Couldn’t agree more, tommy-gun-toting condiment Lincoln.

We’d be remiss in bloggite duties (already dangerously close to losing our license), if we didn’t point out that despite a couple nice personal victories, the past year pretty much reeked of ass.

That includes wars, baseball and the general performance of this blog.

Oh sure there was the odd Hold Steady album/marriage to pull us through, but we’re lazy generalist at heart so we have to cross our arms and badmouth another year. Our scheduled BC summit on the first got delayed by a couple of badly-considered bottled Napa Valley exports. I’d sigh, but it was this ner-do-well sloppiness that carried our forefathers to glory.

So we’ll press on without a formal playbook and with an ever slipping-grasp of what people enjoy reading about. Sometimes I think we’re getting too mean-spirited, but then again I’m the wuss who didn’t want to kill-off any characters in the spring play back in high school. I sometimes wonder what I worried about. Anyways, bad taste isn’t a crime, though I sometimes wonder if it should be.

If a newspaper is a country conversing with itself, than a blog a minor principality drunk dialing itself in the wee, small hours. Wait did I say that before? Did I read it somewhere else? What the hell does it take to have an original effing idea these days? Don’t bother googling it, I don’t want to know (If this comes off grumpy by the way, it’s cause my furnace wasn’t working when I got home last night so I woke up cold and cold I seem to have stayed all day).

Joel emailed me this morning to ask what I thought we should be writing about these days, but I’m still working out what to say. The comforts of rock music, literature and ice cream seem to be fading, Big Little Buddy. Sometimes you have to get all Garfield on a Monday afternoon and wonder if you’re ready to move on to Tuesday. But I like Tuesdays. It’s my favorite day of the week. Somebody has to like it best. God knows I’m plenty busy putting off starting my novel and disliking my job, but I’ll take one for the team.

So all hands on deck. There are plenty of fresh graves to piss on and heaps of shit yet to talk. BC in ’07. A Year of Magic.