I got a couple emails this week saying "Are you ok? I have been reading your blog. How are you, really?" - all the people that ask, they are on the coasts and mos def enduring winter differently than those of us who rock the 270$ monthly heating bills up in the 312. I went to the record store today, to do some bartering and trading, and I whispered to my friend, the clerk, "I am thinking maybe I should buy those Bright Eyes albums, whats up with that?" - he did not have an answer since the mail man was just delivering a package of a Lost Weekend 7" - 1965 Indiana soul band singles outweigh personal conundrum over potential Bright Eyes fandom, and he had a summer-glee look on his face. I asked the three other clerks I knew how they were, and all of them answer "ah, you know. Fine, I guess." This is my dispatch saying, if you live here, you understand, everyone is feeling the deep funk of winters bitch turn.
Most of my friends, they are content to drink and fuck it off or turn it from a Blockuster nite into a Blockbuster week. I do not have those obliteration lifestyle choices - I do not drink, and the man I smooch is 17 time zones into the future, I got hella fines at the video store and can only rent when that kid from Mahjonng is working cos he does not care about my $46 late fee.
So, I use disco records like drugs, nurse my water (light on the ice, please) at the tumble-weed populated dj nights my friends do, stomp out crop circles in the snow while on my 3 am smokebreak, wait for my New Yorker subscription to show, play tricks on the cat, spend a few hours unfreezing the pipes every couple days, stare directly at the sun when I can in hopes it releases some narcotic-level seratonin in to my skull's neighboorhood, imagine life in equatorial climes where I drive a car made from coconuts and am accompanied by a fez wearing sign language spidermonkey named Chim-Chim, who keeps me amused by signing dirty jokes and playing the accordion.
So, you know, fine. Fine.