2002-12-31

Alas, I fear that fate, with the help of some manner of vicious microbe, has made my New Year�s decision for me. I woke up at about three o�clock this morning with the alarming realization that I was in serious danger of tossing my cookies. Fortunately, that didn�t happen, and I feel mostly better now, but I don�t think that upsetting the delicate balance of the fragile ecosystem of my insides with eight gallons of liquor would be advisable at this juncture.

So, while y�all are living it up like the hedonistic miscreants that you are, spare me a thought: I�ll be reclining despondently on my fainting couch, one hand pressed dramatically to my alabaster brow and the other clutching a bag of chips. Ringing in the new year in style, yes sir. I hope this isn�t a portent of things to come in 2003 (�the year of living vicariously�). I would take the opportunity to write up a really spanking list of New Year�s resolutions, but unfortunately I never make them. I�m already staggering under the burden of the resolutions I make, oh, about every Saturday or so, which generally run along the lines of �That�s it! I�m finished! I�m NEVER DRINKING AGAIN. NEVER. �For, like, a month. I�m serious! I�m taking a break for a month. �Except for that birthday party next week. But after that, I�m stopping for SURE.� Trying to live up to those kinds of expectations has done my already-ailing self esteem far too much damage as it is. No sense adding to the problem.

So, happy New Year to all. Be responsible: don�t mix rye and beer. Trust me on that one! You�ll thank me later.