AN APOLOGY

Come the new year, people the world over make resolutions, intent on leaving the previous year behind. Their mistakes, their laziness, and their cowardice, all thrown in a heap in the backyard and lit on fire. Next year, they claim, they will run a marathon, be more honest with themselves, and finally divorce the dick they agreed to marry when they were 21 and didn't know any better. But rarely do you see the great grievances of the past year aired and catalogued for posterity's sake. So, in an effort to look behind and not forward, I've decided to write down some of the larger errors of judgments I've made this past year. Hopefully, when/if similar situations arise this year, I'll be able to recognize them as being problematic and, with some luck, to avoid them.

First of all, I just want to say that I'm sorry I convinced you to get a hysterectomy. In retrospect, it was a bad idea. Especially considering all the difficulty we've been having with the adoption agency. I'd also like to say - again - that it was really juvenile of me to say that the operation was "hysterecal", just because the doctor wasn't licensed and you had to stay in the hospital for two weeks. It was a truly awful pun, and a "hystoric" mistake on my part.

Last year, as you know, was not good for me, financially speaking. In hindsight, it was a mistake to bet my holiday bonus with that guy on the train. Considering the fact that he was a film historian, it seems obvious to me now that he would have known whether or not Gene Hackman starred in "Logan's Run". What can I say? LSD makes you say some crazy things, sometimes.

I'm sorry I stole your sister's car. Really, though, it seemed like she wanted me to take it.

According to my lawyer, getting involved in Big Brothers/Big Sisters was a big mistake, especially with the trial coming up this month. Still, I feel like my biggest lapse in judgment was buying those magazines over the internet, where, apparently, people can track that sort of thing.

Also, I'm aware that I should not have begun singing "The Final Countdown" at your mother's funeral. I had just listened to "Jock Jams" on the drive over, and it was totally in my head. In addition, I'd like to reiterate that I really did drop my lucky quarter in the casket and was trying to retrieve it, even though it looked like I was removing your mother's broach.

I should have told you about the polyps. That much is clear to me now.

Finally, I'd like to say that I'm sorry I told you I'd meet up with you in Bahrain, on April 25, at 9:00AM, at the steps of the Barbar Temple, right next to the newspaper stand. I was going to go, but then this thing came up, and then the game was on. I thought about giving you a call, but, well, you know how it goes.

I'M SORRY I DIDN'T VISIT YOU WHEN YOU WERE IN THE HOSPITAL - IT TRULY WAS "MY BAD"

Though presumably no great shock to those who know me, I am hanging the hat of blogging upon the hat-rack of blogging. No reason is given; no justification offered. No more do I care to dally away my idle time making rhyme and reason and pithy, pathetic joke of my typical mid-twenties American life. Time presses me to do something relevant. Like widwifery.

Looking back at what I've written on this blog, I feel that an appropriate description of my efforts can be neatly summed by these prophetic words:

A work of art? It has no invention; it has no order, system, sequence,
or result; it has no lifelikeness, no thrill, no stir, no seeming of
reality; its characters are confusedly drawn, and by their acts and
words they prove that they are not the sort of people the author
claims that they are; its humor is pathetic; its pathos is funny; its
conversations are -- oh! indescribable; its love-scenes odious; its
English a crime against the language.

Counting these out, what is left is Art. I think we must all admit that.

--Mark Twain

By the by, for those wishing to know how and what I am doing, turn your ear this way. I currently reside in Ohio, near that great, muddy river on a fine plot of 72 rolling acres. I run a small apiary and petting zoo with my lovely Peruvian wife, Aytahmo, who hears not and speaks poorly, for she is deaf. In my free time, I write children's books and practice the art of blacksmithing. Thrice a year, I participate in Civil War reenactments (Confederate, 59th Carolina division), of which I have received numerous awards (mostly plaques). Last week I tailored a suit for the governor of New Mexico, Bill Richardson, whom I consider a personal friend. All of what I just wrote is fiction, save for the part about Ohio. That is true.

And the Civil War thing.

PARADIGM SHIFT

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NOT A STRONG SWIMMER

Yesterday I got the necessary vaccinations for my trip. Hep A booster, Tetanus booster, Polio booster, then Yellow Fever, Typhoid, and malarial pills, oh my! I must have been allergic to one of the vaccines because four hours later I was sitting on my couch watching the Clippers game wondering if I needed to go to the emergency room. Instead I popped my leg with an expired EpiPen and tried not to worry that the constricting pain in my chest foreshadowed gloomy prospects for my time abroad. If I can't even handle the vaccines...

But I am strong of heart and spirit, and I will persevere. Three cheers for Simon Bolivar! Es caliente!!

RAMBLE ON

Tomorrow's my last day of work. FOREVER. Well, probably not. But for a good amount of time, at least.

I'm putting on my dancing shoes and heading south of the border. South of the Ecuadorian border, that is. Hey-oh. Off to the land of the short, stocky, large-torsoed and short-limbed people of Peru. What I'll do once I'm there is anyone's guess.

When I come back, I doubt it will be to Los Angeles. Possibly Ohio.

Life is funny, life is strange. Here is a thorough Wikipedia entry on the latest hip-hop craze, Hyphy.