Confessions of a Pop Fan

Sunday, January 01, 2006

I'M JUST LOOKING FOR A KISS

It's almost ridiculous how unsentimental I am about holidays. I just don't find these arbitrary days to be all that appealing, particularly the ones that have some kind of emotion or behavior attached to them, emotion or behavior that we should be indulging in 365. Is it that we really need these moments to absolve us of our sins because we truly are sinners who can't help it, or have we just built in an escape hatch for poor life etiquette? Chances are, if the last twelve months were a waste of opportunities, then honest reflection will reveal that not much is going to change a day later. And for myself, anyway, I am on my own calendar now. June 1st is my goal for where I draw a line in time, as I ponder if my list of accomplishments this year as a writer will rival last year's.

Of course, within this grinchiness, I harbor a dirty little secret. As some like to continually tease me, my protestations only go one way. While I want to remove myself bodily from celebrations, I do try to send out goodness and observe the holidays in service of others (not to mention the contradictory impulse to greedily gobble up gifts). For people who are important to me, for instance, if birthdays are important to them, I will do my best to remember, to notice, to give. If such days are truly reminders to be unselfish, then I must harrumph and trundle in my orthopedic old-man shoes down to the gift store and at the very least, get you a card. And I actually do so, in my core of cores, without bitterness on those occasions when I succeed it overcoming my self-absorbed impulses (which I don't always do).

And so it is that I found myself out and about on New Year's, drinking and scribbling in my notebook, watching the latter get less intelligible as the former got more copious. Joelle was on duty last night, waitressing, and so I sat at a table in her bar in an attempt to be a port in the storm while cheap amateurs stiffed her on tips. At one point, she passed by and I grabbed her and pointed at the page in my moleskin, showing her where on one line I had fallen off, dropped below, and then tried to right myself and the next line collided into it, instigating a car crash of words on paper. I also marveled at the surreal site of ESPN rocking into 2006 in a time zone an hour ahead of my own, with the New York Dolls entertaining sports fans with a live performance of "Personality Crisis." I'm calling it as the first "What the Fuck?" moment of 2006. (The second being me just spilling coffee all over my feet. What the Fuck?!)

While much of last night's writing was a Halloween suicide for Have You Seen the Horizon Lately?, there were some random snippets of non-clarity. "I don't lie when I'm drunk. I say the things I really mean with the safety net of alcohol to catch me when I have to own up to them in the morning," for instance. Or, "Trust me, I see. Every time you pass, I see. I only avert my eyes so you think I don't notice, scared of what might happen if you knew I do." At one point I channeled Morrissey ("Everyone is attractive to somebody -- except me."), at another I wrote something I thought I overheard ("How do you say 'menage a trois' in French?"), I tried a couple of times to create violent images about wielding a pen as a literal weapon, and eventually, it all went to shit ("Would that with my fiery eyes I could declare you dead for invading my parem op tae and Nin" is the best I can figure on that one). All random and meaningless, and proving, like I said, that today may be this year, but it's not yet different than last. I remain the same.

Current Soundtrack: Christina Aguilera, "Fighter," New York Dolls, New York Dolls

Current Mood: self-absorbed