Saturday, December 31, 2011

Celebratin' New Year Like It's 1997

Have I ever mentioned that I'm a sentimental sap? I keep the dumbest things: brochures we picked up from places we've visited, those impossible-to-take-off wrist bands from whatever events we went to, or the star of the Infamous Water Bottle Story from our trip to Canada (we don't talk about it). That sappy sentimentality makes every December 31st (OK, the last two weeks of the year) even sappier than the previous three hundred sixty-four days. Of course, I keep the sappy to myself, 'cause that just gets ruddy old after a while; but on New Year's Eve, sappy is so acceptable that you appear to be cold and heartless if you don't show some kind of sappiness.
If you haven't already guessed, this post is going to get rather sappy.
Reginald Kitty is not amused.

Reflecting on the past year is an oft practiced New Year tradition, though is generally just a passing fancy in anticipation for the unknown, shiny wonders of the next year.
To that, I call bollocks, sir.
Is it just me, or does this annual anamnesis not get nearly enough credit? With as quickly as our lives are flashing before us, does it not seem prudent to do more than pause in its honor? It feels like just a couple of weeks ago that I wrote out last year's post on this subject (the website I found the photograph of the skeleton on gave my old computer a nasty virus, and I was terribly afraid I wouldn't get the post up on time [you know, 'cause the writing process for each of these posts also has a story]). Was it a year ago that we were discussing what had been such fun about 2010? When we discussed the quirks that make another passing year so memorable in that ten percent of our brains? And, more to the point, why the hell have I been calling this year 2010, and will I be able to remember that we are now treading into the questionable territory of 2012 (come on, ten percent, work for me, here)?
What about the quirks of this year? Before we head off into the hell storm that will be 2012 (and not because of the whole end of the world bollocks), let's bask in the glow of awesome that 2011 has been. Sure, it's had its fair share of bad times, but the ruddy awesome times far surpass those depressing bastards.
I feel I should warn you that we did some things I didn't blog about. And, since we're being honest, I think I kept the most interesting story of the entire year a total secret. I debated whether or not to mention this at all, but my mood over the last few days has been somewhat bizarre, so I figured I'd go ahead and tell the tale; honestly, it tickles me.
This may or may not have happened.

And I may or may not have been at it.
Like, the whole thing.

And I may or may not have wept like a little baby.
See, I was there. It's just that the only person that wanted my photograph was my mother.

And, um, a couple days later, when we saw Paul, this may or may not have also happened.

And I may or may not have wept again, 'cause I know that nothing I ever do in my life will ever be that cool again, and I know that is not an exaggeration.

Well, now that the story is out in the open, let's look at some other highlights of the year.

February - San Antonio
March - Wichita
May - Colorado
June - I think I just told those stories.
August - Mount Rushmore
September - Colorado; Corpus Christi
October - The McCartney Wedding; Red River; Plain White T's/Austin; London Bridge (um, yeah, that's another one we didn't talk about)
December - Vegas!

But, you know, it's not just about the vacations. It's the little things that happen, or that you do; they make up the delicate tapestry of life references, making it so that no one understands your references, and just looks at you like you're some kind of ape-like creature that may spontaneously implode if it continues to speak.

The things you choose to watch...

If you think I was going to wait until stupid American PBS got series two of Downton Abbey, you thought wrongly, sir.

Yes, The Bachelorette is a bigger deal at our house than The Bachelor. There, I said it. Whichever it is, we always scream "HI, CHRIS HARRISON!" at the beginning of every episode. It's tradition.

If you've never seen Jack Whitehall, go to YouTube. Really, right now, I'll wait. I had forgotten about him completely until we watched Big Fat Quiz of the Year ('cause there was no chance of America ever getting that one) and they used a clip from Fresh Meat in the television montage. I may or may not have watched the entire series in two nights (and I'm still on the fence about it, quite honestly; though it has its good points, and that's what pulled me through), and gone bonkers with clips from Mock The Week.

I love this film, OK? It's an historical drama about Lincoln, staring James McAvoy; what's not to love? Am I alone in this?

And we have silently lamented the loss of one of the greatest television shows of the last decade.

We've also been spinning quite a lot of ear candy this year.

Mentioned on this blog -- by name -- five times in the last year, yet no one in my family knows who the hell Jon Walker is. Educate yourselves, you filthy heathens.

These first two examples are proof that the Chicago area has consistently given us good music in the last decade (approximately). Also, my Nigel loves this song.

Yeah, Chicago's pretty great, but Britannia rules the airwaves.

I can't believe they put this on a Christmas album. It's beautiful, and relevant at any time of year.

I've seen this video several times, and I've yet to tire of watching Mr. Kane work the guitar pedals. Make of that what you will.

Can someone please remind me why people didn't like Dirty Work? Maybe it's the Fourteen Year Old Fangirl Syndrome, and they don't understand that the early twenty-somethings (such as these blokes) grew up with this kind of sound on the radio (or from older siblings), and think it's perfectly fine to put their own spin on it. Thanks, fangirls, for making me feel ridiculously old. I'll just go put on some Harvey Danger, and count my POGS. (Now that I'm older, I understand why my mother disliked it when her children -- aged eighteen, and six -- would sing this song. Sorry, Ma.) By the way, any fangirls that just so happen to be fourteen; that Harvey Danger song was released in 1997, also known as the year you were born. Is this the beginning of the generation gap, or has someone run off with my Zimmer frame?

So, I guess it's another year down. Sure, I skipped a lot of highlights: The Lamb Story, watching Geraldo Rivera accurately guess Bin Laden's death, John Stossel selling lemonade, or the Charles Xavier dream.
So what, I brought it back to James McAvoy; it's my blog, and I can.

There's so very much to continue to look forward to. You'll be reading about some of it in the near future, rest assured. Things that will undoubtedly creep into the blog are the newest season of The Bachelor...
Now accepting roses from the gentleman on the far left.

Paul's upcoming album (possibly albums? Come on, darling, we know you're working on one, just release it, already)...

Whatever other little bits and bobs I may find...

I don't care that this was just released. If this is the direction they're moving (you know, that would-fit-in-perfectly-with-All-That-We-Needed [please, tell me you know the album I'm talking about, folks] direction), things are going to get interesting.

And -- though I shall try to shut up, I know I shall fail -- the biggest thing in my entire universe, bigger than any album launch, or Bachelor Monday combined in all of history: election year.

Come on, Sarah. I know you filed all of the appropriate paperwork to run way back in May. Change your mind, save us from this stupidity. Please?

Until then, have yet another 90s kids blast from the past; I watched this as it aired, New Years Eve 1997. I remember being quite bored by the cartoons, so I went back and forth between Nickelodeon and TV Land. I was always boring, I know.

In all seriousness, happy new year, everybody!

Now we'll celebrate the mysterious cloud that is 2012!

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