We needed to be sitting there for continuity. Ugh!!! We did a few more takes, blessedly, and then they finally struck the scene and we were free to go. 


I quickly changed, said my good-byes to everyone and made my way across Brooklyn and then Manhattan in order to get to Port Authority. My mobile was dead and I was so exhausted I thought I would die, too. I realized we just worked 14 hours on set. I get to the bus station and all the doors are locked but one, with a guard there checking for bus tickets. I found mine, showed it to him and then ran down to the gate where the Atlantic City buses are.  Nothing. 


Nothing. I look at the schedule and see that I missed the bus by twenty minutes. 


The LAST bus. 


The next one didn't leave until seven thirty in the morning, five bloody hours away! I had no mobile, no money and it was freezing. All of the seats in the waiting area were full so I sat on the concrete floor, dozing off now and again. About a half-hour before the bus arrived, I had found an outlet and got a little charge going on the phone. I boarded the bus, sat down in a heap and promptly passed out as the bus whisked me from the island of Manhattan to the island of love. 

From Boardwalk-To-Boardwalk, Part VI

I received another email from the casting agency informing me that I was needed once again for "Boardwalk Empire" and I was ecstatic! I didn't expect to get a call back so quickly and I readily accepted the offer and made my plans to travel back to Brooklyn. 

I had to check in at ten at night to get my call times for the next day's shoot and I patiently waited all day, finally making the call and getting a recorded message instructing me to call back in a half hour. This went on hour after hour, I reset my alarm waking up each time to call, finally getting the message around one thirty in the morning with my call times and other pertinent information I'd need for the day. Luckily it was a later call time then my last appearance but I still had to leave Atlantic City rather early to get to Brooklyn and find the set. 


It was a beautiful day and I had mapped out my route to the location set, not really sure what I was going to do, exactly. Supposedly the scene was taking place in a Chicago speakeasy which seemed exciting and full of promise. This part of Brooklyn was rather charming, full of little cafes and eclectic bars and my map was surprisingly accurate, taking me right to the YMCA that was rented to act as our holding area. I followed the signs upstairs and met with the PA, filled out my time sheet and then got directions to the church that was going to be our wardrobe area. On the way over, I met a nice young guy who was also on the show. It was his first time so I, being a veteran now, gave him a little advice and we talked a bit about the show. The church was a few blocks from the set and the YMCA and out front, craft services had set up a light breakfast right in the street, which garnered a few questions from the neighbours passing by. I walked through the little courtyard and through the doors. Through the small vestibule on the left were the bathrooms and to the right was another small room that led into the larger church basement area which now served as our hair/make-up and wardrobe. I went in the men's side and I looked at the walls and windows, over-painted and peeling, the linoleum faded and missing here and there and found a spot to get changed. I got into my costume, listening to the bustle of action around me. Once again it was controlled chaos, with the PA's herding us through the process and making sure things were running as smooth as possible. They were constantly talking into their radios coordinating the millions of minutiae that concerns the filming a television show. I stood in line and waited my turn for hair and make-up making small talk with everyone around me, smiling to myself, again, that this was happening to me!
One of the women there grabbed me, directing me to her chair to fashion my hair into something more era appropriate. As she started, she said, "So, you're a bartender." and I was shocked. How did she know what I do? So I asked her, "How did you know?" and she said, "No. It says it here on the call sheet.". 


Ahh!!! 


So I had a role (of sorts)!!! The rush of emotions nearly overwhelmed me, I wasn't expecting anything like this. I was happy, scared, nervous, terrified, excited, each feeling competing for attention but I didn't let any of that show. I just sat there as she finished her work and I got back in line for final wardrobe approval and then back to the holding area. When they asked my number for the day, ninety-four, I told them and that set off a frenzy of action. I was not in a bartender's costume, I was in my original wardrobe! Suddenly they removed my jacket and vest, found a different tie, suspenders and an apron so I would look the part. My trousers were also wrong, too long and creating a crease and that had to be adjusted by hiking them up very high, tightening the suspenders to their very limits. Evidently, men in the twenties did not have that little crease at the bottom of their pants. I found the attention to detail to be admirable, the camera wouldn't focus on our legs but they made sure we were still appropriate for the time period. I was also missing a button that needed replacement and they sewed it on while I was still in them. 


After a few more adjustments, there was another "bartender" as well, to make sure we were similar but not the exact same (yes, they argued over the tying of the aprons and how they should sit on our bodies), we were approved and released to have breakfast. By now, most of us were in costume and it was later in the morning, the neighbourhood was busy with people going about their business but it's not every day you wander down your street and see dozens of people dressed in clothing from another era. The camera phones came out and pictures were snapped by almost everyone walking by us. We milled about talking and passing the time before we were told to go to holding and wait for the set-up. 


This is when I noticed the set, or where the set was to be more precise. We had passed it before but I wasn't really aware of what was going on. Yes, they had equipment everywhere around the building, huge black-tarp tents covering the entrance of the building and generator trucks, trailers and other on-set items all over the street out front. You may wonder how I could have missed it but I did. I guess I was just focussed on finding out where I was supposed to be and getting ready than I was on where I was going to end up for the rest of the day.  It's amazing how the mind works. I made a few phone calls, updated my Facebook status and wasted time. They finally gathered us together to take us over to the set, explaining what we were about to do. It was indeed a Chicago speakeasy, where we would see the character of Agent Van Alden enjoying himself when we would get raided by Prohibition agents who later recognize him as one of their own. 


This was going to be fun! 


We filed out of the YMCA and across the street to the location set, now the streets in the neighbourhood were teeming with people and traffic, all gawking to get a look at all of us in costume. The director and crew grabbed us according to our characters to be placed on the set. I walked through all the equipment carts, full of every sort of item you could think of, props, lenses, extension rods, clamps, simply everything you'd need to make a film and I made my way through the tarp, over the snaking cables and wires, into a little area set up with the playback equipment, monitors and electrical boards of every sort. To my right was a door and we went through it and back in time! 

"Empire" Update

I'm currently writing my next "Boardwalk Empire" instalment detailing my role as a speakeasy bartender. Watch this space!

From Boardwalk-To-Boardwalk, Part V

Continuing my account of my first day of filming on "Empire": 


The PA's escorted us out of the holding area trailers and led us over to the set, passing along the bank of the Hudson River where the early dawn sun lit up the Manhattan sky-line perfectly. I walked near the front of the group and as we passed the shipping containers and I could see the "beach" and a quick glimpse of the boardwalk set, flanked by huge blue-screen panels where they add the ocean and extend the view with computer generated effects. My heart leapt a bit and I followed along through the back of the set to this little alleyway that ran the length of the boardwalk set but behind it. Suddenly, I was at a carnival, circa 1923, walking over planks and passing carny booths and games of chance. At the far end they had set up the cameras and the lighting, silver screens were positioned to direct the lights and parts of the set were removed to make room for the camera. The director was there with a contingent of assistants and the two stand-ins were on the marks, with masking tape on their jacket fronts denoting who they are standing in for. One was a little person perched on a box. He was the stand-in for the actor who plays Tommy Darmody, the son of Jimmy and Angela, both of whom died in the previous season. The other one was standing in for Jack Huston, who plays Richard Harrow, the guy with the mask. The crew were furiously running around, setting things up and talking into their walkie-talkies about everything at once. Construction was still going on here and there, painting and rigging. It was controlled chaos. There was a chilly and steady breeze whipping through the set but, with my excitement and nerves, I didn't feel a thing.

There was another discussion between the director and the PA's and suddenly they were parsing out our roles at the carnival, the director was grabbing us and positioning us around the set and giving us mini directions as to who we were in the scene and what we should be doing. There was a call for the "floozies", the "fat lady and tall man" and some of the other speciality roles and they set them up in their predetermined areas. Before I knew it, the director looked right at me and told me to stand right behind the stand-ins and then positioned one of the women to be my on-set wife and then called for two girls to be my on-set children. The one little girl was absolutely adorable dressed in her 1920's wardrobe, she looked like a little doll. I was instructed to hold her in my arms, so she could be seen in the shot. All of this happened so fast, I barely had time to register the fact that I was going to be DIRECTLY in the camera shot! Since we are shooting outside, there is a need for speed and the director quickly finished setting up the background actors that would be seen in the shot (several more were positioned around me) and we were told what the scene was and how to react.

