My options for New Year's Eve were three; stay home and watch Dick Clark dribble on his tux, go over to Frank's Lounge, or head up north to bring in 2010 with Andrew Camp and his wife and daughter, a gay couple, and myself. All involved drink and drugs. Being alone on New Year's Eve is dangerous. Drinking with strangers at a Brooklyn Bar could be considered fool-hardy, so I packed my bag and caught the 5.17 Metro-North train to Wassaic. I snorted a few lines in the bathroom to sharpen my anti-terrorist antennae. The few passengers heading north seemed harmless. No beards or turbans. The nearest traveler was reading Kurt Vonnegut's WELCOME TO THE MONKEY HOUSE. He was no threat.
Andrew was waiting at the station. We drove in a snowy darkness to his house. His wife and daughter were happy to see us. Andrew cooked dinner for us and his gay friends. Some of us did drugs. We drank and laughed at old stories. 2010 was a full moon night. The clouds shrouded the orbiting satellite in ghost drag. We went to bed at 3.
I called my wives in Thailand. One I wished a good year and the other I told that I love her.
The way you start off the new year determines how you will spend the rest of the year and I started mine by telling the truths, although only because I'm too lazy to lie.
No comments:
Post a Comment