Maybe I should have said something.

I saw you on the Manhattan-bound Brooklyn Q train.

I was wearing a blue-striped t-shirt and a pair of maroon pants. You were wearing a vintage red skirt and a smart white blouse. We both wore glasses. I guess we still do.

You got on at DeKalb and sat across from me and we made eye contact, briefly. I fell in love with you a little bit, in that stupid way where you completely make up a fictional version of the person you're looking at and fall in love with that person. But still I think there was something there.

Several times we looked at each other and then looked away. I tried to think of something to say to you -- maybe pretend I didn't know where I was going and ask you for directions or say something nice about your boot-shaped earrings, or just say, "Hot day." It all seemed so stupid.

At one point, I caught you staring at me and you immediately averted your eyes. You pulled a book out of your bag and started reading it -- a biography of Lyndon Johnson -- but I noticed you never once turned a page.

My stop was Union Square, but at Union Square I decided to stay on, rationalizing that I could just as easily transfer to the 7 at 42nd Street, but then I didn't get off at 42nd Street either. You must have missed your stop as well, because when we got all the way to the end of the line at Ditmars, we both just sat there in the car, waiting.

I cocked my head at you inquisitively. You shrugged and held up your book as if that was the reason.

Still I said nothing.

We took the train all the way back down -- down through Astoria, across the East River, weaving through midtown, from Times Square to Herald Square to Union Square, under SoHo and Chinatown, up across the bridge back into Brooklyn, past Barclays and Prospect Park, past Flatbush and Midwood and Sheepshead Bay, all the way to Coney Island. And when we got to Coney Island, I knew I had to say something.

Still I said nothing.

And so we went back up.

Up and down the Q line, over and over. We caught the rush hour crowds and then saw them thin out again. We watched the sun set over Manhattan as we crossed the East River. I gave myself deadlines: I'll talk to her before Newkirk; I'll talk to her before Canal. Still I remained silent.

For months we sat on the train saying nothing to each other. We survived on bags of skittles sold to us by kids raising money for their basketball teams. We must have heard a million mariachi bands, had our faces nearly kicked in by a hundred thousand break dancers. I gave money to the beggars until I ran out of singles. When the train went above ground I'd get text messages and voicemails ("Where are you? What happened? Are you okay?") until my phone ran out of battery.

I'll talk to her before daybreak; I'll talk to her before Tuesday. The longer I waited, the harder it got. What could I possibly say to you now, now that we've passed this same station for the hundredth time? Maybe if I could go back to the first time the Q switched over to the local R line for the weekend, I could have said, "Well, this is inconvenient," but I couldn't very well say it now, could I? I would kick myself for days after every time you sneezed -- why hadn't I said "Bless You"? That tiny gesture could have been enough to pivot us into a conversation, but here in stupid silence still we sat.

There were nights when we were the only two souls in the car, perhaps even on the whole train, and even then I felt self-conscious about bothering you. She's reading her book, I thought, she doesn't want to talk to me. Still, there were moments when I felt a connection. Someone would shout something crazy about Jesus and we'd immediately look at each other to register our reactions. A couple of teenagers would exit, holding hands, and we'd both think: Young Love.

For sixty years, we sat in that car, just barely pretending not to notice each other. I got to know you so well, if only peripherally. I memorized the folds of your body, the contours of your face, the patterns of your breath. I saw you cry once after you'd glanced at a neighbor's newspaper. I wondered if you were crying about something specific, or just the general passage of time, so unnoticeable until suddenly noticeable. I wanted to comfort you, wrap my arms around you, assure you I knew everything would be fine, but it felt too familiar; I stayed glued to my seat.

One day, in the middle of the afternoon, you stood up as the train pulled into Queensboro Plaza. It was difficult for you, this simple task of standing up, you hadn't done it in sixty years. Holding onto the rails, you managed to get yourself to the door. You hesitated briefly there, perhaps waiting for me to say something, giving me one last chance to stop you, but rather than spit out a lifetime of suppressed almost-conversations I said nothing, and I watched you slip out between the closing sliding doors.

It took me a few more stops before I realized you were really gone. I kept waiting for you to reenter the subway car, sit down next to me, rest your head on my shoulder. Nothing would be said. Nothing would need to be said.