I had no clue what I was doing. Honestly, I hadn't a clue what I was doing and a brief moment of panic set in.

We did a small rehearsal and they refined the placement of the actors and props, moving me over a bit so I was directly in the camera shot (yikes!) and they decided to switch my family, giving me a new wife and a young son. They reasoned that little girls wouldn't be interested in a shooting range as much as young boys would. We did a few more quick run-throughs and before I knew it, the principal actors took their marks, they handed him a loaded cap-gun rifle and I hear "Gun Hot", "Set", "Background" and then "Action" and we were shooting my very first scene for "Boardwalk Empire"!!!

I STILL had no clue what I was doing!

My nerves received an additional shock when the gun went off, over and over. Although he was shooting blanks, the report was extremely loud, especially since we were so close, and after the director yelled cut we were told to try and stifle our reactions. We were all jumping a little with every bang.

The refined the scene some more, there were discussions between "Richard" and the director as to where he should point the gun, how frequently he timed his shots, and a lot of other details and we continued to do our reactions over and over with each take. I did what everyone else was doing, trying not to over-sell my expressions and the director was pleased, asking my name at one point and telling me to make sure I stay on my mark so I could be seen behind the actors. I was loving every minute of this and in minor shock, I couldn't believe that I was actually going to be right on camera my very first day of filming!

Before I knew it, we were done and told to take a short break up on the boardwalk set while they reset the cameras and lighting rigs.

I walked over to the steps (which I would later rue but I'll get to that) and ascended them, looking around me at the detail of this entire operation. This was no plywood-front, Hollywood back-lot set, this was an actual boardwalk and shops, even from behind there were back doors to the little shops and alleyways built in off the boards. I went through the tarps they had stretched over the area and walked out into the direct sunlight and the actual set and it was a marvel to behold!

Where the beach and ocean would be, there was a two-story high blue wall (for the CGI effects). The railing and light poles were authentic and I turned around once I got to the railing to get the full affect of the set all at once. It was magnificent!

We all milled about and although we weren't filming here, it was cool to see everyone in costume wandering along the boards. I walked over to some of the shops and was once again blown away at how authentic it was. The shops were real, the restaurants had tables set with plates and glasses, the Fralinger's had a counter and displays of salt-water taffy, it was all so surreal, being from Atlantic City and seeing all the comforts of home up here in Brooklyn. The entrance to The Ritz was blocked off, though, so I couldn't go in there but the French dress shop next door, where Mary worked, was visible and it was a real working shop. It was amazing.

They called us to attention once again and we had to line up in the middle of the boardwalk and the wardrobe department went down the line giving us the once over, making sure the hats sat on our heads correctly, the make-up was touched up, all the little attention to details that makes the production even more special. We were admonished a few times to refrain from taking photos and I was only able to sneak one before we were called back to set.


Once back, they had changed the camera angle to a long shot, moving it behind the targets that "Richard" was shooting at and we went though the motions over and over, repeating our reactions and trying not to jump with each shot. There were more discussions as to when he should shoot and they seemed to get the timing wrong so it was a tedious process of repetition until the director was satisfied with the shot and we finally broke for lunch. 


Evidently there's a pecking order and, since I was there to learn, observe and keep quiet, I quickly realized this and sat down waiting for the crew and the principles to get their food first. I didn't think it was rude, not by any means, it was simply prudent to get them fed and out of there to get the next shot set up. But a hundred and fifty background actors were waiting and the food smelled delicious. I took the opportunity to take a quick bathroom break and the small trailer set up as our facilities was overwhelmed by all of us and I had to wait a bit in the cold before I could get in there. 


By the time I got back, we were being served and I went up to get something to eat, my eyes popping out of my head with all the choices and the quality of the food set out on the buffet tables. I stayed away from the messier fare, since I was in my wardrobe I didn't want to be the one to get food all over it and have to have it cleaned. I don't remember what I had, exactly, but I do know that it was really good and I went back for seconds and thirds, getting dessert (the cakes, pies, cookies, and treats were awesome) not worrying about my waistline since we were filming out in the cold, I figured I would shiver off the extra calories. 
After eating, we were all lined up again and the wardrobe mistress came along with her team and a film crew and they went down the line, again, making minor adjustments and reapplying make-ups and fixing an errant curl or two. I later found out that this was for the mayor of New York's employment initiative documentary and I had to sign a release for my image to be used. I happily obliged. 


We milled about when we were done and then the announcement came that the elephant would be on-set and the famous line, "Do not walk behind the elephant" was made, good advice whether you are filming with an elephant or just advice for life in general. We were all a little excited to see the beast, cracking jokes and we filed back to the set to resume filming. They were setting the elephant up about halfway down the set, a good distance from where my mark was but I could still see her doing her thing. 


I swear the weather changed, it seemed a bit colder even though it was now afternoon and the sun was directly overhead, although the elephant was not allowed to film if the temperatures were too cold so I guess it was just me. I noticed they had changed a lot of the area where I was previously filming, the shooting gallery set was complete (the movable walls were all back in order) and the camera was now going to be behind me and to the left, they were going to do a tracking shot from where we were through the entire faux carnival, passing all the other booths, the barkers and the elephant as well as all the other background extras milling about.  Now, when the principals walk away, I was to encourage my "son" to step up to the booth and then we were to decide not to play and cross over and up the steps. Only this time, they had wet down the set and we were now standing in mud. In the cold. With a chilly wind. 
We got through the shot after only a dozen or so re-sets (a term I learned to loathe later in the afternoon). We were given another quick break up on the boardwalk and, once again, the wardrobe department came along to work their magic. It was a testament to the quality of the show that they continually made sure we all looked our best. 


They had moved the camera down even further we did a few walk-throughs mostly for the benefit of those actors that were now going to be in camera, we'd now be in the far background but had to continually make the same pass across the set and then up the steps. 
I had noticed, at one point, that we were just standing around for a lot longer than normal. The crew is very good at their job so when I noticed that they were just standing around I knew it wasn't a problem with the shot. Then, from my vantage point, I could hear some muffled arguing and then the voices became clearer and the problem was revealed. We had been standing there for the last 30 minutes because the child actor that plays "Tommy" didn't want to put on Chapstick and they were trying to convince him to do so. He stood his ground and no amount of reasoning was going to make him put it on and here, and entire film crew and a hundred and fifty actors were standing around in the mud (with very uncomfortable period shoes that had no lining nor protection) and cold all because of a minor temper-tantrum. I giggled to myself about the situation and mumbled to my "wife" that if I was that kid, my parents would have grabbed my face and covered me in Chapstick and told me to get back to work! In the child's defence, it was turning out to be a long day and he was tired and cold and cranky and had a lot of pressure riding on his little shoulders. He finally put it on and we started filming again only this time, it took so many takes I lost count. I can't tell you how many times we had to re-set and then climb back up the steps, over and over again. It also didn't help that Riley, the boy who was my on-set son, was a rambunctious little rascal and I had to continually corral him for the shot. He was enamoured with the elephant and I had to run through the set and grab him to drag him back to our mark. This is where the filming process can get extremely tedious and it was becoming an effort to continuously mime the same motions over and over with a smile on our faces. 
I felt most sorry for the girl who was playing the "fat lady", she was standing directly in the cross-breeze and was wearing a very skimpy dress. The poor thing had to be wrapped in a blanket between each "Cut" and "Re-set". 


The fading light meant we needed to get this shot and get it as soon as possible, they didn't want to waste yet another day of filming this scene and we mercifully were given the words "you're done" after a few more takes. We made a beeline back to wardrobe to take everything off. 


