I recently came across a list of the most important events of 2010. After reading all 50 items, it occurred to me that:
1. Another entire year has gone by, and, with the possible exception of taking a sledgehammer to the bathroom scale, I have accomplished absolutely nothing.
2. None of these events should even be on a list, because not one meets what I think we would all agree is the most important requirement of all: Did they even directly involve me?
Therefore we can omit everything from the Lindsay Lohan court cases to the gaping holes in the Metrodome. That leaves us with The Five Only Truly Important Events of 2010:
This is the date on which my best friend, Jeff, and I had our annual “Could You Yell Louder? There’s Still Unshattered Glass in Winnipeg” fight.
The trouble started when he defiantly asked, “How could you not know that apples are gayer than oranges?” I understandably interpreted this query to mean “You alone are responsible for every problem known to man—from global warming to the continued, albeit diminished, threat to the legalization of gay marriage.”
Sensing that this was going to be a rational-thought-free discussion, Jeff thought it appropriate to dredge up and relive every argument we’ve had since 1989, followed by the traditional I-must-now-demonstrate-how-well-I-can-slam-a-door exit.
I countered with the thinly veiled threat “You think your life is miserable N-O-W!”
Then, I proceeded to partake of the traditional postfight pan of double-fudge brownies.
After a travel agent asked, “Do you mind sleeping standing up while surrounded by livestock?” I realized I just couldn’t afford both a fancy vacation and get my required shots, deworming, and branding.
So, I decided to spend my vacation with loved ones. (Loved ones being defined as “people who will let me stay at their house for free.”) I was a little hesitant, insomuch as several issues stemming from my last visit with relatives have yet to be resolved in court. But I was determined to get along and, astonishingly, we did.
My Uncle Gunnar actually spoke to me for many consecutive minutes without repeatedly using the word “freak.”
And, to my surprise, not once did my Aunt Ebba whip out the “Tribute to Ingrid” photo album of my cousin’s fantastic life that “isn’t a disgrace to the family.”
My dog-sitter/walker of five years announced he would no longer be available, explaining, “I thought that your Yorkshire Terrorist would, at some point, exhibit at least some ‘man’s-best-friend’ characteristics. I no longer think this.”
Outraged and angered, I let him know just how I felt. I believe my exact words were, “Please, please, please don’t leave me alone with him.”
This was, without question, a historic day. I went into my local liquor store to stock up on some much-needed “medicinal tonics,” and, for the first time in well over two decades, was asked for my ID.
The young man behind the counter, who apparently had just completed his “Cash Register-Gun-Any Questions” training, was curious why I was jumping up and down like a rabid hyena. So, I explained how flattering it was for someone to think I was younger than 21.
“What do you mean 21?” he replied. “I was checking to see if you’re 65. We have discounts for senior citizens.”
By the time the police arrived, I had calmed down, and removed my hands from around his neck.
Dear old friends tend to forget stuff. Granted, it’s tough to remember everything, like to return to your seat after intermission when you’re attending a play I’m starring in. Or the name of the audience member you left with to go to Room 36 at the Erotic Pleasures Motel.
Knowing that this particular friend doesn’t have the best memory, I have tried to make things easy. For example, over the 20 years we have known each other, I have purposely not once changed the date of my birthday.
Sometimes he remembers. This year, he forgot.
Thusly, and consider the source here, I have every reason to believe that 2011 will be a very memorable year.
Happy New Year, and may you fill it with memories.
Bye for now.