Wednesday, January 04, 2006
High Resolution
Is there anything more pathetically hilarious than the New Year's resolution? Except maybe Nicole Richie? (Whose name I am shocked to discover I have already previously googled.) It's fascinating to me that people actually choose to begin their new years by reminding themselves of all the things they don't like about themselves. They're unhappy with their jobs, which is to say they have jobs. They need to lose one hundred and seventy pounds, Lindsay Lohan style. They haven't made nearly enough progress on that spice rack they're building for grandma. Every year, it's like America suddenly becomes that table in the junior high school cafeteria where all the girls with low self esteem sit, staring forlornly into their snack size cups of vanilla yogurt while writing in their unicorn-embossed diaries with their glitter pens.
So I'm going to start out my new year (well, sort of -- obviously I never made that resolution to be more punctual!) by picking out some key respects in which I resolve NOT to change. It should be easier, and more in keeping with what Karen Larson wrote in my high school yearbook. ("Stay sweet! Keep strummin' that violin and don't ever change!")
For starters, I resolve to NOT become more technologically savvy. Nobody likes that guy who's always talking about dos. The only necessary computer skills involve picking up the phone to get the pale dude with the Lord of the Rings t-shirt to come down and make your Ashlee Simpson songs download correctly.
I resolve to remain every bit as occasionally mean spirited as I am. Come on, sometimes Celine Dion has it coming. That bitch has been skeletal and Canadian for years.
I resolve to keep on talking about things that interest me without regard to whether anyone cares to hear it. For one thing, it's fun just to watch people's eyes glaze over as I tear into my fourth virtually pause free hour on synchronic linguistics. Eventually, security is called.
I also resolve to NOT work any harder. What am I, a four year old in a Malaysian Nike factory?
And I think that's just about enough of that...
Is there anything more pathetically hilarious than the New Year's resolution? Except maybe Nicole Richie? (Whose name I am shocked to discover I have already previously googled.) It's fascinating to me that people actually choose to begin their new years by reminding themselves of all the things they don't like about themselves. They're unhappy with their jobs, which is to say they have jobs. They need to lose one hundred and seventy pounds, Lindsay Lohan style. They haven't made nearly enough progress on that spice rack they're building for grandma. Every year, it's like America suddenly becomes that table in the junior high school cafeteria where all the girls with low self esteem sit, staring forlornly into their snack size cups of vanilla yogurt while writing in their unicorn-embossed diaries with their glitter pens.
So I'm going to start out my new year (well, sort of -- obviously I never made that resolution to be more punctual!) by picking out some key respects in which I resolve NOT to change. It should be easier, and more in keeping with what Karen Larson wrote in my high school yearbook. ("Stay sweet! Keep strummin' that violin and don't ever change!")
For starters, I resolve to NOT become more technologically savvy. Nobody likes that guy who's always talking about dos. The only necessary computer skills involve picking up the phone to get the pale dude with the Lord of the Rings t-shirt to come down and make your Ashlee Simpson songs download correctly.
I resolve to remain every bit as occasionally mean spirited as I am. Come on, sometimes Celine Dion has it coming. That bitch has been skeletal and Canadian for years.
I resolve to keep on talking about things that interest me without regard to whether anyone cares to hear it. For one thing, it's fun just to watch people's eyes glaze over as I tear into my fourth virtually pause free hour on synchronic linguistics. Eventually, security is called.
I also resolve to NOT work any harder. What am I, a four year old in a Malaysian Nike factory?
And I think that's just about enough of that...
