December 24, 2012
@Dearest friends, hobbits, Big Bird, Honey Badger, homophobic chickens, and the 47% of you I know are going to read this no matter what,
#Whatayear! I refuse to concede that it’s over. It went by in an instagram, just a flickr. So much transpired, much of it incredibly pinteresting, such as the *asterisk* replacing italics. In fact, 140 characters cannot even begin to describe the meme that was 2012, an affair that I attended clothed magnificently in Gangnam style dress of just more than four dozen shades of grey.
And assuming you are reading this now — SPOILER ALERT! – we are still alive! The Mayans proved their prognostications to be more skewed than those of a Romney pollster, a predicament that proved both bitter *and* sweet, for I chose to engage in carpe diem — a spicy Argentine fish dish I came upon through Epicurious — and hence chose to max out my credit cards. Boy, is my face red. . . matching my bank account.
The new resolve did however spur me to attack my bucket list, first moving to curb my hoarderism by cleaning my apartment. Oh, the things I came upon, including six of the ten buckets on said list, my binder of women, my bayonets, the decade-old prototype for a “Touch Me Elmo” doll, and a cache of mislabeled “Livestrong” bracelets. (The “v” was missing so, as luck would have it, I will be able to use them after all.)
When I reminisce on the year, the visions dance about with tapouts, copouts, knockouts, brownouts, obnoxious louts, acrimonious shouts, and bailouts. Bailouts especially in Europe, as for much of year, Greece was the word, the word that we heard. From the blue moon into the summer nights all the way to one evening I spent stranded at the drive-in followed by tears on my pillow straight up until Sandy showed up much different than we expected, the Old World home of democracy kept me engrossed with their economic discord. The whole ordeal felt so cinematic, and made me want to sing for some reason.
A defining moment of my activity came early summer when I fell prey to the proverbial June swoon, captivated by one lady’s bottomless charm and nonrefundable grace. Yes, I finally redneckonized what was already gospel — Honey Boo Boo was, indeed, a national treasure. So I became a redneckluse to devote my time to watching her on television until my friends intervened, getting me to redneckonsider my admiration. It was then I redneckoned the entire display was nothing more than a pain in the rednecktum. I came away from the experience a better person, if not more brain dead.
Shortly thereafter, I embarked upon a spiritual awakening, eschewing the hustle and esswallowing the bustle in favor of calmness and serenity, discovering the Zen buried deep inside me (during a routine outpatient surgical procedure). I took to meditation, walks in nature, and soothing soaks, even utilizing bath salts to relieve my troubles. . . until I was booked for assault on my neighbors which caused me more trouble. Admittedly, I was negligent for not reading the label on the bath salts that warned against eating them.
As reparations to my reputation, I volunteered to join the neighborhood watch committee and was quite the vigilant provider of security. . . that is, until the incident. I believed, erroneously, as it turns out, that all clothes dryers had a protection mechanism that would allow them to shut down in the case of a legitimate fire, but alas, I was wrong. And on one of my bimonthly trips to the laundry, the act of leaving my clothes in the dryer (having lost track of time as I frolicked in the fields), needless to say, caused me to burn many britches.
Though I was removed forcibly from all future meetings, I was impressed to learn the committee head Mr. Eastwood kept addressing my empty chair which curiously managed to sway his opinion on several key proposals.
As autumn arrived, and I in need of a respite, I did manage to squeeze in my annual sojourn (how journ was it?!). Though short in duration, I managed to visit such historic sites as the Fiscal Cliffs and the Petraeus Falls, even spending one day in Pennsylvania along the Jersey Shore, its waters lapping the banks of Philadelphia.
Of course, the election cycle played a major role in my focus as it drew more confrontational than a cross-country flight with Alec Baldwin. Taking my naturalized voting rights seriously, I made a difficult choice after much rumination, eventually casting my ballot for the one candidate I felt best represented my equanimity and sagacious thought — Team Edward. Though I know not all of you would agree with me, remember, it is our difference of opinions on such important matters that makes this country great.
And so as we go “All In” to the new year, with the passion that Paula Broadwell conducts a no-holds-barred biographical interview, I conclude my primly proper prose whilst enjoying the one-of-a-kind vocal stylings of Michael Buble emulating Harry Connick Jr. covering a Frank Sinatra yuletide classic by wishing each and every one of you a 2013 unlike any other 2013s. May your Ding Dongs and Ho Hos be abundant leaving your Twinkie and Sno Balls full of happiness.
Featured Image by: Stuart Miles