This is MY New Year’s Eve post. (New Year’s Eve is a holiday, isn’t it? If not, that’s okay, because I’ll be posting a New Year’s DAY story tomorrow.) As always, this post will be all about ME, MY bike ride, MY pictures, and MY self-obsession. The title of this thing was inspired by a Sonic Youth song that was stuck in my head.
What you are about to read is sort of like a poem. I thought up most of the rhymes in a stream-of-consciousness frenzy as I pedaled. I felt like a Beasty Boy in Sonic Youth clothing. I realize the rhymes are quite absurd, but I assure you I edited out many, many more of them that were much, much worse. After all, I had to save a couple shreds of dignity before the start of an important new year and new decade.
That important new year / decade begins tomorrow. I look forward to it. I look forward to the whole new 2020 version of ME. A more mature ME. A more sophisticated ME. A more selfless ME. A new ME that transcends my obsessive ME-ness. I’m 70% sure that tomorrow’s post will be 50% more dignified than this one.
But before I can achieve the NEW ME, I have to face up to the OLD ME–both the 20-year old ME AND the 60-year old ME of yesteryear. That’s the true beginning of today’s rap song.
The ME at age 20 was a resident of Party Nation. New Year’s Eve was the national holiday of Party Nation. Revelry was an annual obligation. Libation after libation, with no moderation. Lucky I had no incarceration.
That’s how I used to be. But that’s not the 60-year-old me. I’m smarter but less fun, you’ll see.
The me at 60 doesn’t greet the new year ‘cuz I can’t stay awake. Midnight arrives too late, for god’s sake. I’m in bed by 10 o’clock, give or take.
Nowadays, a bike ride is MY new kind of party. My cold-weather hardy, never-be-tardy, Coach Vince Lombardi, one-man cycling party. Aren’t I a smarty?
A holiday on handlebars. On roads with no cars. Like riding on Mars. And then there’s those Sonic Youth Guitars . . .
That’s the song. The in-my-head song. New Year’s Eve without a song? Ding dong! That would be wrong.
In no way am I sexee, but I am self-obsessed. Yes, a bit possessed. I should probably be assessed. Glad I confessed.
Got a couple more pics. Just for kicks. One last goofy fix.
I made it home from my ride. ‘Twas an icy glide. A little slip and slide. I’m bona fide.
Tomorrow comes the new decade. Into the new decade I’ll wade. Greg at a higher grade. More real, less charade. More grape jelly, less marmalade. More do-si-do, less promenade. More confront, less evade.
See you next year.