Should Old Acquaintance be forgot,
and never thought upon;
The flames of Love extinguished,
and fully past and gone:
Is thy sweet Heart now grown so cold,
that loving Breast of thine;
That thou canst never once reflect
On Old long syne.
CHORUS:
On Old long syne my Jo,
On Old long syne,
That thou canst never once reflect,
On Old long syne.
– Traditional, as interpreted by Robert Burns
I actually saw the New Year 0f 2013 come in. I was quite surprised that it happened that way- totally by accident. I stopped at Willow to see Old Jim and his wife of 30 years, Mary, around five. There was a plain-clothes Crown Vic at the curb, unmanned at the moment, but it signaled to me that I should not tarry at the bar long.
I know it is all about safety and that crap but the trappings of the new National Security State chafe a bit on an independent citizen. I could hve taken a cab, of course, but that would take the fun of the cat-and-mouse out of the early evening.
Did I mention Heckle the Cat returned to live in the barn at the farm? There was no end of good news. I observed as much when I walked into the bar and sat down next to Jim
Which was true- the Amen Corner was reserved, starting at 8:30 that evening and Old Jim was pissed off about it.
“Jim,” I said, “We never last long enough to get to eight o’clock, and I am certainly not even going to try tonight. Too many cops out there.”
“It’s just not right,” growled Jim. “If I want to stay, I ought to be allowed to. They should have asked first.”
I shrugged. Mary said that SECSTATE’s blood clot was in the brain, not the leg, as had been reported on the satellite radio coming back up north, and the story had changed. She asked what I thought, since I had been of the opinion that the “concussion” was a function of Hillary’s refusal to be pilloried in front of an angry House committee over the Benghazi “sloppiness” cited by the President.
“I apologize to the Secretary in advance, assuming this is a result of the concussion,” I said. “But you have to admit it was all awfully convenient.”
“It is almost the new year. Try some charity, Vic,” she said, taking a sip of the bubbly.
“I hereby accept that as a resolution,” I said. “I will have more faith in the Process, though it has been a challenge.”
“Do you think the House will act tonight?” growled Jim.
“I dunno. I heard that they trotted out the Veep and the Minority leader and they got something done. Fixed the AMT, extended the unemployment benefits, and identified the real class enemies.”
“Who is that?” said Jim, taking a swig of Budweiser.
“Single earners who make more than $400 thousand, and couples making $450K,” I said. “I can get behind screwing those bastards.”
“Youknow it will be exactly like the AMT, don’t you? It will creep up and get everyone sooner or later.”
“But it won’t happen this year. By the time inflation gets me to $400K a year I will have been dead for awhile.”
“Après vous, le deluge, right?”
“That seems to be the general theme this year. I should be interesting when they get around to looking at the deficit.”
“If they get there.”
I nodded. “You are right on that one. I dunno why, but the whole cast of characters downtown reminds me of the crew of the Costa Concordia.”
“We can hope they wake up enough to keep us off the rocks.”
“And hope that they don’t screw this up at the very last minute,” said Chris, the burly ex-Marine who began to list a litany of outrages at the Dulles Expo Gun Show.
“The extended capacity magazines were two or three times what they were before the Sand Hook shootings. It is price gouging, pure and simple.”
“They are going to be illegal pretty soon. Can’t blame them for wanting to clear the inventory,” I said.
“There were no AR’s left on the counters, and a lot of people were buying tactical shotguns. And between the Code Pink demonstrators and the happy assault weapon buyers, it was a zoo.”
“I didn’t even consider going,” I said. “I think I am all set right where I am,” I said. “No need to panic just yet. I looked at the dial on the Rolex and realized I needed to go before the police set up the random check-points. I looked over at Jim and Mary. “You guys are great pals,” I said. “Have a great New Years.”
Jim scowled. “Yeah, and a merry Old Long Syne, to you too, Vic.” Then he ordered another Bud. They can walk home from Willow.
Happy New Year.
Copyright 2013 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com