Right: Jandek live (Photo by Ha Lam)

It's good to get up in the morning. And it's good to go outside and to do things. All our mothers have always told us that.

There was no particular problem getting up and outside this morning however. It was the buzz and pounding from my living room window (they're reflooring the old house out back), then the new neighbor across the way who keeps his phone up full and sitting on his sill right opposite my kitchen.

Then there's that jet black cat in heat that always crawls by at six.

So to fill the nearest lunchbag with rice cakes and Ritz, and make the crosstown walk to the commuter train. It's hot as ever, but a stiff breeze from the east helps the crackers crumble. Someone's standing right at the front of the train, blocking the view of the tunnel walls rushing by, but it seems a shorter ride than it usually does anyways. And the weather on the City side of the river feels even better.

Roaming the Bowery in search of Yoo-hoo to wash the snack farther down is a chore in itself: There's redevelopment as far as the eye can see, but nothing's open anymore except the check-out at the corner gas station. There's only Yoo-hoo in bottles in there, and at two bucks a pop. What choice do we have?

Around a corner, Eric and Amy stand in line outside the theatre. Amy looks exactly like her e-mail address, and Eric promises he might someday take me inside the abandoned Capitol Records plant he lives near in Scranton.

Soon the Yoo-hoo's gone -- a feeling like no feeling. The line begins to move and we're eventually inside and into seats.

It's dark, but not musty in there. The screen is lit, but only shadows up on it. A Scotsman welcomes us, but scolds over unauthorized use of electronic devices. Everyone is very, very quiet.

Afterwards, the wind outside has lifted considerably, and lines now lead in opposite directions towards either Chinese or Mexican diners. It's even harder getting home by this time of night, so the final walk is brisk …though the train is quite late. Then, without money for a cab, the wait for that last connecting bus up the Heights is broken only momentarily as Meredith and Larry jog by. They were surprised to find anyone still out.

Finally, it's always the bottom lock that gets stuck, but behind the door is beef soup and a stray magazine.

I don't forget to close all the windows tightly before bedtime this time. Maybe that way it won't be so hard to sleep enough again tomorrow.