Most of you survived 2001! Which, if my strip-club
poll is any indication, was the hardest year
of your life! Or at the very least, a sobering,
terrifying, and heartbreaking year of reckoning.
I personally don't think I've ever been more
eager for a fresh start--to sweep out the ashes
and rekindle the fire for 2002.
lot of people like to disregard the New Year
or--worse--celebrate it by getting drunk and
making small talk and fucking strangers. Not
me. I like to get drunk and soul-search! And
then beg to be blessed, absolved, and changed.
Every year I sketch out a few resolutions, and
every year the same three top the list. One
could see in this a stubborn, uninspired laziness
or a lack of willpower, but I'm comforted by
my mantra-like resolutions. Whatever wacky place
I'm at geographically or psychologically, I
always want the same three things: to create
more and better, to live more sensually, and
to finally get organized.
the get-organized may never happen; I'm resolved
to that possibility. It seems to be the flip
side of creation, anyhow. But my desire to be
the tiniest bit practical is worth reiterating
annually, I figure, and the hope is that the
more organized I get, the more I'll create.
This year I want to create a book. A book about
you with pictures. And of course I'd like to
start a new band (or maybe just a new 12-Step
group: Rock Bands Anonymous).
the most important resolution every year is
the promise to live more sensually. I should
re-resolve this every day: to taste, see, touch,
smell, and hear more vividly, more consciously.
Life's a scary dance, and it can be a huge relief
to go on auto-pilot. But it's so much more rewarding
and delicious to stick your chin out, not knowing
whether it'll be hit or kissed. God, I got hit
a lot this year. But I got kissed a lot, too,
and while I'll say it was the hardest year of
my life, I wouldn't change one thing about it.
I exercised my senses, and they toned up right
good. I had adventures in fashion. I fed my
ravenous soul. I ate more oysters and steaks
and drank my liquor straight. I had the best
make-out with a girl I've had since playing
Joanie-and-Chachi in third grade. I went to
Venice, Italy, and Richmond, Virginia. I let
my heart out of its cage and then put it back
in and then let it out again. I saw The Taking
of Pelham 1-2-3 and A Hard Day's Night.
I reread Breakfast at Tiffany's and The
Great Gatsby. I stared down my dream of
moving to NYC and meeting David Bowie. I made
fifty new friends and memorized the maps of
three new cities.
on September 11th (12th, 13th, 14th, etc.),
I got to experience exactly what I'd been talking
about, hoping for, and lamenting as long-gone
for ten years. Ever since my formal training
in anthropology began, I've been calling for
community as a cure-all and yearning to see
some collective effervescence that was not just
Britney Spears-inspired. Well, I finally got
it. Which is the flip side of the New Year's
Resolution, the cynical caveat:
careful what you wish for....
Some jackass totaled my car and one casualty
of the wreck was my "I love Las Vegas" sticker.
I need a new one! Help!