Although, when crossing over the boardwalk set, I stopped a moment and looked around, it was now dusk and they had turned on all the lights. It was magical to be there at that moment and I stifled yet another smile. 


Dismantling was quick and I changed into my street clothes, getting one of the assistants to sign-off on my sheet and I then went over to holding to have my pay sheet officially signed. I remembered to tell them I had been shaved and they added the extra pay and I went out to wait for the shuttle bus that would take us back to Manhattan. This took a little while, the women took far longer to get changed and we made chit-chat as each person boarded. 
Before I knew it, we were off, making our way through mid-town traffic and the bus actually dropped me off a few blocks closer to Port Authority. I barrelled through the crowds, marvelling at the mass of humanity that does this every day of the week, and finally got to Port Authority and my bus, which was waiting there and leaving shortly.


I settled in and promptly fell asleep. 


With a huge smile on my face. 

Long, LONG, Overdue.

I was awake early, I always am. The cat and I did our usual morning dance, he climbs all over me as I lie in bed, his purring and mewling a gentle wake-up call. Then he follows me to his litter box as I sift through it, collect his dishes from the day before and slowly stumble to the kitchen with him underfoot, not caring if I kick him or step on his paws, all he knows is that he's getting food and that's all his concern. Ahh, to be a pampered cat and not have a care in the world.

The rest of the morning went on as it always does, I updated my Facebook status, commented here and there, left birthday greetings on certain friend's pages, and played the games I loathe but can't seem to stop, they are more frustrating than fun and never ending, much like life. I made the bed and straightened up a little, there's always something to do and began to think about what to do with myself. I had planned on going to the gym but the day was shaping up to be ever so nice that when a friend of mine reminded me that we had made plans to take a long walk through the city (to satisfy an errand of his) I put my workout plans on hold and began making preparations for our constitutional. I busied myself through his endless delays and finally got the call to come collect him.

As I was leaving, another friend of mine was passing in front of my home and I called out to him and we chatted about our plans to walk and he gamely joined us for our little excursion.

It was a beautiful day, usually here on the island there's always a breeze either coming off the ocean, damp and chilly despite the sunshine, or it's coming from the north and over the bays, and the north winds are always cold. This day was perfect, warm and bright with no breeze at all and we quickly made our way to the boardwalk to take it all in.

I was enjoying being in the company of an old friend and a new one, both dear to me in different ways. We talked and talked, commenting on the people we passed, the overly-huge and garish homes, the memories certain places brought up, the conversation never lagged, the laughs came free and easy.

Eventually the real reason for our little jaunt came out to my other friend and he was game, although I had yet to decide if I wanted to participate.

The boardwalk was busy, the day was spectacular and I was glad I put on my sunblock. I wrapped my hoodie around my waist since the direct sunlight was warming me up and we travelled along, taking our time and enjoying each other's company. But our goal, as it got closer, began to weigh heavier and heavier on my mind.

Before I knew it, we were walking down Tennessee Avenue, that long stretch of street that, although is now almost completely devoid of buildings it always seems to have the ghosts of the past hovering just out of sight as I wander along it. I see the shades of the former buildings, the hotels and bars and rooming houses and people that used to populate this neighbourhood, their apparitions haunting my memories. The ghosts of my past were getting more and more apparent the closer I got to our destination, which was just in the next block. I kept chattering on, keeping it light and trying to stifle the nervousness that wanted to creep into my patter, my voice, as I continually debated in my head what I should do in the next few moments when a decision would have to be made.

To say I was terrified would be an understatement.

Before I knew it, we were here. Before I knew it, we were inside. Before I realized it, I was giving them my name and filling out forms.

Before I knew it, I was taking my very first A.I.D.S. test since becoming sexually active thirty years ago.

I remember every moment of this experience. Vividly. Terror and anticipation have a way of slowing down time and making things hyper-real. The faces of those waiting in the lobby, taking care of their business whatever it may be. I knew what that business was, I had done fundraising for Oasis over the years. I knew what their business was, I had done fundraising for the S.J.A.A. and the outreach programs in the city. And here I am taking advantage of one of the services provided, free of charge, by this worthy organization. Taking advantage of something I should have done a very long time ago. But fear of knowing the truth is a powerful thing. And here I was, the ultimate hypocrite, finally doing the very thing I have militantly counselled countless people over the years to do. I have berated my friends for having unprotected sex, for not knowing their status, for getting tested, and the entire time I had never, ever, done so.

Until now.

I suddenly found myself climbing the stairway to the first door on the left and entered, the person there was waiting and shut the door behind me as I took a seat at the desk. I knew him. Of course I did. I'm Mortimer, I know nearly everyone on this island in one way or another. He was gracious and offered to find a stranger to administer the test but I felt more comfortable being with him. A friendly face. Someone I knew but didn't know. He explained the procedure, did the legal spiel and the drill, asking me questions about my sexual behaviour and proclivities, which I answered honestly. Far more honestly than I expected to but this whole process was so foreign to me, I had separated from myself. It was as if I was acting out the scene, and watching it at the same time. I think it was my mind preparing myself for the eventuality that may come to pass. And I was terrified. As he talked, he prepared himself, too. Putting on the gloves, getting the apparatus together, opening each item from their little sterile containers and laying them out in front of himself. He asked for my hand and I stretched it across the desk and he pricked my middle finger, wiping the first drop away and then squeezing out a bigger drop of blood, scooping it up and placing it on the small plastic device that will decide the rest of my life. Imagine, my entire future was in that little drop of blood on his desk.

He set the timer for twenty minutes and we waited. The enormity of this situation was staggering. The fact that I'm in this tawdry little office, devoid of any warmth, extraneous decoration, or a bloody window and have this sword of Damocles hanging over my head was getting unbearable! If it wasn't for the forced chit-chat I was making with my caseworker/friend, I don't know how I could have made it through.

The timer was facing him, blessedly, and before I knew it, the twenty little minutes were up. He looked down at the testing device and looked up at me. The results are in, you are...

I thanked him, we exchanged numbers, and I went out the office and down the steps, sending in one of my friends for his turn. After trips to the library, talking to some other friends outside of Oasis that I knew from my lengthy club days, and talking on my mobile, the three of us were done and off we went to find some lunch.

The rest of the day was a blur. No, I know each and every thing that happened from the moment I stepped out of that office but it's still a blur. When you take the fact that I have buried over forty friends who died of A.I.D.S., that I have friends who are living with the virus, that I have raised hundreds of thousands of dollars to help those with it, that I have had my drunken moments where I was very stupid and regretful, the fact that I now knew my status that had devastated my community overwhelms each and every detail of the rest of the day.

It was truly the first day of the rest of my life.

Update!

I'm writing my entry about my day of filming on the "Boardwalk Empire" set as we speak! I'm not sure exactly when I'll post it because I want to get everything down, it's a memory I will always treasure and I want to make sure the facts are straight so I can recall them later when I'm old and grey. So far, I've written up to the point when I arrived to the Brooklyn set and I'm getting my wardrobe on.

Let me get back...

From Boardwalk To Boardwalk, Part IV

Anxiety was the word of the day, all day, until exactly eight o'clock at night when the email from "Boardwalk Empire" finally arrived (I still can't believe I get emails from "Boardwalk Empire"!). I nervously opened it, reading it quickly and slowly at the same time, trying to grasp the entire thing all at once. Elephant? I just saw something about an elephant. Boardwalk set, YES! I'm going to be on the boardwalk set! I focussed my mind and read it through, calming myself so I could digest the information and make the necessary plans. I had to be in Manhattan by five o'clock in the morning to meet the shuttle bus to the Brooklyn set, bloody hell! I find the Greyhound Bus site, navigating through the maddening pop-ups and cursing them the entire time until I finally got to the schedule I needed. In order to be in Manhattan, on time, I see that I'll have to leave Atlantic City on the one-thirty in the morning bus. What? It's now eight-thirty at night. I haven't slept all damn day in anticipation of this moment and now I have to be on the road in five short hours. Yes, I knew there would be an early morning call all along but when the reality finally hits you, it's still a surprise once you work out the devilish details.

