1. Wednesday, January 2, 2002

    if i could be friends with one person 

    young mike tysonit would be Mike Tyson. i would walk around with him and keep him out of trouble. i would never tell him what to do, but i would tell him what not to do. ok, i would tell him occasionally what to do. like i’d say no violence unless you’re getting paid for it.

    happy new year. did everyone get some time off. i did. im beat. i stayed up so late every night. i have no idea why im so tired today but i am. im draggin. it’s all catching up to me. fortunately this is another short week. the electric blanket my mom gave me i swear is from some fairy tale. it’s magical. it’s given me all this energy. i totally cleaned my closet in the master bedroom. it’s a walk in closet and i had this huge box in there that clothes would end up getting thrown in and i wouldnt wear those clothes for months. i also had books on the shelves and everything was in disarray.

    yesterday i pulled the box out, washed all the clothes that were in that closet, put christmas lights in there, put a three-shelf dealio in there, taped some risque pictures of latin gurls on the wall and laid down a nice oriental carpet. this morning while selecting which flannel i was going to wear i flipped on the christmas lights and it brightened my day. ah, elegence. how long will you last?

    people have been saying happy new year to me a lot in the last few days. when they say it they smile. like the PC patrol wont bust them. almost like they wanted to say Merry Christmas to everyone a few weeks ago, but in california you dont know if that’s gonna offend someone. so when New Years rolls in everyone is free to say what they really want. the girl at the KFC yesterday said it to me as my back was turned and i was walking out the door. didnt even have to but she did and she almost laughed with glee as she said it. stopped me dead in my tracks and i turned around and gave it back to her and she beamed. maybe it was a bet she had with the guy who fries the chicken, “Five bucks i can make the next guy turn around and wish me a happy new year.”

    chris was nice enough to loan me her car while she vacationed up in Oregon. even though i didnt drive it much, it was nice to have. it woulda been nicer to be in Oregon with chris and her supersweet family with deers bouncing through the backyard and wild turkeys running through the wilderness but at least i have a nice closet now. and the champ knows that theres someone out there who would be his buddy. for a price.

    Rang in the New Years with friends over at Greg and Molli’s. Molli had just come back from Thailand. Lots of my friends were there including Jeanine who told me that she listened to “The Razor’s Edge” for the first time. That girl is getting into AC/DC so hard it’s funny. She tried to give me a hard time for not turning her on to that record. I said, “one reason you probably like it so much is cuz i’d play it occassionally as we were falling in love. you just didnt hear it in details because your head was swimming from my marvelousness.” But it’s nice to know that sorta new AC/DC is as appealing to fresh ears as classic AC/DC, which you would think would overshadow anything in comparison.

    Our good pal Jason Pontius was also at Greg’s looking more handsome than ever and sounding strong on the acoustic guitar. Greg got a little hootenanny going and when the guitar got passed to me Greg asked if i’d read a poem, i declined and then he ran to his room and pulled out “Ilka” and through the night i read some poems and Jason asked to hear “Pixies Rock Music” and i was drunk and that poem isnt in “Ilka” and i dont memorize my poems. and then something really cool happened.

    the guitar had been passed around a few times, the champagne had been poured, people had smoked things, and the guitar came to me and it occured to me that maybe if i tried real hard i could remember this poem (which i had recently changed the title to avoid any confusion with the song that i did not write, but i loved, thus i titled the poem after) . and it’s so rotten to turn down a request, i mean how many guys who barely write poems anymore get requests during a hoot – from a guy you havent seen in a decade?

    and i said the first line and i could see jason smiling so i knew it was the right poem

    “theres a dingdong at my doorbell…”

    and i recited each line slowly, digging into my muddled mind and pulled them out one by one like cards i was dealing out and when i got near the end i realized that i knew the whole poem. it was a great moment and everyone felt it. it was real. it was real cool. i have the best friends. real friends. im a lucky dork.

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