On New Year’s, I like to remember my past.
1969 is the first year I remember. I mean specifically remember, in as much as I remember looking at a calendar and seeing “1969” on it, and then being able to recall that calendar now and associate it with that year — 1969. It was a calendar that hung in Mrs. Biddle’s kindergarten classroom, which happened to be my new classroom, too.
Of course I remember things before that, but they aren’t associated with a year. Does this make sense? Like, I remember my parents going on vacation somewhere and bringing me back a 45 of Nancy Sinatra’s “These Boots Were Made For Walkin'” and I played it on my plastic record player in the basement. In that same basement my mother huddled me and my sister around the same time I got that record. We were all very frightened, and we huddled there on April 21, 1967. I didn’t know the exact date the tornado hit ’til I just Google’d it, but I remember the three of us under our house that shitty day.
I remember 1979 very well, cause I was 15, and that’s no trick to remember something when you’re that age; plus, my little brother came into this word that year…and on that very special day, after I left the hospital to see my new baby brother, I went with my very best friend, Johnny Boy, and we saw Styx play the Veteran’s Memorial Coliseum.
You heard right.
We called him Johnny Boy, and we caught Styx in concert.
As in
Mata ah-oo hima de
Domo arigato, Mr. Roboto,
Himitsu wo shiri tai
but they didn’t pen that shitty song until after I had witnessed The Miracle that is Styx.
(Time for today’s Super Fun Fact about Styx: one of the band’s leaders, Dennis DeYoung, played the ever-lovable Pontius Pilate in Jesus Christ Superstar).
In 1989 I was living in Dallas, Texas — for a spell, anyway. And selling penny stocks to anyone who would buy them. I was so miserable. I’d put on a suit and a tie and wake up super early and I worked with a bunch of silly goons, and after the market closed we’d go to strip joints and drink heavily, and then I’d go home to my small apartment over a garage in a neighborhood full of gay men.
In 1999 I just finished grad school (for the second time) and I was teaching English 101 and 102 at a local community college. Did I ever tell you how much the chicks dug my shit? It was incredible! But before I brag, lemme make one thing perfectly clear. I’m an average dude, with average looks…at least I’d like to think so. I never was a Lady Killer, but I got laid. Sometimes. And sometimes I didn’t. But I never, ever, had girls fawn over me…until I became The Professor.
My God!
The thing I miss most about teaching isn’t helping young people better their lives.
It isn’t the free heath care.
It certainly wasn’t the salary.
I miss all that god damned attention I got from my female fans. Um, wait…students. All my female students. And all that attention. For lack of a better word.
Anyways…who knows The Miracles and Disappointments 2009 shall bring!
On New Year’s, we play a Fool’s Game called “Resolutions”, and it’s always so much fun we do it all the time. Instead, I’m gonna set some “goals”, and if they happen — coolio.
If they don’t — foolio.
Here goes:
GOAL #1 — 213: In 2009, I wanna get down to what I weighed my junior year in high school. I know this sounds arbitrary, and it is. I mean tipping the scale the same way I did when I was 17 is an arbitrary thing, but to me it makes sense, cause for some dumb reason I remember weighing in for football practice at 213. That number’s was etched into the back of my brain since that day, so why not?
I’m getting close, too…and not a lot of middle-aged, fuddy-duddy dudes can make that claim.
Part of the New Year’s Resolution cliché (um, goals) that is weight loss means all the clichés that come with it, so that means I’ll have to eat better and exercise more and blah blah blah blahblah.
GOAL #2 — FRENCH: Did you know “French Lessons” is tricky Whore Talk for giving blow jobs? Tricky as in I’m gonna post an ad on Craig’s List and instead of saying I give 50 dollar BJ’s I’m gonna trick the Po-Po and say French Lessons for $50.
I know what you’re thinking — No Way Am I Gay!
Instead, in 2009, I’m going to learn the French language, in as much as I wanna be able to order a beer, or find a hotel, or a whorehouse…or ask any number of fairly simple questions in that wonderful language — then receive an answer.
And be able to comprehend that answer.
Or at least most of it.
Kinda like my current knowledge and comprehension of the Spanish language.
By the way, if I ever shut down my blog and disappear off the face of the Earth, don’t get your panties all up in a bunch…I’ll simply be sipping an espresso on the Seine, across from the Musée d’Orsay, reading some Sartre or Genet, and ogling at all the French girls.
GOAL #3 — Whores v. Zombies: I want to make a Zombie movie. I want to make a great Zombie movie. But, before I tell you about my zombie movie, you must absolutely promise not to tell another living soul about this movie, cause after you hear about it, you’ll want to make one just like mine, and I can’t have you stealing any of my ideas, OK?
Promise?
Good.
“The Whores versus The Zombies”.
You read right.
This one ain’t too tough to figure out. There’s gonna be whores, and there’s gonna be zombies, and a town on the brink of becoming a ghost town, and a preacher everyone hates, and the preacher shall do nothing but quote Revelations throughout this fine film, and when the zombies eat Whore Brains they shall belch loudly, and there shall be a couple cowboys, too, and they’ll help the whores battle the zombies. I’m not sure which side will win, yet…but I’m leaning towards the zombies.
Now, if you tell anyone about this, I’ll fuck your shit up. Big time.
As in your ass is grass, and I’m the lawnmower. Got it, Buster Brown?
So don’t make me do that, OK? Cause the other thing I’m gonna work on for Aught 9’er is my terrible, terrible temper. And besides, this blog is dated, and when I prove you stole my movie idea after this blog was published, I’ll sic my lawyer after your pathetic, silly, idea-stealin’ self, and trust me when I tell you lawyers are no fun at all. After he’s done with you, I’ll go out and buy a red, convertible Corvette with all your money, and I’ll drive it around really town really fast and I shall be the coolest cat around.
So there.
Oh, by the way — Happy New Year!
May you experience nothing but happiness and success in 2009.