I made my plans, preparing my clothing and my shoulder bag for the trip, packing it with the magazines and eReader and earphones and other items deemed necessary for my jaunt north and then quickly shutting down for a short nap. Mighty Joe curled up next to me, thinking we're settled in early for a long sleep through the night.

He wasn't happy when I got up at midnight and began getting ready. Showered and shaved, carefully trimming around my moustache, grooming my eyebrows, and making sure I had everything, I hurriedly got dressed and ran to the Jitney bus, where I happily didn't have to wait long before one whisked me across town to the bus terminal.

The desk clerk was happy to help me utilize the automated ticket machine, evidently they are pushing the new (well, new for them) technology for the late night travellers and she was there to guide you through. Right before I left, I told her where I was going, I was bursting with the news and couldn't hold it in any longer, having to spill it out to this total stranger. She was duly impressed and I was the cock-of-the-walk as I ran out to the loading area and got my seat on the mercifully empty bus.

I barely remember the ride up, I may have dozed off for an hour, I might not have, I seriously don't recall. My next recollection came when I was near the tunnel into the city, because I was using my map app to check once more where I had to meet the shuttle. I was surprised by Port Authority at this early hour. I'm used to being there during the day, the hustle-bustle of people running everywhere at once. Now it was quiet, people sleeping on the floors, in the chairs, propped against the walls and posts, security gates were down where I didn't know security gates existed. It was a different world, silent except for the incessant warning voice instructing us in the proper way to enter and exit the escalator. I made my way through, noticing the time as I wandered up and out. I was an hour early and the pick-up spot wasn't that far from the station. Once on the streets of mid-town, I was once again taken aback by the difference from my last few visits. The streets were empty. No traffic. No pedestrians. Nothing. Just a few stragglers here and there, newspaper delivery trucks slowly rumbling by but nearly devoid of the usual cacophony of humanity I've only ever seen in that part of town. It was also cold, much colder than I had dressed for and I pulled up my hood and began making my way to Thirty-Third and Third.

The cold got the better of me half-way there and I ducked into a McDonald's, hoping for a hot cup of coffee. I saw people sitting around the restaurant with food and cups but once I got to the counter, I was informed that they were shut for another half hour. I stood there for a few moments, warming up, before once again making my way through the empty streets to my goal. I was so busy window shopping, since I had never been in that part of town before, that I didn't mind the cold any longer and began wondering where the Empire State Building was. I knew I had seen it from Eighth Avenue, I thought I should be close to it by now when I looked up and there she was, towering high above me. I smiled to myself, only I could lose such a tall building in the middle of Manhattan. I made my way across the island, lonely and cold, past Fifth, Madison and Park Avenues, until I finally got to the corner I was looking for, where there were a line of buses and shuttles waiting. I went down the line asking which one took me to Boardwalk Empire and, mercifully, it was the second one there. I hopped on, looking at the the few others already on board and sat down and waited.

Stifling the huge smile that continually wanted to break out across my face.

People drifted on, the assistants checking each of us off the list as we boarded (my check-in number was forty-four) and when the last one came running across the street and go on, just in time, we left for Brooklyn. The trip over was interesting, taking yet another route into the borough that I had never used, and I tried to eavesdrop in on the chatter around me but nothing registered. I was too excited to think. I was now running on adrenalin and instinct, if instinct is the right word since I had never done anything like this before. We pulled up to a fenced-in yard along the Hudson River, with the requisite little building at the gate for the guards and peppered with four or five temporary trailers to the left, where I later learned was wardrobe, holding, craft services, make-up and the production trailers. To the right, as I walked through the gates, there were massive shipping crates stacked two high and in a circular configuration. I caught a brief look through a separation between them, in the early morning light, and saw that it was the boardwalk set itself and my heart leapt! I was here. This was happening. Un-fucking-believeable!!!

A guy with a clip-board guided us into the holding area, blessedly warm. It was also where craft services was located and I was hungry. There were people already there, those that came directly to the set on their own and some of the production crew. I wandered over to the food area and was in food nirvana, at least where craft services is concerned.

They had steak, bacon, ham, pancakes, eggs cooked to order, every kind of bread and bagels, yoghurt and fresh fruit to use in the juicers. It was fabulous buffet and I ate what I could since, by the time I made my plate and sat down, they called my number and I had to go to wardrobe to begin the process of getting ready for filming.

I walked over to the next trailer and it was bustling with people. To the left were the make-up and hairdressers, already working on the women since they were going to take longer getting their hair set and faces painted. To the right were two partitions separating the men and women dressing areas and I waited in line until they brought me in and I found my bag containing my clothing with a picture of me from my last visit, already wearing the costume, attached to it. Once again, I suppressed a smile and began changing, carefully taking off my clothes and switching them with the costume, which was extensive. As I was getting ready, I looked around to see what everyone else was wearing and we ranged in class, based on the costumes, from well-to-do gents to the labour classes like myself. There was only one mirror and we took turns checking ourselves to make sure everything was on correctly. I did notice, when I put on the vest to the suit, that it was extremely snug and I was praying that I didn't have any action scenes because I would definitely rip out of it! Yes, I didn't listen to them and continued working out and now I may live to regret my decision.

The staff gave me the once over and determined I needed a tie-bar and they quickly found one and I was released from them and waited in line to get my hair done. I realized that up until now, I haven't really chatted with anyone and everyone who knows me knows that I'm a rather friendly person. I decided to strike up a conversation with the guy in front of me. To be honest, I barely remember a lot of the details of his life. I know he's married, he's done this kind of work before, had a couple of kids but I needed to make small-talk in order to keep the nervous edge at a tolerable level and he was a more-than-capable companion. I watched the action around me, marvelling at the controlled chaos with people being shuffled back and forth, they occasionally walked down the line and determined who was next or if they had special concerns. Suddenly, they did a moustache count and I was told that I may have to be shaved, did I have a problem with that? Uhh, no. As far as I was concerned, they could do whatever they wanted. I was told that after they finished my hair, I was going to have to get shaved, I was too young for a 'stache. Lovely! One of the women told me to see her when I was done. I finally was escorted to a seat in front of one of the mirrors and the stylist worked his magic on my hair.

Although I saw what they were doing to the guys before, I was a little taken aback by the time he was through with me. My hair was severely parted and then they plastered it to my head with gels, sprays and gods know what else. I couldn't help noticing that with the moustache, I resembled Adolph Hitler and I couldn't wait to have it shaved off! I thanked the guy and made my way to the next area to be shaved. As she was shaving my moustache off, she suggested I get my eyelashes tinted for future work and then informed me that I need to mention that I was shaved at the end of the day, I get extra pay. Fancy that, they are paying me extra to shave my face! She finished up with me, applying a little make-up here and there for the cameras and then I had to wait in line for the wardrobe mistress to give me the final okay before I went back to holding to wait for the call to film. The adjusted a few things, my overcoat was sitting too low and my tie needed to pop out a little more and they sent me over to wait.

I sat there, surreptitiously taking a few photographs and checking in on my Facebook, and watched everyone file in, wearing their costumes. To say that I was enjoying this experience would be an understatement! As each aspect of this day was unfolding, I couldn't believe I was actually here and doing this. I didn't care one whit what happened next, I was already having the time of my life and I not one frame of film had been shot.

Some people were called back to wardrobe, there were some changes made and not before long, the production staff came in and called for attention. They wanted to set the scene we were filming and give us last minute instructions. We were filming at the boardwalk set but not on the actual boardwalk, we would be in a alleyway set behind it which was redressed. It was New Year's Day, 1923, nearly a year after the incidents ending the previous season on the show. We were at a carnival and the principal characters were to be Richard Harrow (the guy with the mask) and Tommy Darmody, Jimmy's son. There would be an elephant on set and we were not to approach the elephant, go near the elephant and were to be mindful of the elephant. They were very adamant about these instructions and these elephant warnings continues throughout the day's filming. They had no need to remind me, I had no problem giving the elephant it's space.

