In Which We Gain One More Goddam New Year


mrpeenee’s chums, Hot Foot, Drum Stick, and Secret Agent Fred (often collectively known as The Children) have apparently caught on to mrpeenee’s less than charming habit of agreeing to social obligations and then ducking out 20 minutes before them with a pathetic text along the lines of “sorry, can’t make it. The bed won again.” Many years ago I sent Diane von Austinburg a haiku I had written that went like this:

It’s a cold hard world

but my bed is soft and warm

You call that a choice?

Diane replied that all my haikus somehow involve my bed.

Anyway, now that the children are on to me and know that I can’t be trusted, they’ve changed tactics and simply announce they’re coming over and we’re going to hang out on the roof deck. I suppose I could just not answer the door; the guys would probably be stymied with that, but I have no doubt Hot Foot, as indomitable as a force of nature, would simply kick in the door and drag me out of my bed and force me to have a good time.

And so that’s how I wound up spending New Year’s Day on my roof deck reveling in the lovely San Francisco afternoon, grazing on snacks, and not drinking champagne because I can’t drink alcohol anymore, thank you fucking restless leg syndrome. We hung out for 3 hours, yakking. It was the only sunny day we’ve had in a couple of weeks and it was absolutely toasty. So thank you to my friends for dragging me kicking and screaming into an amusing introduction to 2022.

I know most people have been talking shit about 2021, but really, compared to 2020, it was pretty much a peach of a year. It was the year I found out I’m okay with lockdown, as long as they let me go to Peet’s Cafe every day (which I suppose is really just lockdown lite) because avoiding the riff and the raff of the general populace is fine with me. If I have to be an old man haunted by restless leg syndrome and disappearing eyebrows, at least I can happily be a curmudgeon.

New Year nudes:

At least I don’t wind up on the floor during the party anymore.

About mrpeenee

A former bon vivant and terror of a number of New Orleans bars in the mad, gay 1980s, I'm now quietly retired and widowed in San Francisco. I have a crooked nose due to an unfortunate Frisbee accident.

7 responses »

  1. Start the year as you mean to go on, I say – and if that’s “old curmudgeon”, then I am sure no-one will be disappointed when there is no change to what they already know…

    Pic #5 reminds me I haven’t been for a swim for a long time. Lord knows how many lengths I could manage these days 🙂



  2. This post is full of references to Ringo Starr’s “No-No Song”! Now I can’t get that @#$%^%$ thing out of my head! (Happy New Year, Peenee. Now go back to bed.)


    • Thanks a lot for the ear worm, Anonymous. At least it’s replaced Sir Paul’s “Simply Having a Wonderful Christmas Time.”

      Happy New Year, Peenee! It’s currently minus 13 degrees Fahrenheit outside my door today so there will be no rooftop reveling for me.


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