The Prime Says...

"Completely awful."
--Paul Weiss, on droolingidiots.com

Pop!

That was the sound of the cork being loosed from my bottle of chocolate milk as I toasted in the new year. Or it would have been had there been any chocolate milk on hand and it came in corked bottles. Alas, I was bereft of beverage during the nascent moments of 2002, but I'm not complaining. It's rare to find anything decent to drink at new year's parties. What's the fascination with champagne anyway? Why doesn't anyone serve milkshakes at these things? That's my idea of a great start to a new year - a chocolate milkshake.

And a hummer. ("Auld Lang Syne" would be appropriate) But, realistically, where am I going to find a woman willing to toast in the new year with Prime slime when chocolate milkshakes are available?

I spent early New Year's Eve having dinner with friends and then ushering in the new year at a swingin' soiree in the rhino preserve of Sue Blair. I enjoyed both events although they were hardly the Bacchanalian revels commonly employed to demarcate the dawning of the new year.

New year celebrations date back about 4000 years to when the Babylonians were the world's only super-power. The year didn't start on January 1st back then. The Babylonian new year was the day of the first full moon after the vernal equinox, enabling them to tap into all of that springtime/rebirth imagery. After inventing the month of January, along with the rest of the calendar we use today, the Romans set January 1st as the beginning of the year in 143 BC - a day with no particular astronomical or terrestrial significance. In a bit of retroactive machination, when the birth of Christ was arbitrarily placed on December 25th, January 1st became the day of Jesus's circumcision. Drinking oneself insensate on New Year's Eve is analogous to the wine given to the baby Jesus by his mohel as an anesthetic prior to the removal of his foreskin. Actually, I made that last bit up but it's frightfully believable, isn't it?

Resolutions

Anyway, it's January and if it's January then people must be making new year's resolutions. For example, half of the high school debaters around the country are resolved that the United States federal government should establish a foreign policy significantly limiting the use of weapons of mass destruction. That's quite an undertaking. My goals for the new year are more narrowly defined. Or, they would be had I set any goals. I never got around to it. I was going to resolve to stop procrastinating this year but I decided to postpone that until 2003.

As I understand it, the practice of making new year's resolutions dates back to the Babylonians. They used to promise to return each others farming implements and worship Ishtar more. I guess their medical knowledge hadn't advanced to the point where they knew that they should be losing weight and quitting smoking. I wonder if they were any more successful keeping their resolutions than we are? For all the resolutions I hear bandied about on January 1st, I rarely hear of their successful completion on December 31st. I've heard many interesting theories for why people don't keep their resolutions but I won't bore you with them. I'll leave that dissection to the psychologists, sociologists, self-help gurus and syndicated columnists.

As for me, I usually make too many and make them too big. Apparently, I'm incapable of learning to play bass like Bootsy Collins, learning to sing like Garry "Doo Wop" Shider, learning to rap like Eminem, learning to write songs like Prince, learning to record like Dr. Dre and attaining a Triple-H-like physique in one year's time. One of these years I'll try setting fewer, smaller, and more easily attainable goals. Let's face it, I'll probably never be able to dance like Michael Jackson but with a little effort I might be able to bust a better move on December 31st than I could on January 1st.

I did have one success last year. Among the raft of resolutions I made for 2001, I swore to perform on stage at least once before the year ended. On July 6th, I rapped over the CD of "South Camp" at the Camp Michigania Last Chance Dance. I hadn't envisioned the resolution being fulfilled in such a karaoke-ish manner but sometimes you've got to let the technicalities count. It's not much, but it gives me one more success than most people.

I was ready to slide into the next section but all this talk of resolutions has inspired me to make some. These won't be "new year's" resolutions, per se, as I missed the January 1st deadline. Furthermore, I'm not going to give myself a full year to accomplish them. January 1st means nothing to me as a benchmark date so I'm going to pursue these resolutions between now and my birthday. These resolutions will cover my year, not the calendar year. You can be the judge of how well I do.

I resolve to:

• Improve as a bassist.
• Improve as a rapper.
• Improve as a singer.
• Collaborate with other artists.
• Write and/or record 12 songs.
• Perform in public.

It looks like I have my work cut out for me. Sigh. I should have just resolved to stop making resolutions.

    New black outfit:			$100
    Thursday night cover:		  $0
    Water & coat check:			  $3

    Getting the DJ at the hick bar
    to play "Flashlight":	      Priceless

I've never been a fan of country music but I've developed a respect for it since I started hanging out at the Diamondback Saloon on Thursday nights. Mike, the DJ, switches off with Derringer, a kick-ass quintet, to provide a farrago of country, rock and rap. Like the Bar-Kays said, it's a freak show on the dance floor. Actually, to be more accurate, I'm the freak show on the dance floor - but that's ok. I have fun, people seem to enjoy watching and women come up and dance with me. On top of all that, as far as aerobic workouts go, it's about one hundred times better than StairMastering.

I'll dance to anything but I'm a funk junkie at heart. Even at a hick bar - hell, especially at a hick bar - I want the bomb. I want the P-Funk. I wants to get funked up. Well, after weeks of stifling in a zone of zero funkativity I called the mothership and beseeched Star Child to level his bop gun at the D-back. My pleas were answered. At 1:10am, January 4, 2002, Parliament's "Flashlight" came blaring over the PA system, people came down to the dance floor and we tore the roof off the sucker. The Diamondback got funked up!

"I promise to funk.
I promise to keep its promise.
You'll keep the funk."
--George Clinton

5000 G,
D.I. Prime
Friday, January 11th, 2002

P.S. - Late Breaking Update: After I finished writing this edition of The Prime Says, but before I posted it, I scored a technicality that gives me a (tenuous) claim to victory over one of my resolutions. I was at the Diamondback Saloon last night and during one of the songs the bass player wandered off the stage and over to the bar. While he was gone, in a carpe diem moment, I jumped up on stage and played air bass as he played the bass line via his wireless bass. Granted, I wasn't thinking about mime when I made the resolution, but it was indeed a performance in a public place.

Side note: After the song, Tracy, Derringer's singer, said that since I was on stage I had to sing something. I declined as I didn't have anything prepared but maybe some day, if the offer came with a rain check, I'll be able to bury that resolution definitively.