The assistant left and we waited a bit longer and suddenly, they came in to escort us to the set.

From Boardwalk-To-Boardwalk, Part III

Reality has set in.

In the excitement and hoopla surrounding my being cast as a background actor on "Boardwalk Empire", I didn't think it through completely and now the reality of my situation has settled in and I'm in a bit of a pickle.

I live 130 miles from my job.

I'm trying to figure out how I'm going to manage this. It'll come to me.

Eventually.

Adding to my anxiety, I have to wait until eight o'clock tonight for my call sheet; the time I have to be at the studio for hair, make-up and wardrobe before we are shuttled to the set. I have no clue if I'm working one day or four. So I sit... and wait.

I believe I'll go to the gym.

From Boardwalk-To-Boardwalk, Part II

I slept more soundly than expected, maybe it was the Martini I had before bed. Mighty Joe, my big hairy pussy, and then the alarm woke me promptly at six in the morning so I could feed/pet/play with him and get my day going, respectively.

That Martini must have played a larger role because it took a little longer to get myself together and I didn't get going until well after Helene woke up, thus waking up the entire house, she has the effect. It was going to be another big day in my Boardwalk-to-Boardwalk adventure and I had to get on the road early so I could be in Brooklyn for my appointed haircut. I was slightly perturbed, I had been growing out my hair for this event but I hadn't counted on having to make the extra trip up, seriously cutting into my travel fund for this little (probably unnecessary) adventure.

After the harrowing decision of what to wear for the trip, I finally decided on my black jeans, "Fashion Kills" white button-down, red "London" zip-up, black skinny tie and my "priest" jacket, which is actually a vintage American Legion chaplain's jacket, with 13 silver buttons on the front and red crosses stitched into each cuff. It was a bit over-the-top but I was going to New York after all and needed to look fashion forward, natch.

I actually left the flat on time and didn't wait too long for a Jitney bus to whisk me uptown to the bus terminal. The lovely woman at the Greyhound counter was very nice and helpful, telling me the bus was running fifteen minutes behind and suggesting I go to Caesars bus station to catch it there. That's where it starts it's trip to Port Authority and I would have a better chance of getting a seat if I ran there. Off I went, running into the lobby to take a quick splash in the loo and then wait in the long line for boarding. The bus finally rolled up a little earlier than expected and the driver came out complaining about this being his second bus and this one wasn't working right, either. Just what I wanted to hear.

We boarded and I saw that the bus didn't have the back-of-the-seat outlets for charging mobiles and such. Perfect, with my new mobile eating energy like M&M's, I wouldn't be able to use it much during the trip. Oh well, I thought, I have my faux-Kindle and some New Yorker's to read to pass the time. On top of it, I had a seat partner sitting next to me crowding my space which was turning this trip into a minor fiasco. I kept my spirits up, focussing on the day ahead and we left to pick up those waiting at the bus terminal, even more people to add to an already busy bus.

They interminably filed in and we were on our way.

Only to suddenly pull off the Atlantic City Expressway and stop at the Greyhound bus yard where the driver finally announced that we had to switch buses. UGH! This trip was turning into a comedy of errors. I had planned on taking the nine o'clock bus to give me enough time to get through Manhattan and to Brooklyn by my appointment and now we were running very late, eating up the time I padded on to ensure I made it there on time.

I switched buses and lo and behold, I ended up losing my "partner" and this new bus had the outlets! Success! I could listen to music and play on Facebook with abandon. I opened my Ben Sherman shoulder bag and searched and searched and quickly realized I had left my earphones home (on the coffee table, actually). Drat. God giveth, God taketh away.

The ride up was uneventful from then on, except for the increasing cloud cover which looked rather ominous. A quick check of the weather report calmed my slightly frayed nerves, the rains weren't due until late afternoon/early evening. We pulled into Port Authority and the driver announced that we were 22 minutes late of our scheduled arrival. I was suspicious but I didn't have a schedule on-hand to verify his facts. I made my way through the station and up and out onto the streets of mid-town Manhattan, once again marvelling at the incredible mass of humanity wandering through the streets and avenues. My years and years of working in crowded casinos trained me to bob-and-weave through the crowds and I quickly made my way downtown, crossing from Eighth to Seventh and working my way to the Brooklyn Bridge.

Suddenly, I stopped short. Walking right towards me, directly in my path was Adam Mucci, who plays Deputy Halloran on "Boardwalk Empire"! I was flabbergasted! Here I am on my way to the studio to be on the very same show and standing right in front of me, in a city full of over eight million people, is an actor from that show!!! I wanted to stop him, act the fan and maybe grab a picture of us but common sense, and the crowds rushing by, stopped me and I went on my way, laughing to myself at the unlikely coincidence.

As I wandered, I kept crossing over to get to Broadway, passing by some familiar landmarks like the Chelsea Hotel and the Limelight nightclub (now a mall, of all things). Memories of my past visits to New York filled my head and before I knew it, I was at Washington Square Park. I snapped a quick shot of the memorial arch and wandered through, singing "Easy To Be Hard" from "Hair" in my head as I did so.

I had figured a new route through the city using my maps app on my new Android and I made great time, getting to the bridge quicker than expected but once I did a time check, I realized I was probably going to be late getting over to the studio. I plodded on, dodging through the crowded walk-way over the bridge, taking yet another new route through Brooklyn (only having to ask the helpful policewoman once for directions to clarify I was going the right way) and I made it to the Steiner Studios twenty-two minutes late for my appointment, the exact amount of time we were late getting to the city.

The less said about Brooklyn, the better. It's South Philly, without the cheesesteaks.

I walked up to the gate and got my pass from the guard, I smiled to myself when my name was already on the entry list, and he guided me to Stage Three. I wandered along the row of sound stages, looking at the support trucks lined up outside with cables running everywhere and oversized limousines were waiting to take people to-and-fro and found myself at the door, where they buzzed me in and I saw my "handler" and had a seat. She was taking care of an older gentleman (whom I later found out is actually credited on IMDB's website for "Empire" as "Gray-Haired Man" in the cast listings) and she had me fill out some paperwork whilst she escorted him up to get done. When she returned, we chatted about the weather and I asked her a few questions and come to find out, she grew up in Brigantine during the summers as a child. We instantly became best friends and talked each other's heads off. During the conversation, a guy came in and she said hi to him and it wasn't until he opened his mouth that I realized it was Stephan DeRosa, who plays the singer/comedian Eddie Cantor on the show. I suppressed yet another shit-eating grin and played it cool, although the inner me was freaking out that all of this was actually happening.

About a half-hour later, "Gray-Haired Man" came back and she sent him on his way and she escorted me up the slow elevator to the second floor. I confessed to her that I was having a very hard time resisting the urge to document everything with my camera. With one simple look, I could see that it would be seriously frowned upon and I kept my camera tucked away in my pocket. The elevator doors opened and directly in front of us were signs denoting directions to the various productions that are scattered throughout the building. We quickly travelled down a long hallway, with me peeking in every room I could to see what was going on and she introduced me to the woman who would cut my barely tamed red afro. I had another laugh when she looked at me all confused and said, "Why are you already in wardrobe? I can't cut your hair in your costume!" and I had to assure her that I dressed like that normally and proceeded to take everything off so she could do her business.

Surprisingly, the room was incredibly plain, unadorned except for some framed "Empire" posters stacked against one wall and over in another corner and two large plain mirrors, one in front of me and one to the left.. She had the tools of her trade laid out directly in front of me on a towel, no frills just two electric clippers, scissors, a comb, thinning scissors and some different contemporary pomades lined up in back. She put on the cowl and gave me an overview of what she was going to do and I told her I didn't care, just cut it. We chatted about this and that and I looked around (in the mirror) and saw white boxes I failed to notice before, since they blended into the plain white painted walls, that were labelled "Wig Box 4" and "Wig Box 7" but they had lids on them and I had no clue what sort of wigs they could possibly contain.

