Monday, January 7, 2008


Look at your calendar, you may notice it's January 2008, which means yet another year has coughed up blood and expired on the wet stinking back-alley asphalt of time. How was your New Years? Let me tell you a little about mine.

My plan for this December was to finish up all my projects and goals before Christmas, then use the remaining days to take a deep breath, relax, reflect on my life, and think about my future, then go to a New Years Eve party and soak in the excitement of the new year with a bunch of friends and a bunch of champagne. This�was not to be.

The weekend before New Years, I am flying to L.A, where I am meeting a girl and then taking her car on an epic 2-day road trip back to Seattle, because she's moving here. I arrive at the airport at 8:30 am, not realizing that it is my destiny to spend the entire day here. My first flight is delayed 2 hours. This is my first time flying in 9 years, so I get on the plane and am overjoyed to remember that they serve booze! I find this amazing, considering how anal and regulated most places are about alcohol. I mean, I can't have a beer with my action flick at a megaplex movie theater but I can have as many Jack Daniels as I want while hurtling through the sky in a claustrophobic cabin with hundreds of frightened, nervous passengers? Awesome!

Of course I don't have any cash on me. So�.nevermind.

I arrive in San Francisco for my connecting flight. My connecting flight is delayed. I wander around the airport with my heavy luggage digging into my shoulders. I hit up the airport bar and pay $7.50 for a well whiskey. My flight is canceled. The problem, they tell me, is not weather, but "Crew". I can only assume this means the pilots got drunk and fell out the emergency exits to the hard pavement below. Can't they just get some more pilots?

(Sidenote: Why do drinking fountains constantly vary in water pressure? Sometimes they shoot onto the floor, sometimes they barely gurgle out. I saw a kid completely making out with the nozzle, full-on lips and tongue. Be warned, America.)

I stand in line for literally one hour to get my tickets changed. They transfer me to American Airlines. I take my new ticket and walk across the entire airport to Alaska Airlines, because Alaska and America both start with "A", and I am a fucking idiot. I walk back across the airport.

I arrive in L.A at 8:30, and meet up with Lori, the girl I'm coming to help move up to Seattle. We stay at her friend's house, where there are no beds or couches, just a hard floor and small scraps of blankets. We don't sleep well.

The next day we begin our journey. It's me, Lori, and her dog Whiskey packed into her car with all her possessions in the back. We drive all day, then crash at Comfort Inn, where we lay in bed and drink Whiskey (the liquor) while watching blaxploitation films on TV. Whiskey (the dog) pees on the floor. The next day I take a shower. While drying my hair I note that the towel stinks horribly. Lori informs me that it's the towel she used to dry up Whiskey's pee. Did I mention that today, Dec 30th, is my birthday?

We have breakfast at the hotel. I am baffled by the unnecessarily hi-tech toaster. The hotel manager condescends to me while showing me how to toast a bagel.

We hit the road again. It's New Years Eve. We drive all day. My buttocks fuse with the seat leather. My spine compacts down several inches. We arrive in Seattle at 11:45 pm. We have just enough time to pull off the freeway into a crowded parking lot before the clock strikes midnight. No party, no champagne, no reflecting on the past and future. Just standing in a dirty parking lot with a bunch of screaming kids with party noisemakers, watching a semi-obstructed view of the Space Needle fireworks display.

The Space Needle fireworks display goes awry, misfires, fizzles out. It's on the news the next day.

Also the next day, Whiskey poops on my sheepskin rug, and I fully kneel my hand in it.

Happy New Year!

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