The Year Thus Far…

There was a Peanuts cartoon once where Linus’ first homework assignment was an essay on “What I did last summer.”  He was unable to get past “I read comic books and watched TV.”  Sitting down to type the first blog entry of 2015, I am feeling pretty much the same way.  (The year is less than 21 hours old, so maybe I get more of a pass than Linus.)

I have seen Susie for a total of less than one hour so far.  She saw in the new year at the Upper Arlington home of her friend Kat, while I whooped in the new year at The Pirate House.  (I actually saw the ball drop on Times Square, whereas Susie and Kat dozed off around 10:30 p.m. while watching Gravity Falls on their laptops.  They woke up around 2, realized they had slept through midnight, cursed this, and then went back to sleep.)

Our hosts at The Pirate House were gracious enough to provide a bottle of non-alcoholic bubbly so the teetotalers (I seemed to be the only one) could herald the arrival of the new year.  We were watching a live stream from Times Square (Ryan Seacrest), and it was as much fun and as exciting as the first time I “saw in the new year,” with 1972 becoming 1973.  My dad, however, preferred that we watch Guy Lombardo and the Royal Canadians’ celebration instead of Dick Clark’s.

I stayed at the party until about 1:30 a.m. and made my way home.  I think the cold temperatures kept the number of drunken idiots stumbling around lower than it has been in previous years.  There were people going to and coming from parties in houses here and there, but none of them were belligerent or careless.  I am sure some of them tried to drive home, but I hope they were restrained by their more rational friends.

I fell into bed sometime between 3 and 4 a.m., and slept until 11.  Susie was still not back, so I treated myself to several consecutive episodes of Law and Order on WGN America, while Susie and Kat resumed their Gravity Falls binge.  (Susie describes it as a Twin Peaks for kids.)

Joan Colebrook wrote a 1968 book about juvenile delinquency called The Cross of Lassitude.  Lassitude is the one thing that I have to push to the side by the time 6:45 rolls around tomorrow morning, since the work day will be beckoning at that time.  I dealt with the attack of the killer ex partes for most of yesterday, and managed to made some progress in reducing the dictation backlog that piled up during last week, when I was in Florida.

Late Tuesday afternoon, after I returned from seeing Betsy off on the bus to Athens, I stuck my head in at Used Kids Records, so I could sift through the large cache of records they were discarding.  I came home with quite an armload, which provoked that eye roll typical of all teenagers in the presence of a parent, and I sat down at the laptop and cataloged them, setting aside the ones that could not find. Part of my haul included some stray records from the Ktav Publishing House (“Better things for better Jewish living”), most of it Hanukkah music.  Although I have zero interest in baseball, I did take a record called Reds Greatest Hits ’76, produced by the Cincinnati Reds to celebrate winning the World Series for the second consecutive year.

And there were five or six sealed copies of a cassette from the Cincinnati-based Wolverton Brothers, their 1990 Sucking Hind Tit (OKra 33012-4).  I have never been much of a live music fan, but I did see their name on flyers and club marquees during my years in the Clifton and Corryville sections of Cincinnati.

Susie is at Kafé Kerouac, and I’m typing while listening to Seals and Crofts, and debating about whether to get to bed at a sensible hour so my first day at work in 2015 will be a productive one.

This is me on January 1 of every year.

This is me on January 1 of every year.


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