Today really feels like a new year. I don’t know why. But it’s not even noon, and I’ve already turned my mattress, cleaned my basement and exercised half an hour. 2006, get outta my way.
I hadn’t planned on this being a hangover day — the Eve, for us, is usually marked by a nicer-than-usual dinner, a nicer-than-usual bottle of wine and a nicer-than-usual rented movie. We did all that — roast chicken, pinot noir and “Me and You and Everyone We Know.” But then, just to show you even a boring old NYE routine can have a little excitement in it, came the show that started around 11:40 p.m.
“Is someone hammering out there?” I asked.
“Those are automatic weapons, dummy,” Alan scoffed, and he was right. How is Detroit like Baghdad? When we’re happy in the D, we like to empty weapons at the sky. Because it’s so…so…what’s the word I’m looking for? Oh yeah: Stupid.
But if any 9mm rounds fell our way, we didn’t notice any. (Last year one penetrated Alan’s office; fortunately, no one was at work, and windows don’t bleed.) Fingers crossed for the rest of the year.