Headaches and headlines

Ouch. First reflex is to pull the lid of a jar of aspirins and throw a couple down ones throat. When that stunt is accomplished (without waking the girl in the bed) there's time to take a first look on the New Year.

Looks rather exciting, I'd say. There's some underwear lying about, and an empty bottle of cheap champagne next to the bed. There's cigarette butts stuck into a whole in the drawer and isn't that the magazine feature we were looking for last night?

First stop, breakfast in bed. True rockers just do a cigarette and coffee one has always been told, but then again I suppose I'd would rather listen to jazz today. Hence smoking the last puffs of a joint so one politely falls asleep next to the girl again while the inside of the head is doing multiple 360s.

Upon arrival into the world of awareness I'm greeted with a kiss on one cheek and some girlish laughter on the other. So far, so good, and maybe not a big difference from most January 1st. The first real difference I notice is that I'm lying flat on my back, and I never sleep on my back. So that's a change, right? Well if the rest of the year is gonna be as exciting it's gonna be a hoot.

I don't stumble out of bed until sometime in the afternoon, and that is only to grab some grub and some soft drinks. I salute the guy in the video rental place with "salaam aleikum" as usual. I just want him to feel at home and at ease. What would I do without him? Where I live everyone else goes out to get smashed on the weekends (new years eve is far from an exception to this rule), and if this guy didn't provide me with soft drinks, the occasional movie and cigarettes what would I do? What would the rest of you do?

After some light chit-chat I go to the pizzeria to collect my pizza. The guy seems to be hung-over, doesn't even make fun of my vegetarian composition, he just hands it over along with the receipt. The pizza is over-prized (seems to be like this in every big city), but today I would gladly pay double for it as long as I can eat it in bed. There's some locals sitting at a table drinking beer, and I can't help but notice the headline of a magazine lying on the table. Someone has decided to end her life in one of those moving scenes with pills and whatnots. Seems like I've read that story a thousand times. Even wrote it myself a couple. It saddens me on my four-minute walk home.

There's always a headline lurking around the corner somewhere, waiting to spell out ones name in big letters. Andy Warhol thought so, and look at him now, all dressed up in women’s wear on all those posters on the subway. I've done worse than that. Hell, I've even done better than that.

Now, I can't think of anything more appropriate than this to act as a bridge between last year and this year. This song was yesteryear, but it's also this year. My translated version is called "Det var ett väldigt bra år", and unless Håkan Hellström beats me to it it's gonna make a great record and an even better year.