So, we’re now seven years into this decade and we STILL don’t have a satisfactory name for it, now do we? We had the 80s, then the 90s, and then… what? Nothing, really. Or is that it… the nothings. I think I’m just going to sooner or later make something up since no one else can come up with anything better than the zeros or the double-whatevers. Until then, here’s my NYE rundown nestled firmly into a reasonably detailed explanation of my recent trip to Ontario, complete with a tale of terror involving He Who Holds The Cup and Wiener. Read on…

About four days shy of the trip, my oftentimes travel partner Bill M. (or, William The Wacky Warlock, if you must) couldn’t make it. So, I took an alternate form of transportation. And let me tell you that Samantha Baker and I share the same sentiment: “I loathe the bus.” And, yes, that was a John Hughes movie reference… from a decade that has a name, might I repeat.

Since it was NYE weekend and the bus’s first stop was Montreal, this meant that a swarm of loud, irritating and party-kooky college kids pretty much took over the entire vehicle, and not in that fun “Trading Places” train ride kinda way. I was reminded at every turn that America’s various institutions of higher learning pump out these low-watt alcoholic date rapists (in this case, of that oh-so-obnoxious Boston-collegiate-Irish-Catholic-Bruins-Celtics-Whitecap variety) and equally empty-headed vaginal counterparts like so much sewage. This means that until we got to Quebec’s party city (18+ drinking age, you know), I was crushed between a wall on one side, two college bims (one on the other’s lap) shoved against my other side, and some hyper-chatty “dude” with bad skin on the floor and against my knees. The chatty guy found an even chattier Australian girl who initially had my attention with the adorable accent, but then made me hate all things Down Under in the span of about 15 ear-splitting minutes, including Crocodile Dundee, Olivia Newton-John and Foster’s Lager. And speaking of hate, did I mention the bus went beyond capacity and the aisle was full of these youngins? Oh, how could I forget.

I contemplated many things, all of which quite sadistic. At least something to shut them all the hell up. An on-board suicide-by-handgun might do it. Or a hostage situation. Or perhaps a monster that appears and eats all of their cellphones and iPods. Soon into the trip, it seemed like nothing useful like that would come to my aid. And then, like a mythic sign of coming purgation, it approached and drove alongside our bus: a white SUV gliding along the icy Canadian road our bus was intermittently fishtailing across. Now, you might be asking yourselves just what makes this highly common vehicle so darn special, besides that O.J. drove a rather infamous one. Well…

The SUV hit a nasty patch of ice next to us and was no doubt trying to avoid the swinging rearside of the bus — the latter having its own time with the slick driving surface, just in case I didn’t make that painfully clear. Hell, maybe the driver of the SUV was whacked out on drugs or booze. In any case, the SUV swerved completely out of control while parallel to us, hit a curb of sorts away from the bus, went airborne for a second, then smashed hard into the ground against the left end of its fender, forcing it to violently bounce onto its back into a huge ditch. Looking around the interior of the bus, I could see that this feat of automotive acrobatics shut the little shits up pretty quickly. Fear now settled into the passengers, with the formerly motormouthed post-teens now playing church mice to my gleeful satisfaction. And although a monster that eats cellphones and iPods is inherently funnier, I took what I could get.

The exclamation point of this whole affair? Coming up within seconds after the accident (as the bus did not stop during all of this) was an all-too-familiar sight. As the bus rumbled on, the approaching mass of culinary doom came more and more into view, emblazoned in red and white, and towering amidst the swirling storm of snow… yes, it was THE LORD OF COKE AND HOT DOGS! Had I not bit back the insane urge, it would have been an unrestrained laughfest, thinking how Bill would have been as shocked as I was to see the very words on the website describing LoCaHD-inspired car accidents ACTUALLY happening. Come to think of it, if you’re reading this, Bill… I wish you could have been there. Then, the “M” could stand for “mayhem.”

After a bus switch in The City That Hates All Americans On Principle (though, you can call it Montreal), I arrived in Ottawa a couple hours later and relayed my bus tales to the Canadian capital’s Emperor and my all-around pal, also known as Magister Lang. And, no, he doesn’t know either Bob or Doug McKenzie… so take off, you hoser.

Spending an extended weekend at the Lang/DeMagis house is always a great experience. It almost feels like a home away from home, if home were to have “a secret underground ritual chamber” (as Rev. Harris would put it), an Egyptian sarcophagus, and a giant black Great Dane. As for our New Year’s Eve, it was quite the shindig with lots of lounge/exotica music, a wide selection of appetizers, the fully-stocked and ever-swanky bar in the living room, plus lots of funny pics and AVI videos, and a midnight toast in the ritual chamber. The Colonel once again showed us his “polar bear” routine, jumping out of the hot tub and straight into the snow a few times. Needless to say, I would not do that.

I also beat the Emperor at pool, but I’m sure that his “deflector shield” will still be “quite operational” when I come back for a visit later this winter for a rematch. I’m not sure what that means, but it’s canon and it’s easier than explaining why a Pez dispenser figures into the whole in-joke.

So, NYE was a roaring success and couldn’t have been any more so than if Roman and Minnie Castevet themselves had showed up. (Reminder to self: make Vodka Blushes next year.)

The bus ride back was comparatively uneventful. That is to say, there was no carnage. But, we did have a bus driver who, upon going through his “Welcome to Greyhound” speech on the loudspeaker, sounded exactly like Magister Nemo. It was freaking uncanny! For a second, I thought he might break off into an explanation of the Dayside versus Nightside, or the pratfalls of the “self-esteem trap,” but all we got was a courtesy request to keep our headphone volumes down on our MP3 players. Somehow, not as awesome.

Arrived in Burlington at the usual late-night time and was going to call for a cab when some spastic Asian guy with a cellphone motioned to me, shaking and pointing at his phone, then at me. His English was no too good. And the phone was dialing. So, I answered it, told the cab company on the other end to bring a car for two, and gave the happy foreigner his phone back. He saved me a call, really.

And, that’s the trip, more or less. Now, it’s back to proofreading the upcoming issue of Not Like Most that so many of you have been waiting for. Right now, I’m seeing about 52 pages of NLM Special Issue goodness, but we’ll see what happens in the end. Looking to get it out by the end of the month, and its release will be announced through the usual channels. In any case, you will NOT want to miss this one. I’m just saying.

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