And so it's over, and we're too sickly full to care. Sure, Thanksgiving*, but also the year. One month left until this awful decade of millennial uncertainty comes to a fucking end. And I am optimistic for the coming year, I am sure it will be great, but I am also optimistic about this great month of December that lie ahead of us, because I think I have a chance to end this year on a much more phenomenal note than with which I began it. T'will be a month of mulled wine and decorating, of writing more than reading, of drinking espressos in bed and listening to the Mountain Goats and The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan and wearing men's trousers, of feeling the fierce December wind rush through the cracked window and whip against the corners of the room and then carry back out. Of finally saying goodbye to the Grudges of the Year before they carry on to 2010--of letting them dissipate alright, and completely; it's lonely with or without them.
*A quick note on the outcome of the Holiday: everything was extremely edible/non-toxic, and I'd like to give two shout outs, to Lucy and myself, for managing to balance, with a fairly even hand, the acts of preparing a feast, and of celebrating a Great American Holiday via excesses of debilitating substances. Seriously though. Who do you know who can baste a turkey and smoke a joint simultaneously? In this narrator's humble and modest opinion, our performance was admirable. Admirable, and American.
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1 comment:
Good article in Time about this awful awful decade.
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