We talked about a lot of things, my being from Atlantic City, acting, a little stage gossip, the fact that they were shooting a party scene right now and some other shop talk, I felt so comfortable and relaxed that my adrenaline rush was tempered, momentarily.

She had a confession to make, later in our conversation, which kind of shocked me. She has never seen "Empire". Not a single show. She doesn't even have HBO. I found that interesting and told her she needs to watch it and see her wonderful work.

She said I had great hair to work with, perfect for this show and once she was done she declared I looked like a 1920's barbershop quartet member, which I must admit, with the moustache, I did. She also said I'll do well on the production, which was nice to say since I'm only going to be in the background.

I put back on my clothing and said my good-byes and found a bathroom, where I gave myself the once-over and had an alone-moment, a chance to just drink in this entire experience and get a few emotions out that I wouldn't dare do in front of anyone there. I quickly collected myself, went downstairs and got my pay slip and said my good-byes to my "handler" (who's name I need to find out!).

I walked back to the gate, passing the soundstages I had wandered by before and caught a glimpse of the scene being filmed, everyone in costume and the lights and props, I was completely awestruck but kept my emotions in check until I passed through the Steiner Studios gate and was on the streets outside the Navy Yard. There I had the biggest grin on my face and my emotions caught me all at once. I stopped for a few minutes in the middle of Washington Avenue, right there in the middle of Brooklyn, once again revelling in the moment, not believing this is actually happening to me.

I rounded the corner to Myrtle Street, making my way back to the bridge and I passed this black guy, just hanging out in front of the local barber shop, and he said to me, "When you were walking up, I thought you were Charlie Chaplin!", I busted out laughing and continued on my way. School had just let out and the streets were busy with the urban kids predominate in big cities. The basketball courts and the baseball diamonds were packed, fenced in by ten foot high chain link fence which I find bizarre and there was the cacophony of city life all around me. I drank it all in. I was stopped on the bridge by two guys with indeterminate accents, who wanted me to take their picture next to one of the plaques on the bridge, and I obliged, and I made my way back through Manhattan, following a similar route but ducking down different side streets just to check out the sights. Once I hit mid-town, the pedestrian traffic was unbearable, tens of thousands of people rushing everywhere, and I was so relieved when I finally made it to Port Authority, running downstairs to the gate for Atlantic City and the bus was leaving at that exact moment. I boarded, made my way to the back and sat down in a heap, the exhaustion of the entire day hit me at that moment and I passed out before we hit the tunnel leaving the former New Amsterdam.

I woke up to a curious smell and saw this girl across the isle eating chicken wings, another joy of public transportation, and she had a full spread of food in front of her, with her ear-phones on and watching hip-hop videos on her smart phone. I turned on my faux-Kindle and read a few chapters of "The Picture of Dorian Gray" and got home safe and sound, only a little wet from the rain that eventually hit the island of love.

An Open Letter To The Shoobies

Dear Tourist,

I wanted to take a moment out of my busy day to thank you for all you have done for our little island and the communities here during the time from Memorial Day through Labor Day. The holidays and the summer season bring much joy to the businesses that thrive on your tourist dollar each and every year. And although my personal business does not, directly, depend upon these visits, I can't help but be appreciative of your financial contribution and close company that summer brings. For example, I was so happy to find the empty beer cans on my front lawn at the beginning of the summer when I went to get my morning newspaper. Seeing them crunched and twisted on my well manicured grass meant that the local liquor store made a profit on the alcohol you bought there. Then there was the water bottle full of urine I saw next to a parked car on a side street. That proved to me that you ate at one of our fine restaurants located here on Absecon Island and the wine probably went right through you. I also must applaud your attempts on my life as I try to cross the streets and you refuse to follow the traffic laws of New Jersey, that could only mean that you want to make sure our hospitals and police forces are doing their jobs and that they have plenty of business during what could be a slow summer season. And those colorful words you shout out in greeting as you slam on your breaks just inches away add to my already considerable vocabulary. And I do enjoy your persistent use of the actual streets to take a nice walk in the summer sun. That way, the sidewalks that cover the island from end to end can be utilized exclusively for the locals to get to their tourism industry jobs in order to serve you better. But let me add, when you do actually venture on the sidewalks, I appreciate you walking four abreast and forgetting all common courtesy, forcing me trudge over a neighbor's lawn to get around you and to my destination. That way the local gardeners have plenty to do repairing the damage done by all the foot traffic. I can only assume that the salt air and the freedom of vacation are playing havoc on your, otherwise, good manners and force you to forget them. Speaking of that, our local repair shops are overjoyed at the minor fender-benders that you cause when you playfully disregard the traffic laws of our state and drive as if you are the only one on the road.

In closing, I think I speak for all of us here at the shore when I say a hearty "Thank you!" for another fine summer full of shoobies... err... tourists who make these three months of hell... err... fun worth the nine months of peace and quiet and cleanliness when you depart.

See you next year!

Most Sincerely,

Mortimer

A Day, Much Like The Next or; Minutiae, In Eighteen Hours

Morning came as it always does, relentless and predictable. I had spent the previous day feeling out-of-sorts, one of those days where you are unstuck from time. My life was murky, I felt like I was out of step with what was going on around me. To compensate, I sat in the bedroom with only the computer, the television and Mighty Joe, my constant feline companion, as my only company with the occasional foray into the kitchen to get some food. I ignored my mobile, turned off all the instant messaging, the only thing I did was watch the Facebook feed change and the occasional YouTube video. The television was on but I'll be damned if I can remember anything I watched the entire day. I ate. That I remember. I ate a lot.

Taking myself out of the day was my attempt to balance myself with the world.

When I fell asleep, curled next to Mighty Joe, his purring a soothing vibration next to my chest, I hoped that the new day would dawn better.

I heard the BBC news first. The timers and stations on the television dutifully set each night to turn on by themselves every morning so I don't have to actually expend any effort during that hateful time between the bliss of dreams and the knowledge of reality. There's a certain comfort to hear all about the woes of the world in a proper British accent. Mighty Joe saw me stirring and immediately pounced on me from the safety of the edge of the bed. I sleep fitfully and, although he wants to be near me, he knows I may crush him or launch him from the bed with my foot or knee. More than once I felt him extracting himself from underneath me, mewling and grumbling the entire time, when I accidentally rolled over on top of him.

I lazily reached up to scratch his purring face, listening to him meow a good morning greeting and I turned over and fell back asleep. My next conscious moment occurred when I realized I was freezing. I had kicked, pushed, rolled the covers off of me and the air conditioner was set to arctic tundra. Yes, it's an actual setting. I realized I should either get back under the covers or get up and start my day or turn the damn thing up (or is it down? I can never get it right when it's an air conditioner) to, at least, the meat locker setting.

Mighty Joe woke me again, this time in protest for falling back asleep. His favourite method is walking on my head, the pillow, my back, my arms or simply sitting on my chest and meowing loudly and constantly until I feed him. He's gotten used to an early morning feeding time and it was now three hours late. I got up this time, knowing that if I kept this up, I would have yet another day like the last and I wanted to avoid that at all costs.

I heard Rico out in the kitchen and the pack of puppies running around back and forth through the house. I dreaded having to go out of the confines of my little fortress but I needed to feed the beast that is my cat and get my day started with a healthy breakfast.

There's a certain comfort in routine. Doing things by rote may seem mundane but knowing that each day of doing things in a certain time or way, everything that needs to be done will get done. I fed the cat and myself while the coffee brewed. I cleaned the litterbox and then washed the dishes. Poured my coffee and went to the room to make the bed whilst the computer started up. Watched the morning shows and updated my Facebook, leaving the smart-aleck comment here and there on my friend's walls. The weather reports called for rain so I decided not to waste my time and water the garden. This is my usual routine, predictable, comfortable and a little boring. But I don't have the luxury of wealth to be truly and completely bored.

