Ol' '95

'95 was in many ways 
my favorite year. I drove
Into the sunset for a week 
and found California, and 
I lived at one of my best
creative peaks awhile, I 
was an artist. I had a job, 
the Cowboys lost to the
Frisco Niners but rebounded
all through the year on a rocket
shot to their next big ring (in
'96 - terrible year otherwise)
and hoo boy the ladies. Well,
one of them any way - just
my lucky number! My heart 
can't count higher than one. 

Also, to put it delicately, so
many people who later turned
out to be assholes hadn't even
been born yet, or if they had,

their influence
was as-yet limited
by poor to nil language
skills, and a fuzzy wuzzy
grasp of reality, which sadly
it still is. Big '95! A year 

for the books. Not 
my favorite year, no. 
As it stands, that would 
be Big '23 (a practical 
tactical obstacle - you 
can't fucking do anything 
in those other years), but 

in many ways, yes. It had 
high points. 

When the red wine bottles
are broken out (the glass 
tends green, oddly - my 
glass tends clear 'til the 
blood ruby nectar runs 
in) and I see that vintage 
on the label like a punch 
in the mouth from an old 
friend, I say - "1995! Good 
year." And 

people think I know my wines. 
OK, I do, but I prefer to get 
to know theirs. Nosey!