The Who - My Generation (Marquee Club 1967)

The Who - Substitute

Keith Moon is, well, the best thing ever. Just watching him ought to burn calories. Nevermind the poncy so-and-so of Roger Daltrey, whom I'd probably punch in the face as long as I didn't actually have to meet him (at that point I'd just pee my pants and turn into the world's worst stalker-esque fan).

Post Apocalyptic Christmas Funk

I know it's nothing new under the sun, but I loathe January.

Just when I get used to people eating every day like I eat--that is to say, unstintingly and without comments like "How many calories do you think I'm consuming?" or the always popular "This is fat free, right?"--it all comes brutally to an end. With nary so much as a by-your-leave or a here's-just-one-more-box-of-Sees-chocolates-and-I-don't-mean-the-nuts-and-chews-box-either, January hits and suddenly I'm surrounded by these militant diet Nazis who are absolutely determined to take every bit of joy out of everything that has just transpired. So maybe the jeans are a trifle muffin-top-esque; so perhaps that sweater is more Divine than Lana Turner; who does something cold turkey and actually expects it to stick? We all know that New Years resolutions last, on the whole, approximately six weeks, max. After that it's back to the "this isn't on my diet, but it's so good" ouevre.

Until then I am forced to deal with bastard people who claim they won't eat anything not on their New Beach diet. And yet somehow a package of Albertson's chocolate chip cookies were voraciously consumed in under 15 minutes today. Did I say consumed? Perhaps I meant inhaled.

I don't know. It's a hard quandary. If you're going to stay up all night making cinnamon rolls for people, you want people to acknowledge them as the greatest cinnamon rolls of all time. You want them to grovel. You want them to worship. At the very least you are expecting ranting, raving, and the occasional curse word from people who are on a diet but "Just can't help themselves." Somehow it's lessened when you wonder...are they eating the Albertson's cookies because there is nothing else on the horizon, or because they truly are philistines and have no concept of the difference beween the shortening and hairnet crowd, and artistan cinnamon rolls created with the truly magnificent maple-wood rolling pin gifted you for your birthday by one of your Best! Friends! Ever! ?

Does it really matter in the end?

Also, New Years' resolutions suck. It's the penultimate experience of a hairshirt, or maybe drawn-and-quartered with your eyes picked out by corbies. They just serve to make you realize all teh ways in which you are falling down in life and love, and ultimately all you can change about either of those remains internal--which if you really wanted to change you would have before or after, not needing a particular date to think to yourself "Gosh, I'm something of an asshat, perhaps I should rethink my approach toward God and man."

Since New Years' Resolutions have the aforementioned shelf life of approximately 6 weeks, give or take 4 weeks in the offing, I always vote with the Chinese New Year as the time for the traditional "I should change this" plan.

So what am I contemplating this year as far as resolutions, goals, and general ways to better my life?

Regrettably, I am a shallow, shallow person and so all of my goals are equally shallow and vapid. It makes them (a) both easier to achieve; and (b) that much more satisfying, since I can generally meet all of them. New years' Resolutions are sort of the equivalent of deodorant for me; at some point they are going to crap out, and I have to plan for backup if I'm going to make it through the allotted time with my laissez-faire intact. (It's so much easier to judge others than to actually live up to self-actualized expectations.)

Really, I'm not sure yet what I'm intending. Since my work day yesterday consisted of discussing who would be killed and eaten in the event we we suffered a Donner-party snowfall (entirely possible at 9:30 a.m. and utterly ridiculous by 11:00 a.m., how I love this state), I suppose there ought to be at least something career minded included in the list. Perhaps it will be simply not killing the junior attorney, who both deserves it and somehow invites it simply by virtue of existing. Plus he's an asshat, but that's neither here nor there.

Stay tuned, fellow Americans. While almost anything is possible, it's absolutely guaranteed that it won't be a goal to maintain freshly mown Landscaping and Legs. One must be practical, after all; who wants to be that hallowed dreamer?