how's it gonna be

I have approximately 36 hours of work that needs to get done on Wednesday. I can already see how it's gonna go down.

I will go in at 9am. I will come home around 1am. That is 16 hours. A long damn workday, I think you'd agree. The Man is getting his money's worth.

I will still come up approximately 20 hours short of getting done what I need to get done.

I will have an iced coffee from New York's premier coffee bar, and a shaken iced tea lemonade from the world's leading purveyor of caffeinated beverages. These will ease my pain a little.

I will fuck off at my desk for about 23 minutes total: bullshitting, checking facebook, crossing the line with questionable jokes directed at co-workers.

I will also waste about 54 minutes spinning my wheels: forgetting what I was about to do, getting up and walking to someone's office only to find they are not there, putting out stupid fires that shouldn't have ever started in the first place, throwing my 2 cents into someone else's discussion without being asked, soothing immature colleagues.

I will probably pee twice.

I will leave the building twice for a total of 19 minutes, once to go get lunch and once to go get my iced tea lemonade. Other than that, I will not see the sun. I will not look out a window for even a second.

Someone will give me attitude and I will tell them to calm down. Someone else will ask for my opinion on something, then vehemently disagree with it when I give it.

There will be at least one moment of panic when we all think something is fucked up and it's too late to do anything about it. There is a 50% chance that it will really be fucked up and it will be too late to do anything about it.

News will continue to spread that someone has quit. There will be intense gossip about it and then it will die down.

After I leave for work in the morning, I won't see my kid until the next day. My wife will express her intense dislike for my schedule during a phone conversation around 9pm.

I will be too overwhelmed and pressed for time to even fantasize about a better way of life.

Thursday will be worse.

back in the day

It was mid-October 2008. We were fighting wars in five countries, and the two of 'em we knew about weren't going well. The economy was wounded and spewing fresh blood every day. Otherwise-sane adult women were addicted to vampire/coming of age/romance novels written by Mormon housewives. The Red Sox were dangerously close to a dynasty.

The tap water all down the East Side of Manhattan turned brown, but the city told us to go ahead and drink it. Beverly Hills Chihuahua was #1 at the Box Office. Somebody came up with the idea for the $1000 lap dance, which included the parting gift of the stripper's autographed g-string.

Fox News commentator Sarah Palin was running for Vice-President. I shit you not, look it up.

They were the dying days of the marijuana prohibition era, which meant, among other things, that you might be smoking dried-out pesto sauce at any given moment.

Keith Olbermann was the best the left could muster.

I was nursing a sore foot and a probably-cracked rib, and I was drinking way too much coffee.

Then again:

Steve Nash was still playing basketball, about to start his last great season. You really had to see it. Dick Cavett had a blog you could read for free. We could still get excited about new technology. There were more great shows on TV than ever before, although I didn't have time to watch them.

The Facebook Murders hadn't happened yet.

David Letterman was still two years away from retirement. Our kids were still tiny and controllable and had no idea how to use their cuteness as a weapon.

I could still run and play sports and crack bad jokes. You were fifteen pounds lighter and still had fantasies of a different life.

And goddammit, we could order beer at work.

If you were alive then, I hope you appreciated it. I hope you put on your fall jacket and got outside on a crisp Saturday afternoon when you could. I hope you had laughter-filled brunches with friends and watched the big game in a bar while eating the deep fried food of your choice. I hope you tickled your kids until they were mad at you.

And I hope you got some pictures while you were at it. You were one lucky son of a bitch.

get big

Welcome to 2008, my friends. It's going to be a hell of a year and I can't wait to be a part of it.

Time to talk resolutions. But first, the obligatory progress check on last year's goals:

I made one New Year's Resolution. That ain't saying I only want to improve/change one thing; just that most likely I will be pretty much the same schmuck this year as I was last year so I may as well set a realistic single goal for something that I might actually do. And that thing is giving up sugar soda. No more sugar soda anymore. That stuff is just no good. Delicious, but no good. It won't be easy but I can do it. And if I succeed, I might move on to some other resolutions. You'll be the first to know.

Well, I gave that shit up for a large part of the year, maybe 6 months, maybe 9, but somehow I slipped and now I am half diet soda, half regular. I need to get that straightened out.

As for resolutions for año cero ocho, to hell with that. Once again, I am going to be the same schmuck as I was in years 1972-2007, making the same bad decisions, cracking the same obvious jokes, feeling much of the same stress. Why kid myself? I am weak and scatterbrained and can rarely keep my train on the tracks for more than a few seconds at a time.

So in lieu of changing the things I do, I have decided to change the way in which I do them. No more half-assery, no more tentative Charlie Brown-style pussin' around, no more laying low and hoping nobody notices me. Every thing I do this year, I will do with passion, with flair, with commitment. If I suck, I will suck with a vengeance. I will scream and yell and apologize with sincerity. On the rare moments where I excel, I will gloat and dance and let the world know how awesome I am.

I will look people in the eye. I will speak in a full voice when I share my opinion.

The simplest acts in life, the ones we think of as mundane, are really opportunities to demonstrate grace and panache.

Example: the elevator door is closing. You want to activate the sensor that makes it open again so you can get on. Maybe someone is on the elevator pretending not to see you, maybe it's empty. Either way, the instinct is to halfheartedly stick a toe in, or your umbrella, or give it a lame wave of the arm -- something that could trigger the sensor but might not.

Fuck that. From now on I am kicking my entire leg through that door, kung fu style. I may even let out a yell. Or I may go Rockette style, humming a show tune as I let loose. Either way, I will go big and my life will be slightly more exciting because of it (providing my lower leg is not severed and I avoid groin pulls).

When I go on a coffee run, I will tell even more enthusiastic corny jokes to the cashier. They may think I am a fool, but their day will be better for it. (*Tried this today and it was met with a cold stare and complete silence -- who cares, it was worth it!)

When I play basketball, I will jack up a few crazy shots just for the hell of it -- they won't go in, but they will be fun. Nobody will mind.

I have always shied away from physical contact -- handshaking, hugs hello, unironic high-fiving, etc. No longer: I am going to embrace you and slap your hand whenever I get the chance. You are great, man. I like you! Why not show it?

If there is a chance for a good fake fight, I will take it.

So that is my simple resolution: to take 2008 and make it my personal joyride. I am going to soak up every moment, I am going to be loose and goofy and full of spice. Join me. Or at least tell me your resolutions.

Would a midsummer moustache be out of the question? I hope not.