Today I am engaging in my New Year's tradition: long , uncontrolled bouts of weeping while throwing confetti around my apartment.
Ha ha, just kidding! Actually, I'm trying to go through the huge stack of New Yorkers I've gathered over the year. If I don't do this, the pile gets so big it casts a shadow over the my couch and I take longer naps than I need to because, like the couch parrot I am, I think it's nighttime and will engage in deep REM sleep and while REM is fine I'm getting sort of sick of hearing them on the radio all the time. Reading, like, 28 issues of the New Yorker in one bout is a strange way to review the year, but it's better than, say, turning to Carson Daily for advice.
I don't even know what that means.
Happy New Year!
Blogagaard Loves to Ponder
About Me
- David Oppegaard
- St. Paul, Minnesota
- I am the author of And the Hills Opened Up, The Suicide Collectors, and Wormwood, Nevada.
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7 comments:
Happy New Year to you, too, fine sir.
We all have our obsessions. I'm going to put a puzzle together. HNY.
Man, I'm not even halfway through the stack yet and I'm already weary. There's always tommorow!
You might want to watch some Flintstones today...to counteract some of that culture you've just absorbed. Hope it was good fun.
Happy New Year!
Happy New Year, Bloggy!
We should plan more tomfoolery and hijinks this year, Sir Blogalot. The Twin Cities are just a big blank canvas that need to be painted with broad brushstrokes of revelry and creativity!
I am glad you still had energy after all that reading! It was great to see you and meet your friends. I felt bad I did ont have room to drive them home too.
happy new year punk.
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