It's that time of year when we all evaluate ourselves, realize we smoke too much, have too gigantic an ass, or owe Visa our first born, and so make big plans to erradicate bad behavior or instate good behavior or just stop eating entire fetal pigs while watching Jeopardy (which, amazingly, is a rather widespread phenomenon). We hope that by February, the chain-smoking fatty we once were is now a marathon running, smoothie-drinking, vaguely annoying pseudo-yuppie. You know, the one with really weird looking calves who wears cream colored turtlenecks and checks his stocks on the bus. And then, if you're like me, you realize: wait a minute; that guy is horrible. I hate that neo-Puritan, organic-soy, mixed-greens, my body is a temple of the holy ghost jackass who works on the second floor and has teeth that are radioactively white and who, instead of eating Dim Sum at lunch, goes for a run in sheer, testicle strangling running underpants.
But it's important to remember: there is middle ground. You can get healthier and not be too healthy. And yes, there is such a thing. Wheat grass, after all, is brandy's bitch. So whatever it is you've resolved to stop doing or start doing, I wish you the best of luck, remind you to not go overboard, and, well, if you see that guy from the second floor, poke him with something sharp for me.
Birdmonster too is making resolutions. We've resolved to record an album late in the year. We've resolved to not run another van into oblivion. We've resolved to go off to a cabin and write some songs. We've resolved to go on a California tour this month (starting, say January 19th) and then a long national one sometime mid-March. We've resolved to let you know who won that contest tomorrow (or today, maybe). We've resolved to write an opus about Lavar Burton's sexual exploits. It's going to be a big year.
Of course, it's also a good idea to take a step back and realize that today is probably really similar to December 21st, for example. I'm at work, I'm not working. I'm making plans. I'm rambling. The point? As always: who knows. I just wish you luck with whatever cockamamie, 2007 plans you've concocted. As always, this is the year. Or, rather: this is the year. Or, most fittingly: this is the year. Or...you get the idea. Godspeed.