Sick on Thanksgiving, tough to convince the folks and such that it's not a hang over. No dude, a hangover never quite rocked you like you were rocked on Thursday. Even the Gatorade wouldn't stay down.
Even the blue kind. I love the blue kind.
Had to make a quick stop on Route 1, after picking up Gram, to upchuck on the side of the road. I told Gram, I have to check something in the ba...and hopped out as the Blazah was rolling to a stop. When I got back in, she was still looking over at the Ledges when she asked if I had had to go the bathroom or something.
I wish it was just that.
I wish it had just been a hangover, instead of whatever the hell got me instead. The hang over would have been worth it and judging by what I was throwing back Wednesday night, there wouldn't be much throwing up after about 1 or so, Thanksgiving afternoon. And that works out pretty well. It wasn't as if the Lions game was compelling enough to keep me from doing anything else.
But I never turned. I only slept. Slept until it was time to leave Sunday morning and that was how I spent Thanksgiving.
Can't dwell on that shit, though. I can dwell on Chinese Democracy, though. And I can dwell on the Red Sox potential off-season moves and the Celtics in-season moves. I can dwell on anything. I can dwell on volcanoes, dolphins, or wombats if I wanted too.
Really I can dwell on anything- as long as it's positive, baby.
As long as it's positive.
Positive like say, that smoking new Guns 'n Roses album which is...smoking. It's amazing. It defies fancy words and phrasing so much so that it is fancy words and phrasing. Each and every song is the size of Asia and crashes through speakers like a well-functioning drunk cascading through the living room during the holidays- loud, abrasive, occasionally sensitive, even sentimental, sometimes a hoot and sometimes a hoof. Rarely does Axl ever hoof it through a song. He brings everything, the garbage disposal and the kitchen sink.
And it's nice sitting around, blasting G n R again. Yesterday morning I had to race up to NYC for an urgent matter and hitting 95, the sun out like a son of a bitch and the coffee pippin' hot- just like Mom made, Chinese Democracy was shaking the livin' shit out of the Blazah. I wanted to roll down the windows to let those other lifeless souls on the road in on what the heck was going down in the lane next to them- how it was unabashed, kickin rock n roll that will punch you in the stomach much sooner than it would even think of doing anything else.
Tickling? Not today.
Axl Rose don't tickle shit.
Axl Rose wouldn't be sick at Thanksgiving either. But if he were, it wouldn't stop him from eating the goddamn mashed potatoes.
At least I don't think so.