Got a new year, what are we going to do with it?

Happy New Year, bitches!

Yes, I am inebriated. We had martinis this evening, three for her and five for me, with number six sounding like not so very bad an idea. I will regret it in the morning. Later in the morning, that is. If it hurts, well… that’s what marijuana is for, right?

I jest. Constantly. You knew that already. ‘Scuse me while I go drown a few ice cubes in gin. Be right back.

I’m feeling very Old World just now. I’ve got gin from England, vermouth from Italy, and olives from Spain, all in the same glass and soon to be all in the same uncouth American scoundrel. Also, I’ve been rereading War And Peace just because it’s the best fucking novel ever written. And because I grew up watching Rocky and Bullwinkle.

The problem with reading Tolstoy is that for several weeks afterward I feel all dignified and self aware, not to mention keenly aware of others. I hate that shit. My habit is to bumble along through life in an invisible but very insular bubble of preoccupation and fuck you, but not without due appreciation of the terrior that is this life to which I’ve been treated, and quite likely undeservedly so. Tossing Tolstoy into it might look like sprinkling croutons on the salad, but it’s really a lot more like carefully incorporating just the right herbs and at their peaks of flavor into the entree.

Speaking of which, one of Amethyst’s cow-orkers recently visited Minnesota and brought us back a gift of (what else?) wild rice. While there are many very nice things one might do with wild rice, which is not rice at all, about the only thing I ever do with it is stuff Rock/Cornish “game” hens with it. So for our last meal of 2014 we ate babies.

That’s why I’m more than two hours into 2015 without having had any sex. Too Much Information? Eh, fuck it. I cooked up two birds and half of mine is in the fridge for tomorrow’s lunch while Amethyst snarfed down an entire bird and so became uncomfortably full, which means no horizontal adult recreation until morning. She’s agreed to bring me aspirin and reefer in the morning, but still…

The woman who runs the Dinkytown video store wasn’t aware until recently that Rock/Cornish “game” hens were just young chickens. She thought they were some kind of actual no shit game birds right up until I couldn’t help but laugh about it and explained it to her. It’s kinda silly, if you think about it, to assume that they are in fact game birds just because some marketing shithead put “game” in the name of them. In this case, game means that the young little fuckers, at about the same point in life as a human would be at about 12 years of age, were playing and having a good time when some son of a bitch snatched them up by their legs and cut their fucking heads off.

I was once deemed too inexperienced to be hired for that job of cutting the heads off of chickens. I was kind of blown away by that. I mean, ya know, how hard is it? There’s a chicken, here’s a knife, good night sweet prince. How can you not be qualified for that job? However it might be, I’m it. The chick behind the desk at Foster Farms told me that I might as well save myself some effort and not fill out the application. Her boss then came out and told me the same, and since he was the one doing the hiring I saved myself the time and just drove away wondering how it could even be possible that one could be underqualified for offing poultry.

But that’s not what I sat down to write. The question now is what, precisely, was it that I sat down to write? So far we’ve talked about having sex and killing and eating babies… Ain’t much that can follow that, am I right? And, damn, that martini I just made was insanely tasty. So where was I intending to go when I started this?

Oh yeah. I remember now. I’ll tell you about it just as soon as I mix up aneether martunny.

No, I take that back. The martunny is here now, but it seems that just now the mostest bestest thing for me to do is to go out into the garage and stand next to my truck, so I’m a-go-do that and be right back. Gotta let the olives from Spain infuse into the gin from London, and vice-versa, while I go out to invite lung cancer in out of the cold. -17°F (outdoors) here just now, not at all hospitable for terminal disease.

My wish for you, for us all, is that 2015 is the year in which we all,.throughout this wide, wondrous world, come to consider humanity itself vastly more important than nationality, ethnicity, ideology, or any other labels that we use to differentiate us from them. May this be the year in which we prove ourselves worthy of the amazing gift of life as human beings, as entities not only at the top of the food chain but also as those most capable of determining what life on Earth will be for all living beings. None of the vexing problems that we as Earthlings face are insurmountable, and the solutions to our problems are not only obvious but very completely at-hand; so let this be the year in which we use the power we have to make life better for all that lives and depends upon us to make the right decisions. We all know, deep in our beings, that there is no us, there is no them, there is only we, and we deserve much, much better than we’ve given ourselves. Let this be the year when we all stand right up and acknowledge this simple truth and accept no less than the same acknowledgement of this simple and obvious fact from those to whom we’ve given our power. We do, indeed, deserve better.

Why? Because we said so. That’s all we need. There may be a multitude of other arguable reasons for it, but those arguable reasons so far haven’t done anything at all for us. We common folk are not less deserving than those who’ve taken advantage of predatory hierarchical systems of power, and neither are those non-human lives who’ve all been completely fucked by us in our quests or our complacency in response to others’ quests for wealth and power. It’s high time we all come to realize and appreciate this.

And that’s my wish for us all for this new year, a year that’s new only because we’ve all agreed that our screwball calendars are the ones by which we will live our lives.

And now I’m going to smoke a bowl of cannabis and select a movie to watch because what’s most important in my life right this moment is to do exactly that, to put my worries and cares aside for a bit and recharge so I’ll start the new year with energy enough to make a difference in my own small and meaningless world that won’t remember much if anything of my life once I’m done with it.

Be well, friends and neighbors!


2 thoughts on “Got a new year, what are we going to do with it?

  1. promisesunshine

    I think I might have dreamed about part of this. My very straight spouseman was smoking (in the basement of my childhood home, no less). In my dream.
    In other news. Yes, indeedy. You’ve said what needs to be said. and done. I sure hope your New Year’s wish comes true.
    Also, I didn’t know about the chicken babies. Then again, I think I’ve had exactly one Cornish game hen in my life.
    Have good sex.

  2. theinfiniterally

    Happy New Year! Without any particular base for thinking so, I tend to think (hope?) humanity is sort of self-correcting and that the best thing to do is stop fucking and fucking with each other and maybe somehow it’ll work itself out after that. But I make room for all kinds of behavior within the self-correcting paradigm. I don’t know if that is close or far to what you’re saying, but I’m sure hoping for a better 2015 and an ample supply of dirty martinis.


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