Four Moments for December.

Remember last year when you were on your own?

The semester’s over, and I’ve made it out of Los Angeles and back to a cold-as-hell New York. I love coming home no matter the situation, but right now anything is a welcome change. Many of my old friends seem hell-bent on creating drama where there should be none; the plight of the Brothers Hatfield is just one of many ridiculous situations where I feel that I must get involved, if only to play mediator and make sure that everyone refrains from killing one another. That superlative screenwritress Memphis Belle warned me against this tactic right before I jumped on the plane: “No one’s forcing you to do anything, Jimmy. Relax.” It’s good advice, Belle, but when was I ever one to follow good advice? I know I shouldn’t, but I’ll probably continue to make sure that everyone gets along at great expense to my own well-being. This reasoning defeats the entire purpose of leaving LA in the first place, but years of habit are hard to break.

You swore the spirit couldn’t be found.

Tonight, five years after the fact, my mother finally stated her first opinion on Jesse Quick, infamous speedster of the North Country Fair. “You know, James, you and Quick were cute together. You even sorta looked the same. When you were kinda chubby, so was she, and when you had slimmed down she had gotten skinny. I remember when you two were leaving Grand Central, and you had to be the happiest people in there. Too bad she turned out so loony.” It’s true; the whole affair ended in heartbreak, but looking back on it all I can do is shrug and say that it probably wasn’t meant to be the last. Who really does end up with the first girl with whom they fall in love?

December rolled around and you were counting on it to roll out.

Some things in Manhattan never change, as indicated by the fact that I can jump right back to my radio and push it to WPLJ, WQXR, and WHTZ, each still playing the same format I’ve heard since birth. Other factors are completely different; that sporty little restaurant in Chelsea I liked has been replaced with a Mexican bar, OMFUG is on the move, and the upcoming transit strike stands to be the most catastrophic urban event since the Hiroshima bombings. . .at least, if our intrepid local newsmen are to be believed. No matter; the man without a home has returned, and he has found that more of it survived than he remembered. It’s a good thing, too. Stability has proved itself to be in short supply.

As days go by the more we need friends and the harder they are to find.
If I could have a friend like you in my life, well, I guess I’d be doing just fine.

Today I venture out into my frozen metropolis for the first time this break. It’s not going to be a stress-free operation, but I guess that’s alright; I’ve pretty much given up all hope of reverting to a completely serene existence. I just have to realize that various factors in my life will never resolve themselves, and that I’ve been through worse. Not the most typical Happy Holiday thoughts, I know, but they keep me going until the next bout of euphoria.

Everything’s gonna be cool this Christmas. . .