New Year’s Day 2011… It’s 2:46PM and I haven’t moved from my bed. I decided this year that every day I will compose an entry on something I’m grateful for. My website is, of course, due to the negligence of my web designer, not quite up and ready to receive these entries, a fact about which I am not at all grateful. Regardless, I’m going to write it, save it, and maybe some day my fans will be able to see it. Even if that never happens, it’s still an exercise in that law of attraction, positive thinking, make your own destiny mumbo jumbo that we all really should do since it seems to be the only thing that works. It’s true by the way, even Hulk Hogan agrees. I just read his memoir, there’s a whole chapter on how The Secret changed his life.
So because this is my first gratitude composition… (notice I’m calling it a composition, not a blog) I’m going to start with an easy topic. My dad. He’s the last person I hung out with in 2010, other than the Haitian taxi driver who chatted my ear off on the way home about how much he hates New Years (I’m with you, dude) and my squatter, Yamaneika who is currently still snoring on my couch. Mom, if you’re reading this… don’t be mad. I know you think my first piece on gratitude, as well as my last, and every one in between should be entitled “One more reason why my mother is fabulous.” Maybe that will be the theme next year, but for now just relax. I’ll get to you. Now where was I?
Dad. The problem here, and part of the reason why I’m having such a hard time getting started, is that I don’t really know where to begin. I guess we could start at the beginning: somewhere around July 18th 1983 (that would be nine months previous to my expected due date). Thank you, Dad, for charming my mother into laying down with you and for having sperm tenacious enough to plow through that diaphragm wall. Imagine how bleak all your lives would be if things had gone according to plan.. All I see are slow moving black and white figures, trudging solemnly through the snow while mean old Mr. Potter laughs demonically and counts his money… Seriously though, pretty much everyone who’s ever met my dad, Rob, will tell you he’s one of the coolest guys in the world. I’m gonna skip the long list of generic attributes that describe him because the point here this isn’t to be sappy or cheesy; It’s simply to acknowledge how grateful I am that this person, place, or thing (in this case, person) exists in my world on this day, the first of January, 2011.
As most people who know me will attest, New Years is not my thing. In fact, I sort of hate it. This could be a carryover from my youth- a result of youngest-child-syndrome where I view New Years as the day everyone goes out and has fun without me. Of course I’m 26 now, so that’s hardly a good reason. It could also be the whole “Who did you kiss at midnight?” thing… A reminder that I’ve completed yet another year without managing to secure a meaningful relationship. But I don’t hate Valentines Day, so that’s probably not it. I think it’s more likely just that general pressure to have a good time. Other Holidays carry this pressure as well, of course, but there’s a structure to them. Thanksgiving, for example- you know how your’e supposed to enjoy Thanksgiving. Same deal with Easter, Halloween, Christmas. Forth of July is a little more up for interpretation but generally you know that if you’re doing it right there’s gonna be a grill involved, some fireworks, cold beer if you’re of age, perhaps a squirt-gun fight or a lightening bug hunt if you’re 5… New Years though, I feel kinda leaves us hanging. The only real guidelines we get are 1) expect to see a lot of sparkles and 2) you’ll probably drink a lot of champagne. And for those of you living in Manhattan, don’t try to walk over one block to Jamba Juice because by 4PM your entire neighborhood is going to be one giant police barricade and it may be hours before they let you back into your building. Anyone who comes to NY for new years is an idiot, that’s my professional opinion. So after a few years of dealing with this buuuullshit, I decided this year that I was going to skip the whole thing. I stopped drinking back in November after attending Tony Robbins’ Unleash the Power Within (no judgements), so the idea of running around between overcrowded bars, paying $18 for each ginger ale and freezing my tush off in some skimpy, uncomfortable outfit REALLY didn’t sound like much fun. If you’re wondering, at this point, where on earth I am going with this story and how does it pertain to my dad? Well, it turns out he was feeling the same way about the whole thing. Yesterday afternoon he stopped by unexpected, to the utter horror of my squatter, Yamaneika, who freaks out if Rob sees her looking less than flawless… “You let your father come by with me lookin’ like a the queen of the vagabonds??” Sorry, Yam. I don’t know what she’s worried about, it’s a known fact that since his divorce, or as he likes to call it his “emancipation,” he doesn’t date women older than me. Anyway, we resolved to spend New Years together at the Village Underground. Was it crowded? A little. Were the drinks overpriced? Probably, but was I paying? Nope! Were there any other white people besides us? I counted about three. Do I have a point? Yes. The point is I had the best New Years Eve ever with the best date ever, listening to an awesome band and watching the other customers dazzle us with their dance/fornication moves. I’m not hyperbolizing here, good luck getting a booth at that place while the music’s going, every one I counted had a girl bent into a perfect right angle position with a guy or two or three grinding up behind. It was positively magical. Happy New Year, Dad. I love you.
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