Since last year’s New Years, I was asleep by 10 o’clock, face deep in a cheesecake, THIS year I’ll be in Manhattan, patroning 3 parties, which is to say, asleep by 1 am, face deep in a street pretzel.
Last night Blaine and I were commiserating about friendship, and how as we get older our best of friends feel further away. Of course a good friend is always a good friend, and even if you haven’t seen each other in month, you slip back into the comradery, but. That’s starting to feel like an excuse. In high school and college, you’re in close enough proximity to your friends that it’s incredibly easy to take them for granted. I don’t know if it’s actually happening, or if it’s just through the lens of this totally emo filter I’ve been developing over the last few years, but I feel a few of my best of friends slipping away: towards marriage, towards careers, just slipping in general. Or it is me that is actually slipping? I’m frustrated with them but also with myself. It hasn’t been often that I’ve really asked myself, am I a good friend to my friends? And so I partially dedicate 2013 to nurturing my best friendships and refusing to let them die. By God, I will send letters and flowers. I will make phone calls and trips and spend life savings on flights and hours perusing obscure gift stores for presents that remind my best friends that I love and know them still. In summation, I will become the most persistent, annoying and loving friend there ever was.
(The remaining portion of 2013 is dedicated to maybe running a half marathon, further embracing this re-introduction to Church,writing a simple, honest, hilarious screenplay a la The Promised Land which made me want to do so, apparently putting more links in my blog like this one, and the awesome, soon to be picture Frye boots that Augie got me for Christmas.)
No I am NOT spending the afternoon obsessing over this plane that overshot the runway in Moscow, and remembering how justifiably freaked I was to fly in and out of this airport, because something about it just smelled of crash potential,
but instead, I am enjoying this lovely snow Maryland dusting, and not thinking of plane crashes, not at all.
Tis the season to swear that next year will be NOTHING but greens and half marathons, and then eat ten cookies, then return to swearing, but this time with more hyperbole involving cleanses and crunches, and then immediately figure out someway to turn a cheeseburger into an ice cream cone.
Yes those ARE Augie and I’s initials on a little giving tree necklace. Why thanks catbird of Brooklyn, and also the generous heart of my nice bearded man!
If there were ever any doubt that I am an incredible athlete with near olympic like capabilities, here are just a few of my childhood trophies to prove my prowess. I mean, one of them is for memorizing bible verses, but I promise you I was extremely sweaty and burned tons of calories doing it. Sidenote, what exactly does the proof is in the pudding mean? Why is the proof in the pudding? I can think of other places I’d like the proof to be.