New Years Suckin’ Eve

January 1, 2009

SO my wife got pissed because I would not let up on how much I hate the fucking ball drop in Times Square. I know that I’m influencing my 7 year old son but this is lame shit and his life will be better for not watching it.

The closest I ever got to anything resembling the ‘live’ experience of a New Years Rockin’ Eve was back in 1989 prior to Pittsburgh’s implementation of that culty First Night shit that everyone is adopting. The all age extravaganza was so small that it was held in a plaza near the Federal Building. The big feature was native son Donnie Iris ( Elwood City represent!) performing at 11:00 PM. He did all of his hits: the Rapper, Play that Funky Music, Ah! Lea! and the twenty five minute version of Love Will Rock You.

It would be several years before I followed in my parents footsteps with a stab at the overpriced dinner table and un-fun people New Years event.

My folks usually worked swing shifts. One of the rare nights that their shift stars aligned was New Years and so they would blow money on dinner, a show and a suite to impress ‘friends’ that were a motley collection of co-workers with their spouses.

I only fell for this once, dropping $125.00 per couple for a diner of tough fillet and rubbery lobster. When one of our ‘friends’ requested more broccoli some of the others were embarrassed and I couldn’t figure out why – the fucking guy liked vegetables so what’s the deal? I asked if that meant I could ask to have a lobster not overcooked and received a butter knife shiv to my right thigh under the table.

AS a little kid I spent most New Year nights into morn with my maternal Grandparents and midnight meant firearms and homemade bottle rockets. I would shoot off a .22 and maybe a few handguns. He usually unloaded a shotgun into the hill side and would fire a high calibre hunting rifle and his .44. His bottle rockets were not that penny-antie shit bought illegally from shady Ohio kiosks. He used gunpowder and size D Estes rocket engines. Those fucking things showered debris like a mid air collision. There was one cunty neighbor who lived at a sort of diagonal from him behind a neighbors house. There isn’t much room between houses, they are soldiered with pretty sizable yards in the back, a layout familiar to many in smalltown Appalachia.

Her cue to emerge and scream was the three foot long stick falling on to her roof along with the shards from the hand rolled rocket body.

“God-damned Dino! sons-a-bitches!”

We would both laugh as we snuck back into the house. There wasn’t much that she could do. Gun fire was always used for the Fourth, Labor Day, Memorial Day and sometime just for the hell of it.

There were always people trying to outdo everyone else. You would hear semi autos and multiple shotguns simultaneously from the same location. One time the shock waves could be felt in the air and through our feet as the Vargo’s set off a stick of dynamite just a few houses up the street. It’s funny that there was all of this gun play because Canonsburg is known as Gun Town, I don’t know why but wonder if it was because of the early and continued wearing of Zubaz pants.

That eight or nine minutes of silence to all out war and back to silence left an impression.

YEARS later, we went into our sizeable backyard when we rented this huge, four story house in the Mexican War streets section of Pittsburgh on the North Side a few minutes prior to the stroke of Midnight. It was our first New Years in the place and I’ll never forget how people made a mad dash to get back in as the sounds of SKS and AK-47 assault rifles bucked just blocks away. It persisted well into the early morning hours.

SO I have not seen Dick Clark since his stroke and probably not on Rockin’ New Years since 1990 when the big musical act was Bobby Brown performing My Prerogative. And honestly – I never want to see him again. No longer is he the voice of calm in to the new year, he’s a big reality check. He never seemed to age and so it was nice to look at him and think, “that fucking guy looks good.” And convince yourself that all of those cigarettes and cheeseburgers; bacon, liquor and illicit drugs effect the other guy: “Me, I’m aging like Dick Clark!”

I look at him now and think, “Fuck, one more year closer to some medical calamity that fucks me up like that…” He almost looks fake with the makeup, like a corpse or Christopher Reeves or maybe Terminator.

I don’t want to see it.

AND don’t forget the West Coast party! It isn’t enough to see the scene grabbing, disrespectfully patronizing babel from that fucking empty headed Seacrest – lets add Ferggie the pants pisser in the mix! hosting the West Coast party. When she pisses her pants – it isn’t a dribble – it looks like she dumped an entire bottle of Aquifina in her lap. If she were to ear the wrong type of material in red, where it gets darker and shiny when it gets wet, it was red it would look like the shower scene in Carrie. Or it would be sweet to have her full on pissed and sitting on Dicks lap.

That might be worth watching.


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