New Year's Resolutions
So, did ya have a good time last night? Was it worth it? Mixing all that wine, beer, champagne, scotch, bourbon, gin, absinthe, Peruvian plum brandy, bizarre. exotic varieties of spirits from every liquor distilling backwater in the world? Did you have a good time, hugging the ceramic maiden, read lowly toilet bowl, spewing out all matter of green liquids, blue fluids, yellow ooze, black death? Does it feel like you have a bleeding ulcer in your brain? Maybe it's a hemorroid. Hey, maybe it's even a brain tumor. Better make those New Year's resolutions now, You might not live long enough to keep them.
Ezra's made a couple of resolutions of his own.
Since it doesn't look like he's going to get out of this flinty, soulless peddlar village any time soon, Ezra's decided sometime in 2005 to:
1) to book the presidential penthouse of the new Ithaca Hilton next December 31, hire about 50 prostitutes, ladies of the evening, what have you, assemble 30 of the loudest, most raucous bands in all of Ithaca, throw a 75 hour party catered by the Green Star, announce that he is the second coming of Dick Clark and, then throw himself off the roof at the appropriate moment;
2. enroll at Cornell University's Nanotech Institute (College of the Small) and learn how to build a phazer or what have you ray gun and zap everybody in Ithaca. This will solve the housing and employment problems for once and for all. You can fit about 100 people who are now the size of mice into every studio apartment. The unemployed can work up at Cornell in laboratory experiments, ingesting pharmaceuticals for the big drug companies and biotech giants that fund research up there on the hill. Ithaca will be more democratic because you can quadruple the size of city council;
3. write a biography of Al Cohen.
4. be nice to Cornell students who parade up and down the Commons, yapping on their cell phones, helping the local economy by driving up the price of rentals, throwing their daddy's plastic around in marginal boutiques, seducing eachother endlessly over shrimp scampi at the local bistros. Even though they make Ezra puke.
Well, none of these resolutions seem very practical. When all is said and done, beyond resolving to quit smoking and begin to enjoy 7 months of winter, there aren't many pathways to self improvement or personal redemption in Ithaca, so Ezra pretty much resolves to grow nastier by the minute.
Comments invited at: ezrakidder@gmail.com - Peace, Ezra at 7:29 AM
