Dear Colon: I'm Sorry.

Yes. That is totally happening.

     Dear Colon:

     Hey. It's Larry. I think this is the first time I've ever written you, which is weird, considering we've been together for forty-eight years. Hell, our relationship outlasted my marriage. Which is a good thing, I guess. Divorce was bad, but I'm pretty sure I literally can't live without you. All that to say, I probably should have corresponded with you a lot sooner. Or maybe the truly weird thing is writing a blog entry to one's colon. That might be the kind of thing that gets you an invitation to a softly padded room, and a sports coat that ties in the back. (I literally just Googled the following question: Has anyone ever written a letter to their colon?, and the top five hits were all on the subject of the grammatical colon. Evidently Google has forgotten that a colon is also a pretty important piece of the human anatomy. Or maybe it was just Google's way of saying to me, Really, asshat? You have NOTHING better to do than ask me if anybody has ever written a letter to their own lower intestine? Fuck you.)

     Fuck YOU, Google. 

     Sorry, I got sidetracked. Colon, I'm writing to say I'm sorry. Every year, about this time, I get into that whole "new year, new you" mode, which is a horrible generalization on its best day, but which always seems to translate for me thusly: In order to start the new year off right, feel better, and be one with the universe, I am going to do a CLEANSE. Please don't ask me to explain the thought process that brings me to that conclusion EVERY SINGLE TIME, because I don't know. Some people resolve to do their taxes early, or drop refined sugar from their diet, or rescue a dog from a shelter. I start the year by resolving to take a bunch of caplets and drink what is essentially lemon-flavored spackle every day for seven days, the net effect of which is to scrub my innards, and turn my ass into a Gustav Rail Cannon. (Look it up. You'll understand.) There is stuff coming out of me right now that I'm sure I ate in 1987. I know I saw some Jujyfruits, and I haven't eaten any of those since I saw Lethal Weapon at Greenspoint Mall. In 1987. 

     You have to understand that my intentions are good (you know, those things the road to Hell is paved with). We are firmly in Middle Age, you and I, and we need to do things that will not necessarily halt the decline, but maybe ease us on down the hill, instead of careening down the freeway like Sandra Bullock in Speed, which was a pretty kick-ass movie except for those parts where Keanu Reeves was existing. I'm told that a CLEANSE is ultimately good for us, and that the camping out in the bathroom and unholy noises and crying are all a normal part of the process. I've been told these things by people I trust. But they are also people whose home addresses are known to me, and if this doesn't stop soon we're going to their house, to use their fucking bathroom, before we murder them with their own toilet plungers. 

     Hang in there, Colon. We've been a good team, and we're going to get through this together. The battery on the iPhone is fully charged, and I even made you a playlist for the tough work ahead:

     Colon's Playlist

Drop It Like It's Hot (Snoop Dog)

Let It Go ("Frozen" Soundtrack)

Push It (Salt-N-Pepa)

Can't Hold Back (Survivor)

Ring Of Fire (Johnny Cash)

Smells Like Teen Spirit (Nirvana)

In The Air Tonight (Phil Collins)

Under Pressure (Queen, w/ David Bowie)

Taking Care Of Business (Bachman Turner Overdrive)

Toxic (Britney Spears)

I heart you, Colon. (Not the teeth, though. Colon teeth are creepy.)

     

Swing Your Balls. Because It's Tradition.

Baby New Year got an early start.

     When I initially sat down to write this post, I was going to offer up some personal reflections from 2013, along with my hopes and desires for the coming new year. Because that's what you do at the end of the year. The problem is, it's late, and I'm tired. And sober. (Don't act so fucking shocked.) Plus, I just spent the last hour or so looking at New Year's traditions from around the world, and I have to share them, because they are funny and weird and awesome. I intend to practice every single one of these traditions by January 1st, because I am a person who believes in covering his bases. And by "covering his bases" I mean "covering his ass." Let's start with the good ol' USA:

     The tradition of eating black-eyed peas at the new year originated in the South around the time of the Civil War, which very likely explains why they lost. It's super hard to run around and shoot a musket when you're so gassy. Nowadays eating black-eyed peas is supposed to bring luck, though probably not the kind that gets you laid on New Year's Day, Mister Farty McSkidmarks.

     Ah, the Motherland. Tradition holds in Ireland that banging loaves of bread against the walls of your home will drive out evil spirits for the new year. This custom tells you two immediate things about my people: 1) Never eat Irish bread, because that shit is hard enough to bang against a wall and scare demons; and 2) Every drunk Irishman joke you ever heard is probably true.

     I love Spain. Truly. They have great soccer and possibly the most awesome food on the planet. They also have a ridiculous custom whereby on New Year's Eve, at the stroke of midnight, everyone has twelve grapes in their hand. When the bells toll, the idea is to eat all twelve grapes before the bells finish, ensuring good luck for the coming twelve months. Which is completely ass-backward, when the same feat could be accomplished with a glass of wine, which Spain has in abundance, WHICH IS MADE FROM GRAPES, Spaniards. For God's sake, think it through.

     

     In Scotland, they parade through the streets on New Year's Eve, swinging enormous balls of fire over their heads. Probably while drunk. So if you're a guy and you're holding your little sparkler in the driveway tonight, remember something very important. You are a giant pussy.

     It's always important to start the new year off with a clean slate. In certain villages in Peru, they accomplish this on New Year's Day by having a "punch up." Basically, anybody with a grievance against anybody else calls them out, and while bands play and children run around with streamers, they take turns beating the shit out of each other. This is also a tradition in Ireland, except over there it's called "Most Nights at the Pub."

     Finally, in Thailand the new year is celebrated with the Songkran Water festival. The dousing of someone with water is supposed to be a blessing for the coming year. I don't know if that works, but what I do know is that Thailand has managed to turn a New Year's tradition into the biggest wet t-shirt contest in the history of the world. Well played, Thailand.

     Whatever traditions you have, I hope 2014 is good to you. If you need me, I'll be right here, making shit up. Somebody hand me a loaf of bread. I got some demons to scare. 

     Happy New Year.