Friday, January 9, 2009

New Years Lang Aye

I had a fairly exciting New Year. Let’s save the waxing on what exactly qualifies as ‘an exciting’ until later. I can be rather infuriating in my opinions. New Year is my favorite holiday. Listen, my opinions are great.
For the New Year I was thinking of going to Holocene to see Explode into Colors. Instead I hung around my friends K and Luke. We’re in a band together so I am in love with them. We rode our bikes to southeast where I again met some kids I have apparently met before. Come on. Don’t you have to meet people a couple times before it really sinks in?
One of these three, who will henceforth be referred to as ‘the robot,’ made a robot costume for New Years so he could behave badly at parties and get away with it. I have included some illustrative sketches.





We decided to try out a party on something/something and began walking. It occurred to me a few blocks out (several members of the party were encouraging us not to walk in the middle of the road) that we appeared to be a group of youth retreating very slowly from a robot. Luke did something amazing then and started making up sentiments akin to the poorly translated Japanese stationary of which I am so fond.
“Slowly going children. The New Year Robot walks as slowly. Careful of the road’s center for merriment.” And so forth.



After we left the party my memory gets spotty at best. This time we followed the robot. I remember trying to talk to Erik for a long time about various Hemingway short stories I felt he would be interested in. At the robot's house he had assembled a small collection of cymbals, drums, a tuba, a trombone and other oompa band related items. We all started off again into the night to bring in the neighborhood.
I was given a cymbal (largely due to the fact that I stood in the street staring at a light for an extended period of time after we returned to the house. I never actually made it indoors. I was handed the cymbal on the way out.) and set about playing it in a fairly aerobic fashion of throwing the cymbal into the road and running to catch it before the rattling was finished. We moved quickly this time, streaming in and out of bars and later house parties. Of the bars, at least two paid us (the robot). I think it was payment to make us leave more than anything else. We wormed our way through several houses. I don’t remember being kicked out but I’m told we were many times.
I do recall feeling frustrated at my inability to play the cymbal inside a house. I decided to go through drawers in someone’s kitchen and stole a knife to hang the cymbal on. This pleased me and frightened others.
Phrases like, “Suzette’s got a knife!” flew. Preposterous. I may be drunk but I know I’m drunk. Later that night/morning I crawled up the bluff and made myself a sandwich, checking twice to make sure the burners were off. I am a responsible drunk.
Luke spent much of the morning laying on the ground, lost in northwest, letting the rain fall into his mouth. How seriously romantic.

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