The years just keep sliding by, don’t they? You ever notice that?
I guess it would be weird if time just stopped, but it’s also pretty strange that it just… keeps… going… What’s really happening here? What’s going on?
I know a few folks who are heading on up ahead tonight, skipping 2020 and going about halfway up the decade until they find somewhere to hang out for a while. They’ve got a bus out back of the Harbor Inn, gonna push off around 11 o’clock or so. Driver tells me they’re trying to outrun the heat in America. Things have been getting a little too goddamn vivid around here, he says, and I can’t blame him. And, yeah, they’ve still got some open spots if you’re looking for a ride tonight. Bring a guitar. And ice. You can tell them that “Dr. Glorkblat” sent you.
Me? I’ve got big plans in 2020. Bae and I are getting married! We’re working on something big here, sort of a longform improv bit that’ll run on across the years. See, we’re trying to take the infinite possibilities of the universe and bend them into what-I’d-call “moments,” fleeting scenes of shared joy and experience each day. There’s no way of knowing where we’ll go, what we’ll do, but we’ll be doing it together. Total communion with the great drift of the present moment. I’m thrilled about all of this.
Oh, and I’ve got a few stories on our haphazard criminal justice system coming out soon, with more to come. I’ve told myself to finally get around to writing that thing about that one thing I mentioned at the bar that night a while back.
In a couple weeks, our hound, Forrest is turning 3 (that’s 21 to you and me). We’re planning a big bash. So, if you happen to know a good dog-clown…
And I imagine there’ll be a whole hell of a lot of blues music, Salvadoran coffee, mid-afternoon runs, postmodern novels, West Coast cannabis, East Coast custard and long, languid golf games with good friends and a head full of whisky in this new year. If not, well, we may as well all get on that bus after all. Things are going to get very dicey around here in 2020 if you’re not prepared with good tunes and a nice spot to chill out and read a book somewheres.
To everyone else out there, all you idealists and wanderers, political organizers and potheads, musicians and poets, have a wonderful new year—whichever one you land in tomorrow—and be sure to treat all intersections as a four-way stop when the traffic lights are blinking purple, orange and blue. Glorkblat out.
Sandy 