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Truethursday: One Entire Rotation Around The Sun
*The views expressed in Truesday are those of the author and do not represent Austinist as a whole. Thank heavens.* -The Editors
Yeah, I know. Today is NOT Tuesday. But given the holidays and such, today is effectively MY Tuesday.
Back in July I rambled on about how I’d been writing on Austinist for a year at that point. Which is true, but the Truesday thing didn’t start until the first Tuesday of 2006, with this anti New Year’s Resolutions rant.
Truesday’s been fumbling about for a year now. Well, silliness and misery be! And for the record, here is how I fared on my list of resolutions mentioned that fateful year prior:
1. It was not a willing transformation, so that’s a successful resolution.
2. Check.
3. Word.
4. I never had a “Gramps in Mississippi”, so, check. Please note that "Stop lying” never made it onto last year’s list.
5. Nothing about my face says “serviceable”, so that’s a check.
6. Well, crap. I lobbied for an invasion and was informed that there’s a “velvet-rope” VIP line for invasion requests. So I took some sick days off from the job, violently cried for a week straight while feverishly writing my senator, begging for state-sanctioned destruction. Couple of tomahawk cruise missiles. C-4 birthday cake. Kill-squad or two of crimson berets or whatever they're called. I wasn’t too picky. Anything. Yet their wind-blown trash has persisted throughout this year passed. But I did request an eradicating invasion. So… failure.
7. Whoa. Big failure there. Last night, even. It’s an undeniably epic story of his beaming manliness. Such bromantic cinema.
8. Boo-yea.
9. All up in that bitch.
10. I said nothing about Uganda, so I’m all kinds of golden there.
Eight out of ten is one of the best scores I’ve received on anything beyond a handful of bowling scores, so I’m feeling pretty good about it. Like a winner. A real winner.
For kicks, here’s my list for next year. I’m shooting for a full 10 this time (so I’ve leaned probability further into my favor. It’s called “statistics” and it’s awesome).
1. If I happen to be involved in any arguments at Taco Bell about the Pepsi being flat, I promise not to do anything that a judge might later use the words “blunt”, “force”, or “burrito trauma” to describe.
2. My right eyeball will never be considered a source of light for a delightful colony of mainstream-funny cartoon seahorses.
3. I will not privately fund the Donnie Darko sequel (although if I did, it would be named “The Dad Gets More Fucking Lines This Time”).
4. I will not live to be two thousand years old.
5. I will eat food and gain or lose the appropriate amount of weight based upon a myriad of inputs that include lots of shit that I will likely find boring and overly complicated.
6. If I start smoking again, I will not be picky about the brands I end up bumming off of random Northloop kids.
7. I will not befriend any homeless yetis unless they’re friends of my family or know Huy in Houston. I don’t know why I’m picking Huy, other than the slim possibility that he’s ever been in the woodlands of the Pacific Northwest.
8. I will not have any panty-less shots of me taken by the paparazzi. Unless I’m asleep in public (all bets are off in that case).
9. If anyone finds a gerbil in my ass (living or deceased), I will admit nothing beyond shame for the rodent’s immediate family.
10. I will finish my second goddamn book. The rough-sketch is that it’s about a gang of adorable puppies and this monkey with a cute hat and lisp. They’re in fifth grade together. Their drunk dad kills their principal because she supposedly sexually abused them with a set of riding spurs or something. I haven’t ironed out all the subtleties of the plot just yet, but if that monkey’s hat is as cute as the one I picture in my mind, this book will fucking SLAY the entire universe.
Okay then.
This column marks the final piece of my first full year of forming digital bullshit.
Not a whole hell of a lot actually happens in a year. Not usually, anyhow. Most years blow by without much incident. Careers are forwarded, diseases are cured, and politicians pay to blow South American boys.
Standard fare. And really, this year was no different.
Except that some of the boys were from southern Asia this go-round.
In and amongst this last year I’ve done a few things. Some actual, some metaphoric, all of it ridiculous and highly entertaining to myself (because I’m a self-serving dick like that). And for the tens of people who have followed this little column for an entire year, I’m going to offer up some follow-ons for previous posts.
Mainly because these are the ones I get asked about the most. Actually, out of 50 some-odd posts, these are the ONLY ones I get asked about.
The Blackout post. Yes, I really did go to a Brooklyn party where at some point I blacked out, was run out of the place because I was trying to pee in a closet or something, and when I "came to" I was in Manhattan. At a hotdog joint near Washington Square. About two hours later. No, I don't remember what happened. "T is a mystery", I suppose. And good times were probably had.
The I Hate Snakes On a Plane post. Shannon's shenanigans were well within the realm of hilarious, and I never meant to outwardly slight the man, as I was simply trying to spotlight what I feel is our (as a society) deteriorating taste requirements for public media. No, we never had a fist fight over it. But if we had, I feel sure it would have involved baby oil.
The Farewell To Gallery Lombardi post. The owner isn't actually all that upset with me. I don't think. We haven't hugged it out or anything. Regardless, yes, I did actually go back and edit that post after a lengthy and sometimes unpleasant exchange of emails. But it's not the only one I edited AFTER it was posted, so whatever.
The Emo's Lounge Deposit post. This post did originally contain a word which was later removed due to its potential to be completely misinterpreted. So if you read it and saw the word, but then wondered where the hell it went when you returned to BLAST me in the comments section, well, it got removed. Too fucking bad for you. And yeah, I really did pinch one off in that joint. And no, there wasn't any toilet paper. I was later told that the paper delivery guy had quit a week prior without telling anyone, which is mighty kind of him. I'll leave it to your imagination to formulate a creative method for me to have cleansed my crevice.
The No Gas Pushmower post, the VegeMonth post, and the Bike Riding post. Yes, I still use the pushmower, but not every time as it has a tendency to ignore certain varieties of weed that I'm not comfortable Darwinistically "selecting for". No, I didn't become a vegetarian, as I love bacon far too much to even consider such a thing (but I respect those who make the switch). I haven't pedaled that pink bike in over a month due to soccer injuries, inclement weather, and a general desire to be a lazy shit. And the combination of these three posts DO NOT make me a hippy, so stop asking me if I am one, or if I have any good weed connections.
As a final year-end note: for the record, I had only intended to write this column for a single year. I don't know why I chose that timeframe, but It was a promise that I made to myself: that I would continue this exercise for a full year even if it was received poorly. The reviews have been pleasantly mixed, and for that I'm grateful. I believe it means that people are forced to think, and forced to have an actual opinion on something. I couldn't have asked for more than that.
Many thanks to you, the people who actually read these things (long ass online posts). Those who read all the way to the bottom. May 2007 bring you whatever the hell it is people want these days. I'm guessing it's hookers and twenties.
Piles of both.
Cheers to you and yours!!!