Before I knew it, Helene had come home from work to meet with her friend, Claudia, in preparation for their trip to Lancaster, one of Helene's favourite places to get away. We chatted for a time and she gave her bits of worry and advice before leaving, her usual "take care of the puppies" and "make sure you put the iced tea in the fridge". It's odd the things that rattle around in her head, as if we would neglect the dogs and drink warm tea. Off they went and I decided that I wanted to get myself to the gym early. My mobile, when I turned it back on, alerted me right away that there was a mixer that night and I was keen to go. The Greater AC Gay bacon, lettuce and tomato Alliance mixers are always a good time and I enjoy going to places I haven't been to yet. Tonight was Gallagher's at Resorts.

After taking care of a few more things around the house and getting a much needed shower, I decided that I should first go uptown to my bank and deposit some much needed funds into my account and then go to the gym. Every day I had planned to go to the bank after the gym but I never seemed to get there before they shut so I figured I'd reverse the order to make sure it was done. I hopped on a Jitney bus and it took forever to get across town, the cane and disabled club were out in force and they all seemed to want my Jitney. Yes, MY Jitney.

I turned in some change and did my banking, deciding that I'll walk as far as I could in the heat and then hop a bus downbeach to the gym. The local five-oh-five goes right to the doorstep of Body Architects. I did my usual tour through the Taj Mahal, which is down the block from my bank, and made my way through Resorts to the boardwalk where the heat and sunshine hit me hard as soon as I stepped through the door. Luckily I had slathered on the sunblock three thousand before I left the house, if only to keep my vampire skin the porcelain white I prefer. I marched my way down the boards, people watching as I went and marveling at the crowds. It's usually not this busy until after the Fourth of July and I was surprised at how many shoobies were out and about.

As I rounded the area near New York Avenue, where the boardwalk bends and heads downbeach, I saw a crowd had gathered and wondered what was going on. As I got closer, I could see a contraption set up out in front of the Ripley's Believe It or Not Museum, where I used to work as a teenager when it was a fake slot palour (I could tell you the same story about many properties in this city). An escape artist was performing a stunt, hung upside down in a tank of water, arms chained and legs bound in irons. As I approached, they were pulling up the curtain to preserve the secrecy of his escape technique. I continued to walk by, living in Atlantic City for so long, I am more than used to the spectacles on the boardwalk and the unexpected and unplanned fiasco's are more exciting to me. I got a half a block away and heard the applause from the crowd around him so I assumed that he escaped his bondage successfully.

I got near Bally's Casino and decided to wander through to Caesars (the casinos are connected through a labyrinth of tunnels and connectors) since it was so hot and muggy on the boardwalk. I exited from Ceasars and once I got past Trump Plaza I realized that it was too damn hot and I took the tunnel next to Boardwalk Hall up to Pacific Avenue with the intention of hopping on a bus to Margate. Of course, as I got near the corner, a bus went by and, luck would have it, it was the exact bus I needed to get me to my destination. I waited a little longer, text messaging the little numbers they now provide to get a schedule sent to your mobile and saw that by the time the next bus comes, I could be half-way through Ventnor.

I manned up and trudged onward.

I did manage to stop at the flat for a few minutes to reapply the sunblock and then got to the gym and had a great workout. Although I've been working out on and off for the last few years, in these past four months I have seen some significant progress, more than ever before. I can't believe I'm the same person when I look in the mirror although most of the time, I still see that skinny red-headed boy with wire-framed glasses that I was at fifteen.

After reapplying the sunblock once again, I wandered home, down my usual route along Ventnor Avenue and when I returned home, I saw that Joe, my ex boyfriend, and his current beau, Angel, were there.

We talked, I ate lunch, we chatted some more. Well, mostly Joe and I. Angel was with Rico, cooking and gossiping in Spanish (with Cuban and Dominican accents).

The day moved along languidly, as summer days often do, and before I knew it, it was time to get ready for the little shindig at Resorts. I had checked the time in the confirmation email and noticed that the venue had changed, it was now being held at another restaurant in the casino, Capriccio's.

Joe and Angel were leaving to go about their business, whatever that may be, and they were kind enough to give me a lift to Resorts, once I got dressed.

It's strange walking into a building I used to work in. Granted, I only worked there for a weekend, but my hopes and dreams were pinned on my job at Prohibition. I had made life plans, I begun sorting out the tangled mess of my life and saw salvation, quick and sweet, in my new job and the lucky chance it afforded me.

One stupid mistake made months earlier dashed all that against the rocks. But life has proven, time and again, that perseverance (and a little luck) will shift fortunes in my favour.

Hopefully.

The longer I live, the more I'm getting the impression that I'm using up my lucky star, and it will peter out with the whimper of a blown out match, not a brilliant supernova worthy of my stature.

I wandered through the lobby, remembering how the casino used to look, and how it used to look before that, and before that. Atlantic City's first casino has been through many owners, long before it was a (legal) casino and after. Since moving here in nineteen eighty, I have a lengthy perspective on the changes gambling has made on the city and I see ghosts of decades past everywhere I go. I got on the elevator and hit the button that said third floor, dining. Once in the lobby, I wandered around, trying to find the right entrance to the mixer. I hear my name being called and I turn to see the table and familiar faces staring at me, waiting. I made the usual pleasantries at the door and received my required name-tag, although I inwardly laughed at that. It's not as if I'm a stranger to anyone on this island.

As soon as I entered, I saw my friend Ike working at the bar, right after the entrance on the right. We talked for a bit and I ordered, spending the last ten dollars I had to my name on a Ketel One and tonic, with lemon (Ike remembered!). As he was making it, I looked around the restaurant, getting my first impressions. It was nothing like I expected but then again, the public areas in Resorts have always surprised me in one way or another. It's one of the last buildings left from Atlantic City's "golden age" and some of the public spaces still retain the glamour and elegance of that long-ago era. I grabbed my cocktail and made my way through the restaurant to the area near the balcony, where our mixer was being held. I noticed the beautiful frescos and arches, the cheery yellow walls, the nicely dressed tables, the ceilings and the chandeliers all hearkening back to another time. I saw the buffet tables simply buckling under the weight of the food and after making small talk with those who were already there, I made my way over to sample the fare. The spread was beautiful and bountiful and I greedily took a sample of nearly everything available. Deep fried shrimp sticks, scallops wrapped in bacon, clams casino, oysters on the half shell, pate on curiously cut breads, luncheon meats of every kind, cheeses from around the world, breads and spreads, fresh cut fruits and crudités, it was an amazing gastronomic and visual feast! I loaded my plate and sat down with some friends, laughing and trading quips with those seated at the tables around me.

In the middle of stuffing my face, I see a very familiar face enter the room, my great friend Michael Waters (who has the nickname Michael Finger, for reasons I'll relate in a later entry). I was ecstatic once I saw him, it's great to see one of the original faces from my early days in Atlantic City, especially one so dear to me. I've always had an admiration and respect for him, his talents as a fine artist, his wanderlust and ability to travel in many circles both throughout this country and abroad. Once he sat down, he occupied my entire interest from that moment on and I peppered him with questions about his life since the last time I saw him. We laughed and gossiped about our mutual friends and then the mixer was called to order (this particular gathering was actually an official meeting of the Greater AC GLBT Alliance and they gave the bi-annual report on the group thus far. New recruits, current membership numbers, sponsored venues, available funds, upcoming fundraisers, the usual business one must attend to when a group of civic-minded people gather together for a single-minded cause). As it stands, after the treasurer, president and other titled members spoke their required piece, the organization is solid and growing. Huzzah! Once the business was attended to, we finished up the festivities, Michael and I stood out on the porch overlooking the boardwalk and ocean and talked to a few friends who were out there enjoying a cigarette.

