Happy New Year 2007.
Dear Friend of the Library,
The tree flickers dimly in a disused corner, strung with a garland of peanuts. Large cardboard boxes hold overstock, and are pinned down by dead laser printers, bins of dusty shoes, and backpacks which still contain college lunch receipts. There is no room in the house for 2007, yet we chip away, set the shopping on the oven, and vow to order that second trash can. We put a laundry bin on top of another laundry bin. There is no space in our house for another year, but the world has spun once more, so we tie things to the dog and throw a treat into the yard. Goodbye, super-dense PG Wodehouse biography. Goodbye, bizarre accumulation of 32 silicone spatulas. Enjoy your new life among the eucalyptus leaves and river stones. "Sorry," in a way.
If you are reading this, it is perhaps my one chance to thank you directly for supporting Achewood this year, and I don't mean to waste it. If you're with me so hard that you actually read this "blog" (Internet for "prose that is wholly devalued by its medium"), then stick around. I've got lots of chestnuts up my sleeve.
This was a year of firsts. First time I ever got so mad that I flipped off the dog AND said "fuck you!" First time I ever got myself fired by a vendor. First time I ever said pure, wonderful swear words to a vendor. It was so wonderful to swear at that vendor. It was like heroin, except one of the two people was saying "YOU ARE DONE FUCKING ME." And no needles. Like that, I was fired. It was like finishing a race. Their product was so crappy.
But let's not dwell on the bad stuff. You'll never see it. UPS took it back. My little girl is almost two. Those who are parents know well enough how that feels. The scaffolding of language, the surprise when imagination shows up out of nowhere. Those who aren't parents can sit around in their smoky apartments and drink corporate beer; I won't act better than you. You can wear your pants and talk about cable television shows with your single friends. That's good, that's fine. You're hardcore, you spent $63 on vodka tonics last night. I have a kid, and I walk around in running shoes and jeans. My t-shirt often has the name of her pre-school on the front. Do I look soft? You bet. Am I soft? Charge past me the next time I'm trying to enter a crosswalk with my stroller. I WILL flip your Saab 9-3 like a turtle. You think I care if a car is upside down? Watch me buy a bagel, from your upside-down car. Watch me eat the bagel, and share some with my kid. A guy with a stroller wants nothing more than to flip cars with his bare hands. Bonus if there are people inside. Let's move on. I can also flip your Saab lengthwise if the timing is right.
Back to the holiday cheer — enough of me ruining cars out of anger. Happy holidays to all of you. If this holiday letter makes even one of you stop and wait for a person with a stroller, then it has been a success. If you do not stop for a person with a stroller, and all of a sudden your car is tipped over and the windows are being kicked out by an extremely plain running shoe...nice to meet you.
Best Wishes for 2007,
Note: Liz, the baby, and the warehouse manager explicitly decline any association with this instrument of good cheer.