"Robbie! I want Robbie!"

Christmas Eve is the official dinner day at my parent's house. So Christmas Day tends to be a little more slack. This year was the ultimate slack, with my parent's opting to go see Avatar instead of do dinner, which left me with nothing to do all day. I could have been productive, but instead I went and drank 1.50 Dortmunders at the vegan bar.

There was this whole billing of bands, which turned out to be mostly drunk boys shouting things over presampled music. Punks of the world apparently can't be bothered to even play the guitar badly anymore. The bartender did the same thing, but he was hilarious and good at it. The other guy ended up sitting on the floor of the stage making pussy references in a mumbled desperate broken voice. It was like watching your asshole friends do karoake, where they get up there and just talk over Mariah Carey. Oh the rush of the don't care didn't care.

I met the guy who's been growing out his beard for charity. I lost three dollars to some other guy because the Cavs actually won. I thought about Peter a little bit, because Christmas Day is the day I miss him most. The rest of the year, its like, he's just this dead person, like everyone else who's dead. But the anniversary of the actual event seems an okay time to think about him, and that stupid bar is probably the best place in Cleveland to do it. Other people might argue that he would like the Spitfire more, but they're wrong. Peter liked stupid drunk young punks more than anything else, and couldn't stand bitter old punks who thought too highly of themselves. Almost everyone in there was ugly, he would have liked that.

Someone stole my copy of Asimov short stories while I was watching some guy play pinball. I suspect it was the guy who slurred something about fucking him, and then also threw the chairs down later, one of which had my coat on it, and thats just the sort of thing that happens. I would be angrier about it, but I'm the one who left it by my beer on the bar. I just want to think about it being read, and not tossed in a parking lot somewhere, or torn into scraps. Who knows, maybe he just threw it across the room and no one noticed. I didn't.

Another guy made fun of me for having a blog and calling it that. What else am I supposed to call it? A journal? A website? I don't understand the revolutionaries who don't want to use the internet. I mean, being a luddite doesn't make you cooler. It just makes you less connected. But you don't want connections to people really, you just want to be left alone to drink and scream and feel superior, which is fine. I get that. It's your bar, not mine.

Later driving home, I had to stop at a Dairy Mart and buy overpriced cereal to eat, because nothing is open Christmas and even though I know this, I never plan for it and always end up with nothing to eat at home.

Edit: In thinking about, the reason I like the vegan bar over the aging punks bar is that at the vegan bar people throw things and are violent, but not towards anyone in particular. They're just being destructive because they can. Which I like. Aging punks will talk your ear off about honor and loyalty, and how they want to beat the shit out of this guy because he did this or that douchebag thing. But they lack the energy to just be rambunctious without fear or anger fueling their motions. If someone throws a chair, it's good fun. If someone throws a chair at you, it kinda sucks.