Years end in narcissmatics.
Blame this bout of self-indulgence on the recent run of comment-spam, which draped itself all over a run of 2007 posts in roughly chronological order. There I was, scraping barnacles off titles I hadn’t myself read in months, so why not? —January, then: let’s go with red, blue, and tippers, with an acknowledgement that red-state–blue-state games are an accident of history that’s been enshrined as conventional wisdom while no one was paying attention. (How else does wisdom become convention?) —And let’s throw in a bonus corollary, since February was so weak.
March was all about 300, of course, but also “Black Molly.” April? Mocking the truth-eaters. In May, I remembered to get in a critical apprehension (hearkening sidelong back to something I’d brought up much earlier), but I’d also like to remind you that Republicans only win by preventing as many people from voting as possible, and they lie lie lie to do it. —And June was, um, the sixth month of the year.
In July, our grand experiment turned 231, and I set out on a prospective series whose actual subject I’ve yet to mention. (I also digressed, briefly, on the subject of the magical honky.) August? August was better than February and June, but. At least I launched a meme. In September, my own grand experiment finally found something in common with Jack Benny; otherwise, all I managed was a bit of staircase-wit.
From there on out, well: October was a bit of a drive-by; in November, I mustered up a bit of snark; December, for some reasons beyond my control, became the month of Jonah. —Not my best year, 2007. I’d like to say I was busy elsewhere, but I wasn’t, so much. (Nor has a certain decision borne much fruit.) I should, perhaps, end on a resolution, but that’s for Tuesday; the year’s not done yet.
Still: 2008 can only be—ack! Jesus. Can’t believe I almost said that out loud.
