My one chance to meet Larry Bird and I blew it

Please pardon my (lack of) progress. I've been trying to decide whether to blog about the end of last year or look ahead to the new year. Took me five days to decide: enough dwelling on the past, I'm looking to the future.

Therefore today, I do hereby resolve to be even less productive, less ambitious, to sleep even more and care even less in 2011. That's right, folks. Bone is mailing it in! You cannot possibly underestimate my plans for the new year.

This means the only way I can disappoint myself is by accomplishing too much. My only fear is productivity. After all, if this 2012 Mayan stuff is true, this is most likely the last year any of us are gonna be on the Earth anyway. No sense stressing myself out.

At first glance, it might appear that I have been slacking, or not slacking as the case may be. I've managed to clean up all the Christmas gifts from downstairs. But worry not. I only moved them upstairs where they are still waiting for me to put them away. Also, I took the tree down Sunday. But I noticed Monday that I'd left the wreath on the door. Then I looked across the street and saw that the neighbors still had their wreath up so I didn't feel so bad. Some men look to others to find inspiration. I look to others to not make me feel so bad about myself.

Not that I don't have dreams. I do. Just last night, for instance, I dreamt of Larry Bird. The Celtics were getting ready to play the Lakers and Robert Parish had apparently been traded to the Lakers. So as the Celtics came onto the court, I reached out and patted Larry on the back and said, "Torch 'em, LB" or something lame like that. I have no idea what the dream meant, but today at work I realized I was wearing a Celtic-green t-shirt.

Speaking of dreams, for Christmas this year, I got the best present any 37-year-old kid could ever hope for -- a white Christmas! I had been dreaming of one of those for some years now. I awakened to 2-3 inches of snow on Christmas morn, the first white Christmas we've had here since I was but a teen. In other words, a long, long time.

OK, so I guess I am looking back, just a bit. In other noteworthy events which have occurred over the past 300 hours or so...

Festivus was a success-tivus. An overflow crowd of fourteen attended this year, narrowly missing the all-time record of fifteen, set the previous year. (Evidently, I feel it necessary to document each Festivus in writing in case Guinness Book ever comes calling. And by "comes calling," I mean, "answers any of my many inquiries.")

For the first time in the history of Festivus, there were more female attendees than male. And it wasn't even really close -- 8 to 6! I've racked my brain trying to decide what could be drawing all these females to Festivus, and here's what I've come up with: I think girls really enjoy airing their grievances. I know, I know, I have a hard time believing it even as I'm typing it, but they truly seemed to relish the chance to gripe, er, grieve.

And... well, that's pretty much all that's happened. Besides, this is already the most work I've done all year.

H to the N to the Y! (Oh, I'm also working on my street lingo for 2011.)

"You're the best girl that I ever did see. The great Larry Bird, jersey 33. When you take a sip you buzz like a hornet. Billy Shakespeare wrote a whole bunch of sonnets..."