The party finally wound down, the waiter begging us to eat more since there was so much food left. I was stuffed, I had several servings making like a pig at a trough up at the buffet table. I had decided to visit my dear friend Lance at the Continental, one of my favourite haunts on the island, and Michael was kind enough to give me a lift to Caesars. I said my good-bye's and promised to stop by his home soon (he lives on the border of Margate and Ventnor) during my walk home from the gym. A promise I will keep as I am very curious to see his artwork now, he's been busy over the years and I'd like to see where his talents have taken him.

Once in The Pier, I hurriedly made my way to the third floor, dodging the shoobies and trying to get on the escalator before they do. Just because the stairs are moving does not mean you don't have to. I barge in to the Continental and immediately see Jon, the general manager, and he informs me that Lance had left early.

Darn.

Dejected, I figured I'd go home and I made my way back through The Pier and over the walkway to Caesars casino.

I, rather impulsively, decided I would walk home on the beach, after putting up with the tourists on the boardwalk for a few blocks and since the sun is setting, it might be nicer to walk along the shoreline.

I walked over one of the overpasses that take you from the boardwalk beyond the protective (and controversial) dunes to the beach and took off my sandals and rolled up my jeans, looking every inch the beach bum, an image that I have tried to avoid my entire life here on Absecon Island.

The sand was cooler than I expected, as I trudged my way to the waterline where it's easier to walk and the water feels good on my feet and toes. I remember thinking that the sand feels odd, the occasional shell or detritus you feel on your soles is disconcerting, making each step an unwelcome surprise. The sand clung to my feet and between my toes where I could feel the grit rubbing with each step. I recalled a Discovery Channel show where they said sand is largely made of the waste produced by parrot fish crunching and digesting coral. People flock in droves each summer to lay on what is essentially fish poop. Who knew?

I looked downbeach towards home and saw the stragglers here and there, the couples in the distance holding hands in the waning daylight, there was a group far ahead sitting near the water's edge. A kid here, a dog there. I looked up and saw that the sunset was near and clouds and colours were going to make it spectacular. I continued on, passing two young boys still playing Frisbee, they were tanned and fit in the blush of youth, I secretly envied them and these days of their lives. The ocean waves were receding, it was low tide and each wave left a long area of moist sand in it's wake, where I walked along, splashing in the little puddles left behind. I tried to avoid the patches of broken shells and seaweed that gather together, haphazardly here and there, but most of the time I was so engrossed with the skies above and the beauty the sunset was displaying, I ignored the small pains the shells caused me when I stepped on them.

I approached the large group I had seen earlier and realized it was a family, sitting at the ocean's edge and fishing. The father was teaching his two sons how to cast the line into the surf, they had PVC pipes embedded in the sand to hold their poles steady whilst waiting for a bite from something in the great sea. There were younger children still playing at sand castles and a harried mom trying to corral them when they ran out into the surf. It was a familiar and comforting scene, even though they were total strangers.

As I continued on, the skies above began to take my attention completely. The sunset was proving to be spectacular and I was engulfed in watching every nuance of colour, the changing clouds, the subtle ebb of light and the encroaching purple of darkness, slowly taking hold. At one point, I could see the Ventnor skyline reflected in the sand when a wave receded and I found a spot where I was able to capture a picture of the moment. The shot came out a little hazy, almost dreamlike, a quality I grew to appreciate since it captured the moment perfectly. The entire walk home had that quality, the mix of nostalgia, the beauty, and the immediate present that all combines to make our memories which always have that hazy quality when we recall them. I managed to get a few more photographs of the sunset, the little camera on my mobile phone is surprisingly good at outdoor shots and I manage to capture the colours that were actually there. Sometimes, they are washed out or overly intense, the camera over or under-compensating in one way or another.

Once I got closer to my home, there were no stragglers left on the beach. I was alone with nature and my thoughts. I began to scan the dunes for the entrance to the boardwalk, almost wanting to keep walking and extend the moment for a while longer but I had had a long day and I was beat. My feet, now wet from walking in the water, quickly accumulated sand and the beach was hard to navigate, shifting under my feet as I walked to the slats that make a path between the dunes. On the ocean side, a young man was sitting by himself, dressed all in black and staring out to sea. I wondered what he was thinking as I walked by. When I emerged through the dunes, I startled a couple walking on the boardwalk, the light had almost completely drained from the sky by now and it was dark where I was walking. I stamped the extra sand off my feet and wandered down the ramp to the sidewalk, since I refuse to walk in the streets like a shoobie.

The promised rains never came and, since I had to wash the sand off my feet, I took the opportunity to water the gardens, teasing the dogs in the house since I was wandering around the premisis and I didn't come give them hugs and kisses and pets beforehand. The flowers in the front garden were getting big, my green thumb seems to be working. I watered the plants in the backyard in the complete dark, my only light coming from the lightning bugs and getting bitten by the mosquitos.

Once inside, the spell was broken, I was back to reality and the here and now. Helene and I sat and watched her true crime shows and I soon, I settled in and went to bed, Mighty Joe purring beside me.

Combating Bigotry (Letter Sent To The Press Of Atlantic City)

It's with great sorrow that I write this letter knowing now that there are people in my community who are filled with such ignorance, bigotry and misinformation and are willing to put such barbarian ideas on public display. The letters recently published concerning Leonard Pitt's column on gay marriage didn't outrage me as much as made me hang my head in shame for the woeful and deliberate ignorance of the letter writers. Mr. Drake's letter was the usual diatribe of psudo-conservative values, almost as if he was parroting the ramblings of the extreme right without any real concept of the facts nor the wherewithal to know the difference between what he believes or what he's been told to believe. Whilst I agree with him about the validity of the polls concerning the acceptance of gay marriage (you can get a poll that would dispute today is Tuesday), his assertion that gay marriage and civil unions are overwhelmingly voted down is false. Eleven states and the District of Colombia have allowed either marriage or union between consenting gay adults. And as for his claim that being homosexual is a matter of sexual behaviour and not civil rights makes me believe that he is of the mistaken mind-set that believes being gay is a matter of choice. If that is the case then I only have one question to ask Mr. Drake: When did you decide that you liked women instead of men? I know I NEVER made that choice.

I also noticed that he used the hot-button words of "sodomy" and "deviant sex" and I am most assured, without ever meeting Mr. Drake, that he has absolutely no idea what the true definition of sodomy is. If he did, he and his wife are probably practicing sodomites as much as I am.

This brings me to Pastor Ross, another bigot who stands by stereotypes and misinformation and cannot see the illogic through the religious haze he's found himself in. He's one of those people who say that the gays are a promiscious bunch who will not adhere to the sancity and monogamy of marriage and therefore, they should not marry.

Where do I begin? First, if he really wanted to protect marriage, then divorce would be illegal. Once married, always married. If there is no divorce, marriage would be a stable institution. But our lawmakers and pastors frequently have several marriages under their belt and a mistress on the side. Second, to deny gay men and women the right to marry and live together in a monogamous relationship and then complain that they are promiscuous is lunacy! And it also is hypocritical. Marrying several times over your lifetime is also a form of promisciuity, not to mention the adultery.

He also makes the ludicrious claim that all gay men and women are disease ridden. Rubbish! As a gay man who has lived in Atlantic City and knows pretty much every other gay person in the tri-state area, I can assure Pastor Ross that we are a healthy, vibrant people and that the statistics will bear out that we, as a people, have no more diseases than the general heterosexual population. And he should be ashamed of himself to make any assertions that gay men and women are the only risk group for A.I.D.S. It is a global disease and does not discriminate based on sex, race or sexual orientation. Although I am not a religious man, I find my humanity far more compassionate than this supposed man of God.

Mr. Pitts was spot-on in his column. Gay men and women deserve the RIGHT to be married under law. There is no room in this great country of ours to legalize discrimination based on outdated ideals, religious grounds or willful ignorance.

We are a country who's very foundation was based on the right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. Not allowing me to marry the person I love, be they man or woman, is to deny me my basic right as an American citizen.