Hey all… time to snoop through Noah’s diary again. Why? Because we can.
Tuesday, December 30, 2025, 11:15am:Second to last day of the year and my U2 tribute band is gonna make sure the year goes out with a bang.
Should be a fun gig and tickets sold out a month ago so it’ll be packed. And Ruth will be there, which is fun for me… not so much for Howie… or the sound man… or any chicks in the audience who want a selfie with Fun Fake Bono.
Mind you, Mrs. Fun Fake Bono being there means I won’t get my butt pinched as much as usual. Which was fun back when I was single but hey, I’m taken!
Also, back when I was single I swear women didn’t have the same kinda long hard sharp plastic fake claws like they do now. Those things hurt!
Anyway, hopefully Ruth and Howie don’t pick a fight. I dunno… I get that they have completely different opinions on just about everything, but still: can’t we all just get along? And like I told Ruth last time she came to one of my gigs: just because Howie’s a degenerate doesn’t mean you have to say that to his face.
Likewise, Howie doesn’t need to point out that Ruth is… well… kinda a prissy know-it-all.
Fortunately, Howie will be trawling for groupies and I hope he finds a couple to keep him busy. I will also be trying to get lucky, but obviously in my case that involves keeping Ruth happy. Which involves keeping Howie outta our hair so that there’s no fighting so that as soon as the clock strikes midnight, boom: we sing “Auld Lang Syne,” we close the set with “Elevation,” and as soon as I’m done whoo-hoo-ing, I grab my mic and my duffel bag with my clothes and stuff on my way off-stage to grab Ruth before she has one last chance to pick a fight with Howie and we hit the road.
Mike handles getting the money from the promoter and he’s really good with e-transferring me my share the next morning, so I don’t gotta stick around for that.
Or for load-out. I dunno how many times I gotta tell Howie: your heavy guitar stuff is your problem, not mine.
Besides, time’s a-wastin’. Some of us married folk gotta find a place to do married folk stuff before getting home to relieve the babysitter.
Granted, the babysitter is Duke and his girlfriend Bethany, and they’ll just be watching movies in the living room. Ursula and Valerie will already be asleep… or they should be. Hell, Duke and Bethany might be asleep on the sofa by the time we get home, too. After all, Duke’s usually up early when he’s out in the bush.
If anything, Valerie might be up screaming but usually she’s been sleeping through the night lately.
Ursula has made it very clear she doesn’t believe in New Year’s because she has to go back to school on January 5th so she’s decided that December isn’t allowed to end. I mean: nice try, kiddo, but you calling it December 32nd doesn’t change the real date.
I’m glad Duke’s driving down to mind his sisters. Sometimes Ruth stays home if it’s one of my other bands gigging that night, and last year Ingrid and Einar didn’t go to Iceland for the holidays so we sent Ursula over for a sleepover with her cousins. And most other times that Flyswatter has a gig and Ruth’s coming with me, we can lean on Agnes and Frank or Norm and Mallory to babysit, but I guess there’s a big ol’ gala ball at that snooty members’ only club Agnes drags Frank and Norm to, so they’re getting plastered with the rich folk tomorrow night and are unavailable for babysitting.
Norm and Mallory’s kids are being babysat by Mallory’s sister who’s setting up a kids’ New Year’s sleepover with her own kids, but Ursula didn’t wanna go on account of the whole boycotting New Year’s thing.
And obviously Adam and Stacey are working their own New Year’s nightclub party with the goth kids. So… yeah, Duke did the ol’ man a solid.
It’ll be an even bigger solid if he can manage to explain to his sister why inventing your own calendar doesn’t work unless you’re the emperor of Rome or the pope, but I don’t hold out much hope for her listening to that.
Anyway, I gotta try on my Bono outfits today and see which ones fit. I have a feeling I’ve eaten enough cookies this month to have to go for the one size bigger leather pants than I usually wear. Fun Fake Bono is gonna be Fun Fake Fat Bono, but meh… I’ll be back in the smaller tight black leather pants again by St. Patrick’s Day… sigh… I’m gonna miss my cheeseburgers.
