My 2007 Gently Weeps

I should preface this hugely insignificant post by mentioning that I received a ukulele from Ellen's parents for Christmas, and it has emerged as the hands-down most popular/annoying gift of the season, as every two seconds I rattle off either a) Big Rock Candy Mountain b) Rocket Man or c) Hava Nagila. Sometimes I'll try to sing some Flaming Lips, who I like to think would appreciate somebody playing their tunes on a ukulele, but then I think "why would you want to bastardize something when you hate it when other bastards bastardize stuff you like?"

If you get a ukulele, either to satisfy some perverse musical yearning or because you appreciate comically-undersized things, I trust you'll find it fulfills some weird mini-rock star niche you never knew you had, but that as it turns out, it alive and thriving somewhere inside you right next to the paranoia, narcissism, and self-doubt.

Is two paragraphs of preface enough? Or too much? One can never tell in the wee hours of the afternoon when accompanied by remixed Beatles, cold coffee, the promise of a late night at the office, vivid revisitations of earthquake dreams and carnal ukulele desires....

What a blitzkrieg December turned out to be, huh? Sandwiched in between constant force-feedings of holiday cheer was a birthday I think, and a drive to the ocean, and new in-laws whom I adore.

*pause*

I'm going to rewind and listen to this remix of Hey Jude from the beginning because it makes my cochlea tingle.

**unpause**

When I say force feedings, I mean of both the Xmas spirit (holy ghost?) and of actual food; any second now I'm going to split the ass and crotch out of my pants in an embarrassing office nightmare. I'm 6'4" and have always managed to squeeze by buying pants at regular stores, but 2007 may be, among most everything else, the year I turn to the purveyors of big and tall clothing in order to satisfy my belly's insatiable real estate conquests. Fuck fuck fuck. I don't want to buy bigger pants. Those Sevens cost an arm and a leg as it is, I would like to continue wearing them...At least until the ass and crotch split out of them, too, like they did on my old paper denim jeans. **note: Paper Denim jeans feel all soft and nice, but are only slightly more durable than toilet paper. Take that, PD!

Christmas was fantastiche. Ask Ellen to show you her iceberg of pretty presents. I think she felt slightly awkward about having so many gifts to open, but I know she got over it. :) Prime Rib is an acceptable enough Christmas meal.

New Year's came with Ezell's chicken. Bam! And Jenga, and my brother Sam (ha-HA!), and some blended whiskey called Canadian L.T.D. Suspicious much? I'm sure a little of the stuff won't make me go blind. Yet. I need these blue peepers to take me into the future so I can eventually get a prescription for my Glaucoma. If you know what I mean by "Glaucoma." We listened to my best of 2006 mix, which as it turns out, includes large portions of the following: Silversun Pickups, Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, Wolfmother, Strokes, Lilly Allen, Band of Horses, CSS, Cold War Kids, Decemberists, Flaming Lips, Gnarls, Hot Chip, Pablo, etc. Eventually Sufjan Stevens killed the mood and Ellen decided she had lost at Jenga (courtesy of my cheating) for the last time, and we were forced to watch the pre-recorded East coast NY's countdown. Bollacks and bush league, that stuff was.

Idiocracy is a great movie for New Year's, or any time, and yes, I think Maya Rudolph is hot.

In this moment when our calendar year expires, we as a global culture are caught up in the cult of overly critical, mostly dishonest self-assessments we call resolutions because it has a much better ring than "lies." I resolve to __________, but I'll forgive myself if I actually gain 10 more pounds and actually give up light cigarettes for the richer, fuller flavor of Camel WIDES.

But all this is the past. History. Only recently gone, but just as irrevocably gone as any other moment. Like earlier in this blog post, etc.

Dunzo.

What about 2007?

Will I continue to be addicted to a) incredibly mean celebrity gossip b) robots c) orange d) the internet? Will I lose 10 pounds by actually participating in something akin to exercise at least one day a week (marked improvement over the status quo) and retain the fashion jeans I do not wish to re-purchase? Will an additional canine be added to the fold? Will my 1980 Volvo finally die for reals? Will I stick with publishing? Will publishing take me back to China? Will I finally choose a graduate education path and go to pharmacy school just like I always wanted? Just kidding, I always wanted to play trombone for the Met in New York, but since that taint happnin' no way no how, a man's just got to have a fallback career, like pill slingin'.

Will the Seattle Sonics move to Renton and become the....Renton...Sonics?

Will the Seahawks get humiliated in the first round of the playoffs?

Will Saddam Hussein's ghost haunt the White House in a constant search for his favorite fire arm?

Will the bird flu merge with spinach e. coli to form some kind of giant city-stomping amoeba shaped like Robert Goulet?

Who can ever know....We're none of us nostradamus, and none of us actually bought the novelty magic 8 ball key chain that actually predicts anything beyond the disappointingly vague "all signs point to yes."

Great Scott. While listening to "The Skin of my Yellow Country Teeth" by the aforementioned hand clappers, I just realized something. Not only do I have really happy memories of listening to this song on KEXP when it first came out because I was listening to it with my soulmate, but I feel that way about most of the songs I like from the past year. Three cheers for Ellen for being such an outstanding addition to, and influence in my life.

Will 2007 be about relationships and how they mature? How one (let's be serious..."I") adds meaning to an otherwise meaningless few decades on our little bacteria colony in the milky way by developing meaningful relationships with the people that make their lives so damn interesting? That word mature sucks, by the way, unless you're talking about wine or scotch. And Laura, do you think it was any accident that I was born in the Milky Way? I don't.

Will it be as simple as finally going to see a doctor about my attention deficit disorder, finally getting my vision prescription filled and getting some glasses, and then finally being able to sit still long enough to teach myself how to use home studio production software to become the next M83 all on my own?

I don't have a plan, that much is for sure, and am currently planning on maintaining the status quo (except for the weight loss part, maybe) for another year in the pursuit of the happiness I already, really, for the most part, have in my life.

God. How would Doogie Howser end this blog post....Maybe something like:

This New Year, I'm making only one resolution: to be the best doctor I can be.
 (bites lip thoughtfully)
And if that means doing rectal exams "the old-fashioned way," then so be it.