Happy New Year all of you.
Hope it was as fun as mine, thought as usual, my gallivanting at New Year's leads to strange and baroque company, and oddly, a whole lot of God thrown in.
The God part came when I went to see Baba to find she had slightly recovered from (poor old girl) falling on her head and breaking her pelvis as a bonus. Maybe it was the pain-killers, but she greeted me warmly and assured me she was still in there pitching. I rode out in a wave of relief only to find that I'd somehow lost all my cigarettes on the bus along with some serious coin....Right thee on the sidewalk in front of Townsview Health centre lay a fresh pack of Players and five dollars. I was on my way.
Luck holding, I went to Mary's who prepared a really good Ukrainian scoff and I was sent merrily to seek New Year's eve adventures.
My intention had been to see Salad, Sands and the entire cast of Mama Mia at Nathan Phillips Square, but then again, God had other plans. I got screwed up on the TTC and somehow ended up on the Burlington Train Meet for Toronto.
Here, suddenly, I had companions who kept me merry all the way to Oakville, where I was suddenly in the company of a gorgeous black girl who was SO lost that I don't believe she had a brain left. She thought Front Street was in Oakville and in any event she had no more ticket to get to TO.
Enter the encyclopedic yodelling brakeman.
All the way to Oakville, I heard the brakeman and the conductor carrying on this incredible conversation about Chess Records, and even a time before when all the blues greats of the Twenties, Blind Lemon Jefferson, Big Bill Broonzy, T-Bone Walker, Son House--and probably even Blind, Lame and Crippled Horribly, for all I know were laying the ground work for Cream, The Rolling Stones and parts of Bob Dylan. The brakeman and the conductor had enough encyclopedic material on all popular music since about l9l9 to the present day to fill and entire disc website. There was even a part, perhaps apocryphal, about Chuck Berry smashing Keith Richands full in the mouth for making computer copies of all his riffs and passing them off as his own.
This incredible conversation is going on while the black girl with me is catching up on the stunning cultural contributions blacks have made to America and the world.
But still, she was lost.
No matter The Football Drop for the new year came and all four of us, brakeman, conductor, Black Girl Where Did You Sleep at Night (Robert Johnstone?)--shook hands hugged profusely and brought the New Year in right. Who cares who was lost or found. This was the football drop at the GO BOWL.
Everybody got to where she or he was going and I was again sent merrily upon my way from Finch to Newmarket. Is there intelligent life north of Steeles?
Every good time has an asshole at the ending and we picked one up at about Oak Ridges and he began to harangue and belittle everybody until the bus driver asked him to get off the next stop. Thank God. He looked like a serial killer.
In other words, I had a pretty good time.
Christ, I'm still high.
Happy New Year everybody.