Ah, yes. We have so much to look foward to, don’t we? Bombing ultimatums, colored advisory tides, softening up, the oncoming Peterbilt of cancer and other lurking ailments … music just seems to suck it up, and film– well, what can one say of modern cinema? But my SUV runs like a charm, I tell you what. And my Viennese dark roast really hits the spot on cold mornings like today. I just hold my shiny (elevated) yellow mug with both hands, covering the cartoon Chicago with my right palm, and hum. Debilitate/liberate, my dad would always say … that, and “accelerate through the turns, son.” Yes, I know: good advice, especially during these cakewalk times of pen-cameras and duct-taped VW doors.
Relief awaits the patient … this has been made evident by the announcement yesterday of a new airline: HOOTERS AIR. Yes, chickenwings and orange satin shortyshorts have now taken to the air. Limited runs between Atlanta and Myrtle Beach, with connections to Newark on the way. Brings me back to the good old days when me and my frat brothers would hop a slow moving freight train behind McCormick Plaza and ride the 35 minutes down to Gary, Indiana, walk down 7th Avenue to the best fucking Hooters in the country, catty-corner from Demont’s Drive-Up Liquor & Gun Shop.
Shit. Worst thing is, you can never go back, man, you know? I couldn’t tell you where half of those guys are at now.
This is how I like it now, though. Drinking the coffee at the precipice of a despot-less world, sitting in front of a 21″ flat-screen in my underwear, scratching my soft gorilla chest until the phone rings. I take pictures of cornerstones and collect them in my filing cabinet under a folder entitled PROOF. And people never let me down because I don’t expect different from them … this makes it all the easier, I say.
