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Wednesday, January 01, 2003


Out With the Old and In With More of the Same Dept.

Ah, January the First, the Year of Our Lord Two Thousand and Three (yes, it's the "year of our Lord" for everyone, but I thought I might throw the Seventh Day Adventists a bone for the cheapshot in my last post). And with a New Year comes 365 more days of change, opportunities for change, missed opportunites for change, and everything more or less staying the way that it is -- but at the end of the year you find yourself a year older, having dug yourself another couple of inches deeper into the rut that is your life.

I'm not talking about me, per se.

But in an attempt to stave off the atrophy of another year gone by, maybe we're going to get around to making some changes around here. We probably won't, because at year's end we always find ourselves profoundly affected with a crippling introspection that leads to nothing but feelings of inadequacy, shame, and self-loathing at just how little we accomplished in the past year. So we're not making any promises just to let you and ourselves down in the end. Haven't we been disappointed enough? Anser: Of course we have. [Please note that the word "answer" was intentionally misspelled in the preceding sentence just to prove a point about disappointment. Yes, I agree that was a touch manipulative. But it did give me a fleeting sensation of power that has nonetheless made me feel even worse once it faded, so we're even.] As a sometimes-wise friend of mine has said on numerous occasions: "You can't fail if you don't try," [a sentiment that has backdoored itself into adoption as my battle cry at singles bars]. But if changes happen, they happen.

Winona Ryder will probably be officially retired as the ongoing muse/doe-eyed ingenue/outlaw of WFOoBH. She may be replaced by one of the following: Rose McGowan, Salma Hayek, someone who somewhat resembles Winona Ryder, or any one of a number of raven-haired female bartenders in the Greater Los Angeles area. Somebody might get "discovered." We're going to keep matters such as this one flexible here at WFOoBH in 2003. [The "no blonde muse/doe-eyed ingenue/outlaw" rule will probably remain in effect.]

[Brackets will probably remain the punctuation of choice for the various and utterly too-frequent parenthetical asides used to diminshing effect on WFOoBH.]

WFOoBH will probably continue to provide up-to-the-minute coverage of any and all weather anomalies afflicting the Great Los Angeles area. This includes but is not restricted to rainfall in excess of .0004 inches in any 24-hour period, temperatures of over 90 degrees Fahrenheit, and being able to see my breath after sundown. In the case of any Weather Emegencies, my provisions of choice may no longer be vodka and cans of tuna fish. I think that I'm really starting to tire of all this weather coverage, which winds up feeling like bad small talk stretched to Dadaist extremes. I've regained an appreciation for extreme weather on my recent return to my East Coast homeland. But man, it's cold out here, isn't it? I think they said it's going to snow again. Hey--it's winter, what are you going to do? It's cold, but it ain't Boston cold. I remember the time in Boston when it rained for about 14 straight days. That wasn't any fun. Yeah, the weather.

There's something about Cuba Gooding, Jr. in a sailor hat that we just can't put a finger on. That will probably remain the same in 2003. We don't see it changing, but you never know. And please, let's not read anything into that. You'll make me tired.

There's a chance that we will not seek out the oft-referenced "supermodel sandwich" with the same alacrity with which it was pursued in 2002. [All right, here you go.]

We may take pains to expand the readership of WFOoBH past the tight-knit circle of people that have seen me do very embarassing things whilst drunk and the four Kiwi sheap-shearers who read via a Gilligan's Island-style bicycle-powered internet connection. If one constructed a Venn diagram of these two readerships, one might find that there is some overlap in the circles.

There may be another falling out with Harrison Ford. The peace we last established seemed tenuous at best, and the fact that we are spreading rumors about him on the East Coast may not help matters. He's getting old, so who knows how long a renewed hostility would last?

Seventh Day Adventists are still fair game, probably. But here's the thing you don't know: "Seventh Day Adventists" is a code-word for another group of people. Keep the guesses coming.

We might reconsider the exertion with which we are pushing that extra-large boulder up the hill that we can't quite see the top of, but then again, we may continue shoving away until our feet slide on some gravel and it crushes us like ants on the Birkenstock sole of an agitated hippie.

We may attempt an overall reduction in silly and belabored metaphors.

We possibly will try to check and see if we've already used a word such as "belabored" in this post or in a recent post before using it again, diluting its considerable power like a splash of water in an early-morning glass of Tropicana Homestyle.

We might try to care again.

We may begin to hope.

But like I said, we probably won't change.

About this site

This is the internet home of Mark Lisanti, a Los Angeles writer sometimes known as Bunsen. He is the founding editor of Defamer, a weblog about Hollywood, where he now serves in the nebulous capacity of "editor-at-large."
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