Pretty girls make everything better.
Have you noticed that? Even when you’re getting violently raped at the auto repair place, the pin-up in the grimy corner somehow makes it all go a little smoother. It only hurts at first.
Not that I would know, I pilot a jet-pack around town.
I walk on the backs of wood sprytes to the market, swim on waves of carpet samples to the post office, slide on electric eels to the podiatrist and back.
I have had a total of 2 really good New Year’s Eves. I’m really only thinking of this last one, and just assuming that I’ve had at least one other. I’m failing to remember it, though. What I can remember is being deathly-ill in Tahoe one year, fighting with a girlfriend on another, being on a plane back to nowhere, hiding alone in my apartment with the lights off, eating KFC cross-legged in front of the TV watching The Cosby Show re-runs, half-hearted countdowns at overly-optimistic parties.
This last one was good, though. This last one at the haunted Vogue Theatre, celebrated with one of the great LA band’s, Nico Vega, and their slightly lesser brethren Saint Hotel. There was a New Orleans marching band. There was mist upon the moors. There was no bullshit ball drop. There was a kiss for luck.
And oh, we be jamming.