I'd like to take this opportunity to wish everyone a happy and prosperous New Year, full of personal successes and clement weather. May 2016 roll out before you all like a plush carpet down which you will stride confidently through the days, as rose petals fall before you and plumply trilling songbirds score your triumphant journey. Let Love find you who lack in it, in whatever form it takes for you. May friendships flower and enmities fade; may lemony sour turn sweet lemonade; may your souffles rise high and your funds multiply, may your fears disappear and your fruits become pie... (cue music)
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Welcome, my friends, to year 2016
’Twill undoubtedly be the best we’ve ever seen
It'll be twice as good as one thousand and eight
(Ask Walton; he'll tell you it wasn't that great)
The most awesomely optimal year you could think of
Won't smell like LAST year and the shit it did stink of
'Cause '15, let’s face it. Muy malo. No bueno.
A clogged putrid pipe and '16 is the Drano
We need to flush out all the vile detritus
And purge the effluvium rotting inside us
We'll shed that old year just like sloughing off skin
Thus cleansed, we'll rejoice as the new one begins.
We'll sing in the year in an uplifting chorus
And win o'er the hearts of the hordes who abhor us
Al Qaeda, The Taliban, ISIS, and Putin
Will all cease their bombin', beheadin', and shootin'
They’ll join us to usher an age in of awesome
As from ’15’s corpse possibilities blossom.
At work we’ll get titles, promotions, and raises
And never will suffer from workplace malaises
As all will be gruntled, and nobody dis-,
And everyone totally compos mentis,
Nobody gets shot save the shit and the breeze,
No bombs detonated nor hostages seized.
The upcoming election will end in a tie
So the Clintons and Trumps will then co-occupy
The White House, where each will rub off on the other
Becoming, in essence, a sister and brother
With wisdom and grace they will govern this land
Till '18, when the government votes to disband.
Each month will be better than what came before
Come December, we’ll all rise and holler, Encore!
What a year! Let’s repeat it! There’s never been a better! Every week a humdinger! Every day a red-letter!
Everybody got laid! All the bills all got paid!
Every three-pointer shot at the buzzer got made!
Can't we have one more year of exactly this type?
Cause I fear 17 won’t live up to the hype.
Well, you’re right. There is famine and pestilence comin' Your unfettered joy did ill destiny summon
Your baseline theology states it quite clearly
That for every happiness you must pay dearly
Ergo, seventeen's gonna suck with a bullet
A lading so weighty we barely could pull it
But hey! No dismay! That’s still twelve months away!
While the sun (as the proverb goes) shines, let's make hay.
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I don't think I'm the only person to wonder why we decided to slap January 1st smack in the middle of the coldest, barest, dreariest time of the year. What about gray skies, bare trees, birds off to more genial climes, and frozen toes shouts New? Nothing, that's what. When you go to sleep on December 31 you wake up to the same damn barren, frigid waste and the expectation of months more to come. Now, if we were to move January 1st to a more propitious position on the rotation, say, the spot currently held by April 19— we'd have a fair shot at one of those incredible spring days that just scream vitality and rebirth. You know the kind, especially you people who have spent time in the more hostile winter climates. The sun is shining like it only just mastered the art and wants to show it off. The birds are going at it lustily and full-throated, cheering on Spring from freshly budded boughs. The first vernal blooms unfurl in heliotropic splendor. The atmosphere thrums with life and possibility, and the air is as sharp and clear as alpine runoff. That, I think you will agree, says New Year.
I can think of several more dates that might more reasonably do vanguard duty. Most logically December 22, when the days begin to wax, but weather-wise it's in the same faction as Jan. 1, so screw logic.
How about July 7, my birthday? Or better yet, June 26, John Elway's. We could certainly do worse than kicking off our year alongside the greatest human being ever to draw breath. I'm not going to justify that contention right now, but know that in the near future I will be circulating a petition to get the ball rolling on his canonization. I think Francis is just the pope to make St. John of Denver patron saint of fourth-quarter comebacks, happen.
Really, a case could be made for any day not in that dreary dead winter season. Those of you thinking to yourself "what about the Southern hemisphere, where the seasons directly oppose ours? It's warm there now." Well, they don't matter. I'm not even convinced that those people or places exist and are not just stories made up to amuse children. I mean, come on. Has anyone ever actually been to "Australia"? Please.
Another thought which occurs to me regarding calendrical revision is the superfluity of months. Unnecessary and needlessly confusing. "What's the date?" "The 12th." "Of what?" How about this instead? "What's the date?" "94." We number each day from 1 to 365. Simple and direct. No one can seem to agree on how long a month is anyway. It's time they went the way of the Betamax. If the solely numerical designations seem too sterile to you perhaps we could name each day individually.
Or better yet, sell the naming rights to corporations. I see no reason whatever why the year shouldn't begin with Bed Bath and Beyond to Beautify Your Home and end with Double Western Bacon Cheeseburger Value Meal. Maybe my birthday would fall on Snickers Really Satisfies.
I think I've gotten off track here, so let's reprise the original message: Happy New Year! The designation may be utterly arbitrary and poorly chosen but it's the time we've selected for new beginnings, fresh starts and clean slates so by damn let's all gird our loins and come out swinging. If you haven't made 2016 your bitch by March (or 61 or Outback Steakhouse Bloomin' Onion), it's only because you're insufficiently motivated. Go forth and slay each day as it comes, and stuff your mattress with their corpses. This time next year you'll be pretty damn comfy.
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