Happiness is a warm gun

It's coming. Soon, the yanks won't sound as cool saying the year anymore (oh-eight, oh-nine... oh-ten?). We love lists, and we love year end lists even more. "Best of the decade" lists have started popping up all over the place, it feels like we've waited a lot longer than ten years for this moment to arrive. Debates on whether this really is the end of the decade will rage on. Summation is a forbidden pleasure, and a year more of lust is a tempting thought.

It's a new year. There are words, prose and poetry. People have beautiful thoughts. Lessons learned, journeys undertaken/completed, morals, memories, smiles, tears to share. Plans to attend to. Resolutions to break. Cliched jokes to make. S, my good friend, will spend the night on the phone with his long distance wife. He's happy, he says, but why does it sound like he's making a compromise?


It's a new year. I have plans. And some more. Resolutions? A few. Memories, plenty. Lessons learned, oh so many. I suppose I have a list.

It's a new year. The pale blue dot will soon take us back to the point in space we were 365.25 days ago. And back along the same path, like it has done for the last 4.5 billion years. And yet, one can hope. Politicians will change. Corporations will grow a conscience. Economies will improve. Love will blossom. Waistlines will get slimmer. Bank balances heavier.

It's a new year. It's a date on my calendar. As far as events in my life go, the first few months will mean nothing new to me. I do not wish to wish to convey unhappiness or disappointment - just express my lack of enthusiasm for the day. Still, Jan 1st is a convenient bookmark, and a good excuse to share some cheer. Gather some friends, clink some glasses together.

Wish you a happy new year. Hope you get a chance to fulfill your dreams, an opportunity to do what matters.