It has been a while since I went to a first rate wing-ding on New Year's Eve. First rate wing-dings tend to encourage extreme drinking. I do not want to have any part of that. You know what happens to me at first rate wing-dings? I end up having a real cool time talking about roller derby to people who could not really give a shit. Then I end up talking to someone else about horse racing who ends up wishing I was talking to them about roller derby even if they do not give a shit about roller derby. Then a good looking woman with lop-sided breasts asks me to dance, raising my spirits measurably, before she staggers to the can or the sidewalk to vomit through a hair style that took two hours to comb, brush, blow and spray into place. The same woman can then be sure to want to stick her thick tongue down my throat shortly after midnight.
Happy New Year, motherfuckers.
We played records this New Year's Eve. The new turntable has reminded me just how much better records sound than cds. The new turntable has reminded me how lucky I am not to be one of those anti-social robots you see walking around listening to low quality music files. Do not be fooled, MP3s are nothing but fast food music: McShit for your ears.
Ended up listening to Foghat, Nico, Pink Floyd and Black Sabbath into the wee hours like it was still 1973. Welcome To the Slowride Heroin Black Magic Machine! Hail Satan!
New Year's Day it is always the same thing. Sonja wakes up and immediately begins pleading, through bloodshot eyes, "Do we have to go to the horse races?" Fucking rights we do. Some people go to fortune tellers to find out what is in store for them in the coming year. I go to the track to test my fortune.
It was raining, raining hard. Looked like there just might be a bias favouring early speed. Jimi came by our table with his thick tongued, lopsided titties, platinum blonde New Year's Eve conquest. He asked me, "You betting the early speed?" Sure enough that was how the horses ran all day. Even the early speed horses that usually stop running in the homestretch kept on running to the wire. Looks like the year, maybe the whole decade, is not going to get in this motherfucker's way.