Came across this recap of 2006 (penned by yours truly when 2007 was just days old) tonight in the digital catacombs. Let’s LOL along at how silly I was x amount of years ago.
I greet the new year in style, gorging myself on one of those giant greasy-ass breakfast sandwiches at a Jack in the Box just outside of Charlotte, NC (yes, some of us go to the Carolinas for pleasure). A few weeks later, I get into trouble at my substitute teaching job for telling a high school physics class the moon landing may have been faked. This incident makes me realize the American school system is totally fucked and that I need a new job like yesterday.
Grandpa Munster dies. I quit the sub gig and officially give up my dream of one day teaching Eskimo children general history for $65,000 a year. My girlfriend gets me a Phil Ochs CD for Valentine’s Day. I return the favor by taking her to Olive Garden.
Harcourt School Publishers offer me a project editing position, which I take, partially because their office is situated directly across the street from SeaWorld. Over the next few months I burn many a lunch break watching dolphins appease their wet-suited, fish-bearing overlords.
No one attempts to fool me on the first day of the month, and I frown. Scary Movie 4 is released. I see it opening night. The biggest laugh in the film is a Myspace reference.
The “American Idol” finale is almost too stressful to bear. Taylor Hicks is announced as the winner. My McPheever suddenly wears off. I scream “SOUL PATROL!” at the top of my lungs and begin dancing to imaginary harmonica riffs. I am the ultimate sell out.
The band I play drums for goes into an actual professional studio to record two songs. I am proud to make it through the recording process without crying. Later, we all decide to have drinks/dinner together at a local eatery. A fight nearly breaks out when the server refuses to believe our singer’s ID is legit. Cooler heads eventually prevail and singer guy gets his Miller Genuine Draft. I arrive home hoping the cable is on in my new apartment. It isn’t, and I consider sleeping in my car as some kind of misguided protest.
After much soul-searching, I quit the band. The world continues to turn.
My friend Michael gets free passes to see World Trade Center. He cannot find a single person in the universe who wants to see it, even for free. Too soon? Yeah, too soon.
I lose my job at Harcourt, which comes as a bigger shock than the John Mark Karr confession. Most of my co-workers seem genuinely upset to learn I will no longer be working with them. This makes me feel better. The possibility of a Mets World Series appearance also lifts my spirits.
A friend asks me to play a doctor in his student film. At one point, the script calls for me to pretend to butt fuck a vampire who is high on pot. I do not question my friend’s artistic vision. My girlfriend and I hold a Halloween party at the end of the month. A neighbor assures me said party is “off the hook.”
A new Tupac album comes out. I start to get pumped for Rocky Balboa.
An encounter with a hungry raccoon early in the month proves frightening. I see Rocky Balboa and it meets my high expectations despite the absence of the heavily-rumored Ivan Drago AIDS death plotline. For Christmas, I get a tie rack. Gerald Ford finally dies, but no one cares because James Brown dies like two seconds later.
Today is Festivus, the holiday “Seinfeld” fans cling to because it reminds them Wayne Knight once had a career. I’m not about that feats of strength nonsense, but I can get down on some grievance airing. Let’s roll:
Dad: When you cut down the trees next to your house, you did not take into account the fact I would one day return to watch TV on the family room couch. Now, as I lay down to enjoy reruns of “King Of The Hill,” the setting sun shines unrelentingly into my eyes. I feel like a solar eclipse is occurring atop my face. This shall not stand.
Major Video Game Company Corporate Offices: Don’t send two people on vacation at the same time and have their individual voicemails direct you to the other person. That’s fucked. Get your head outta your ass.
France: Two Hundred Euros for blue jeans? Really? Wait ’til I go to Paris and open a T.J. Maxx. Your citizens are gonna flip a biscuit when they find jeans for twenty bucks.
Deli Near My House: Why you ain’t got blueberries whenever I go down there exclusively to get blueberries? Funk dat!
Dog Who Stood In The Doorway Of The Thrift Shop I Went To Today: You think you’re better than me? You can’t stop me from leaving. You can’t force me to buy anything. You don’t even have opposable thumbs.
People Who Made The Second Alvin & The Chipmunks Movie: In the gentle words of Pearl S. Buck, you go to hell. You go to hell and you die.
John Krasinski: Get a new facial expression.
Jack In The Box: If you aren’t going to open any locations in New York City, stop advertising there. You get me all worked up for a breakfast sandwich, and then I remember the closest JITB is in Ohio. Suck my butt.
Old Men In Airports: Last time I checked, I did not have a sign hanging around my neck that says, “TALK TO ME ABOUT COLLEGE FOOTBALL.” Please keep this in mind when you look at me and begin opening your mouth to make some point about Appalachian State.
Onions: Taste better raw.
Farts: Smell better.
Phew. That felt pretty good!