…On The New Year 1.07.2003 [--the first time the new year has been written--]

I wish I could sit here, as snow blows over suburban Queens streets and sticks as it did not in Manhattan, and offer you some insights about the turning of a new leaf and the coming of a new year; or some humor about what sociopolitical hijacks are to come; or some hope that the coming year is going to be more fun and more pain-free (esp for myself, for Gully, and for the unofficial Ms. Idaho). I wish I could offer political commentary on the Republican National Convention, now scheduled for New York, August, 2004. It would be off the chain if I could delve into the depths of the US’ hospital ship, specially equipped to deal with victims of chemical warfare, now on its way across the ocean to the Persian Gulf.

Instead you get this--

Man, I have been sleeping a g-ddamned lot recently.

I’m nearly a narcoleptic. Admittedly, it is because I have spent a lot of time flouncing around the city, seeing people I haven’t seen since I started school. Upper West Side. Cobble Hill. Lower East Side. Chelsea. SoHo. That’s the best part about New Year's; this time of year brings people together in bunches, pulls them out of work and into the bottle where they belong. And when I don’t pass out in front of them (face-in-lap or face-at-ceiling), or lose the power of speech, or suddenly become too shy to drop my… guard, they are a blast to be around.

New Year’s was pretty damned good. And that’s ALL I’m saying.

Yaaaaaawwwwwnnnn. Good luck in the naughty 2-K-Tré.