When the train returned to Queensboro Plaza, I craned my neck as we entered the station. Perhaps you were there, on the platform, still waiting. Perhaps I would see you, smiling and bright, your long gray hair waving in the wind from the oncoming train.

But no, you were gone. And I realized most likely I would never see you again. And I thought about how amazing it is that you can know somebody for sixty years and yet still not really know that person at all.

I stayed on the train until it got to Union Square, at which point I got off and transferred to the L.

Since you been gone........

Ok, it's been awhile. TOO much has happned to putit all in this little update. It took us 3 weeks, but  wefinally found a new home to live in. I have a HUUUUUUUUUUUUUGE ist of peoplke I have to thank, but that will come later. The good news is.....

I'm back, baby.

We are super busy getting things moved in, so the updates will come slow, but I promise more stories, more laughter and more live cage dancing on mmy part. Too bad accept it!

Stay tuned......and thank you for sticking with me. :)

Fudge.

Fudge.

I want to use stronger words, but why bother.

Fudge.

I have to find some solace in this situation, but there is none that I can see.

Fudge.

I have exhausted all resources that could have helped us out. Friends, local programs, Goodwill and even churches.

Fudge.

Just, fudge.

Goodnight.

I really wanted to finish my countdown. I really wanted to share my love for music with everyone. But right now, I can't. I just.....can't.

I have too many things on my mind right now. Hell, I don't even have the energy to do my nightly Caption Contest. This may be the last time for quite awhile that I post to this blog.

My family and I are facing the reality of becoming homeless. I fought what I thought was a good fight against what I consider to be deplorable living conditions in our rental apartment. I'll know tomorrow if we have a leg to stand on. I don't really know what's going to happen.

So, if we don't ever meet again in this blog, just know that I loved writing it. It was something I always wanted to do. Sadly, nothing interests me at this moment. I have no desire to do anything.

I have a family to worry about. My family needs a roof over their heads. My family needs food on the table.

So, goodnight. Thanks for reading.

By the way, #1 was Foo Fighters - Everlong.

#12 in the countdown of my personal favorite songs of the last 20 years.

Unwritten Law - Save Me

Always followed this band from their start back in the very early nineties. From California, their breakout sone "Seeing Red" was a staple on rock radio for a long time. I love the music, but I LOVE this song.

There are SO many ways to look at this song. Drug addiction, loss of a girlfriend, dying and so forth. All of it caused by the first thing I mentioned. The song to me is basically a goodbye to everything because he has too much fun doing what he does, and he has accepted the fact that one day he will be dead because of it, and there is nothing anyone can do. By the time he regrets his choices, it's too late.

The song, from the 2005 CD "Here's To The Mourning", has one of the coolest videos I have seen. There is an extended, un-cenosred version of it that is available on the greatest Hits DVD. If you look hard enough, you can find it online.

Here is "Save Me" from Unwritten Law.

Psst......do you wanna see the uncensored version? Here you go..... http://vimeo.com/2542385

See ya next time!

#13 in the countdown of my personal favorite songs of the last 20 years.

Matthew Good Band - Hello Time Bomb.

The best band you may never have listened too. Canadian rockers flying under the radar for years. This song was their biggest single released, it was nominated for a Juno Award for best single in 2000. The video and song was a KIND OF departure from their usual songs. I have been a big fan for years.

I remember hearing this song while still recovering from GBS. The CD Beautiful Midnight, from which launched this song as it's first single, was in my Pathfinder when I first started driving on a regular basis after being sick for so long.

If you are interested, check out the other songs floating around out there by MGB.  I highly recommend them.

From the 1999 CD, Beautiful Midnight I present Hello Time Bomb.

And just for good measures, check out another AWESOME song from Matthew Good Band. This one is called Strange Days. We can probably all learn something from this video.

See you next time!

#14 in the countdown of my personal favorite songs of the last 20 years.

Taproot - Mine

Another tune that blasts out of the gate. I came across this band by accident and fell in love with them. This isn't the biggest songs from them, but it's my favorite. "Poem" from the same CD was the 5th most played rock song of 2005. Another band rocking right out of Ann Arbor, Michigan.

To me it seems that this is a love song, and yet a controlling love. You can read it either way I guess. I like to think that it's about a love that he can't see himself without.

From the 2002 release "Welcome", here is Mine.

Oh what the hell, here is Poem as well. Rock on!

See you guys next time as I continue my countdown of my 20 favorite songs from the last 20 years!