We just started receiving holiday letters. Thank you. Don’t expect this to be one just cause it says so, like an election promise. But, it is nice to hear that people on this list are alive. Just in case, and I say this because some of us are old fuckers, some reckless people, and some with just bad luck – send me a note when you bite the big one. All cheeriness aside – that son-of-a-bitch error correction tried spelling that as cheesiness, I hate that – some of you may remember our holiday letters of the past, I believe beginning when we moved to Colorado and started sending annual, picture-filled letters of our wonderful new life out west, from frolicking in three feet of snow in March, to throwing up in the throes of altitude sickness on Pikes Peak, and shitting our pants as buffalo charged through our campsite at Yellowstone. Alas, the electronic age with social media exposing our every movement has left the written communication via snail mail to die. Remember opening that magazine to the centerfold upon receipt? Those were the days. In a mind-wandering related way, I think back to my early geek years with new fangled email and internet in the office and found the true use of the internet, porn. But, I digress, with some ugly memories of a woman and a horse. Ooooooh! Get over it. She did. Anyway, the guy in accounting sent it. And the guy monitoring emails was the porn king. Those were the days.
Back to the joyous holiday season. Think sugarplums (what the hell are they anyway? Was she a centerfold or something to hide the pubies?), mistletoe and draedels. Come on, Christians, there is a Chaunaka Harry, and this year he also comes tonight. (Hey, you pornheads, don’t think it.) To the point of this damn thing, wishing you all, not just a happy holiday season – what a narrow timeframe – but happiness and, perhaps more importantly, with possible threats to healthcare on the horizon, good health throughout the year. We’ll revisit next year. I know for many of you, this year sucked. Let me join in that refrain. THIS YEAR SUCKED! We’ll get over it. But don’t lose your focus and do anything stupid. If some asshole at the bar deserves a fist in the nose, think clearly about the possible repercussions. Don’t punch the idiot in the nose. Think about your hand. Ask the bartender for a fresh, frosty mug and use that to break the jerkoff’s nose. Maybe you’ll get his last tooth too.
Sorry. This past year gets me riled up. So much bad shit (why does error correction capitalize Shit? A deity I missed? Thought I dismissed all of them). I think I’m still having alcohol and opioid withdrawals. Some anger issues. Could it be that intoxicants were invented to calm the masses? Well, pot’s going legal, eventually everywhere. Wish I still had a desire for that. Big brother trying to mellow out the rest of us? Think about it, how many stoners will break a face with a beer mug? By the way, a paranoid rumor in my head, and maybe in a few others, had it that when I was sending out 2am, off-the-wall ramblings about whatever stream-of-consciousness was surfacing after ten ounces of alcohol, a couple of pain killers, and a few tokes of hash oil, that I was perhaps “losing it”. Well, let me put that rumor, if there was any truth to it, to rest. I never had “it”! Actually, I lost it a long time ago and had been pretending all those years that I still had it. Do you still have it? Condolences, depending on how you feel about “it”. Get rid of the copy too.
More digression. Sorry. Anyway, you don’t need a holiday letter from us. I sent 17 of these out in the first half of the year, just 5 since – surgeries really fucked up my mood more than expected. So, you know what we did this year. But, here we are, on the road again, there I am, up on the stage. The Metallica version is, in my hard rock opinion, the best cover of any song in history. Talk amongst yourselves on that one. There’s always ‘You Keep Me Hangin On’ by Vanilla Fudge, or, for the season, Trans Siberian Orchestra tearing up (in a good way) any Christmas song. But, hey family (sorry non-family for this digression), on a very similar topic – do you remember the first lipsynch contest at the first annual cousins’ party (1986-7?) at Uncle Bobby’s. I know it wasn’t a cover but I worked hard for weeks while driving back and forth to work getting the words and timing perfect for my ‘Doe A Deer’ presentation. It has audience participation, everybody singing – and I didn’t even get a bowling trophy. Remember, Jill? That was entertainment. Pull out your old camcorder videos. Play that sucker at my funeral. Again, apologies non-attendees.
Ok, back to now. On the road again. We’re in cold, rainy and windy Bullhead City, AZ. It fucking poured last night.This is usually one of the hottest parts of the state but the jet stream, pushed pretty far south by a cold mass, is sucking moisture from the Pacific and spreading it throughout the southwest. I know, you all get it a few days later much worse. It’s just nasty here but at least it’s not freezing.
The pics are just views from the rv park. We’ve been here, in Bullhead City, twice before but not in this park. Our site is on a ridge overlooking the city, the Colorado River, and Laughlin (mini Las Vegas), NV, where they are on Pacific time. My phone gets confused sometimes. Not so smart. I think we’ll go over there this afternoon and join the wheel-chaired, oxygen-tank smokers at the tables. Actually Harrah’s has a non-smoking floor.
So how many Happy Holiday notes did you get like this? One last thing – when the weather sucks, the movies is an option. Our choices were limited yesterday but “Manchester By The Sea” got great reviews so we tried it. If you like character studies and don’t care about feel-good BS, this one’s for you. If you’re depressed, bring several vials of heroin with you and inject anytime it seems appropriate. They’ll be lots of opportunities. Or go with a communicable disease and sneeze all over everyone. Give them a reason to feel sick. But, fantastic writing, directing, and acting, if that’s enough to float your boat.
Wait, one more. We picked up ‘Whiskey, Tango, Foxtrot’ on the way home. Eh, or for dreidel spinners, meh. Great line at the end though. That old, personally familiar theme of “adrenaline junky” resonated throughout, culminating in Tina Fey’s character’s reason for leaving after years in Afghanistan, “It’s starting to feel normal”. Like when you stop taking acid. (It’s in the book.) But then it sounded more like an echo from the political campaign. Let’s hope “nuclear winter” doesn’t become part of “normal” conversation. That said, time for Mad Max?
He sees you when you’re sleeping
He knows when you’re awake
He knows if you’ve been bad or good
So be good for NSA’s sake
Dear Santa. How about just showing up?