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The events of the past seven-and-a-half hours have turned me into the Ebenezer Scrooge of New Year’s Eve.

The concept of the holiday reminds me somewhat of a birthday. Birthdays are, at their core, ultimately pointless and somewhat morbid in that their only purpose is to celebrate another year in which one did not die. In case you forget this, some assholes will undoubtedly say the phrase “and many more” (usually in song, as if that’ll cheer you up about your own mortality) on the very day in question. At the end of your birthday, all there is to do is lament the fact that you’re numerically older than you were yesterday, and closer to the grave.

The celebration of the New Year feels equally as pointless. Instead of focusing on one individual when praising their ability to avoid death for another 365 days, we have more of a communal party… where we pat ourselves on the back for being alive from January all the way to the end of December (this ‘pat on the back’ usually comes in the form of alcohol… which, let’s face it, is readily available at any given time during the year).

What makes New Year’s different from any other day, really?

Nothing, except for the fucking snow this year… and my accompaning heart and headaches.

Maybe I’m being unfair. After all, there are still a good four and a half hours left of 2005… maybe something good will come of them. All I know is, I’m probably going to sleep before Carson Daly, or Dick Clark (whom they unfreeze specifically for this occasion), or Ryan Seacrest, or Jesus, or Al Roker — or any of those motherfuckers* — get to “drop the ball” on Times Square.

Fuck you, New Year’s Eve! You are not rockin’!

* Jesus is excluded from the motherfucker comment. In fact, Jesus was born without his mother ever being fucked by anyone (excluding God**, of course)
** Just kidding. The Allmighty didn’t fuck anyone, especially Jesus’ mom***. In fact, according to Kevin Smith’s Dogma, God is a woman (and a Canadian)… which would have made intercourse between Mary and the Holiest of Holies hot, all-out lesbian sex… and everybody knows you can’t get pregnant from lesbian sex.
*** These footnotes will stop now, so as to put an end to offending… well, everyone

It seems as if it’s that time again — the time when we all make ridiculous promises to themselves that they’ll never manage to keep over the course of the next 365 days. This year, I figured I’d try something slightly different — if I publish my unrealistic promises to myself on the internet, perhaps I’ll be slightly more pressured into assuring that I live up to them. Let’s try it out, shall we?

Get a job - Okay, this one’s less of a resolution and more of a “must.” I’ve been applying for some jobs the past couple of days in the City, but my most promising prospect is a meeting with a Starbucks manager at a open house. Problem with that is, it’s two weeks away.
Read the complete works of William Shakespeare - Being a drama student, I feel kind of inferior that the only Shakespeare I’ve read has been mandatory during high school. I’ve had a Barnes & Noble copy of the complete works (only $20!) for over a year now, and I’ve still barely cracked the cover. This resolution seems simple enough. If I had to bet on my completion of any of them, this one would be it.
Finish “A Year At The Academy” - For reasons that I’ve still yet to sit down and explain at a keyboard, I stopped updating my other blog. My resolution is to post for every day of the project cycles, including my thoughts on Graduation in April.
Eat better quality meat - File this one under the ‘asinine resolution’ category. Months of Jackie Bartone have finally gotten to me, I’m beginning to show sympathy for animals that are needlessly killed (by drivers, hunters, etc.) during the course of the year. In fact, I’ve even started to show remorse over eating meat. Whereas I’m not quite ready to give up my precious bacon cheeseburgers (nor do I think I ever will be), I know that I can at least make a move towards eating free range and organic meats. Problem with that is, it’s expensive.
Get in shape - This one is possibly more absurd than the last. I’ve been telling myself that I’ll get in shape for approximately nine years now, when I first started to slip into the realm of Hostess cupcakes and an endless supply of Pringles. I’ve come the closest I’ve been since then a few months ago, with movement class twice a week and an hour of walking a day. Hopefully, I can build upon the foundation I’ll get in movement classes with Michael in the coming term.

Well, that’s all that I can think of for now. As I said, I’ll probably give up on half of these midway through the year. In fact, I give myself until January 8th.