Last night, at 11:59, I was standing in my friend Ronnie's living room - pantsless - with around 30 other people - also pantsless - the band Warrior Princess - also also pantsless - counting down to midnight over a PA. We were all soaked, basting in our own juices (the Kentaros had just finished their set), each with our own unique aromas. For some, alcohol; for others, weed. For everyone, tobacco (it's a smoking-allowed venue). At precisely midnight, Warrior Princess / The Internal Organ set off a mind-bendingly raucous set lasting till past one. As soon as the music finished, we burst forth through the front door, whooping and panting, into the forty-degree night - pantsless. Steam billowed from our bodies, while simultaneously our flesh prickled with the biting cold of the winter air. I returned inside soon thereafter, re-robed and packed up my things. Kevin - bassist, trombonist, accordionist, and songwriter for Warrior Princess - is a long time friend of mine, with our first meeting being during preschool, around age 2. He and I rode around the block a few times on mine and Ronnie's bikes, and then made the last one a race in our highest gears (mine 50 - 11, his something slightly less).zi won, but not by much. It was heartening, I suppose. Kevin is very fit, 4 inches taller than me, and a much more experienced cyclist. But it may also have been nothing special, and I just assume he's a better cyclist than me for no good reason. That's the mental portion of the sport, I guess. It was my very first race - a single lap criterium in a high gear with an old friend of mine, at 1:30 in the morning on New Year's Day. But enough drivel, let's get to some hard-hitting whatever it is I should be putting here.
Among the many traditions for ringing in each year and kicking to the curb the year we've just completed, traditions that include vomiting, going to jail, and shouting obscenities before falling off your porch, there is one particular tradition that has continued to mask itself in a virtuous cloud, while underneath there is really not much more than a corrupted and commercialized concept more ritual than tradition. I am speaking, of course, of the "new year's resolution." Resolutions are not things that should be made out of tradition, happenstance, or while inebriated, a triumvirate of potential failure and disillusionment emblazoned across the chest of the new year's resolution concept. Most often, these are half-hearted, if indeed hearted at all, and if anything give people an excuse to let themselves down, because, as they rationalize, there's always another one. Another chance to commit. Like divorce; if you fail at the marriage deal, there's always another chance to commit to something. But if the world operated in such a way that drinking yourself into oblivion was the best way to commit to something, the divorce rate would be far below what it is today.
This being said, my resolutions are:
1. To spend time each day taking steps to get in better shape: exercising, thinking critically about what I'm putting into my body, getting more restful sleep, and brushing my teeth more than I am wont to do.
2. To care about my performance in school. This past semester, I succeeding in not failing one class - a discussion class that met for two days a week the second half of the semester and involved no assignments. This semester, after a drastic reassessment of my goals, I have a new major, a new outlook, and an easy schedule that doesn't involve getting to a class before 11 o'clock.
3. To organize my workspace. The majority of my failings last semester - and in other areas in my life - can be directly attributed to a lifelong reticence towards organization.
4. To budget. I don't do this. I have $15. And a bamboo catchall with a bunch of nickels in it.
While I may have some serious issues to work at, I'm committed to changing them for my benefit.
Stats, 7:40 pm
weight: 145
food: a box of chicken pot stickers, orange juice, two cans of coke
didn't exercise today
Thursday, January 1, 2009
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