Doomtown

Every year since I turned thirty, I have made the same New Year's resolution: No making of New Year's resolutions. As resolutions go, it's a pretty easy one to keep. Or not, since its paradoxical nature ensures at least a tiny rip in the delicate fabric of the space-time continuum. What can I say? I love creating small paradoxes. When I was younger, my resolutions were more mundane. Stop eating so much junk food. Exercise more. Stop pining over celebrities I have little to no chance of meeting in real life and even less chance of ensnaring with my womanly wiles. Mel Gibson while I was undergoing puberty.    Mel after puberty...Resolution achieved!   The funny thing is, I never kept these resolutions until I stopped bothering to try. I gave up junk food one cookie and pastry at time. It wasn't a resolution made on New Year's Eve, but a decision made months later after taking a hard look in the...

I've never been big on Christmas, seeing it more as an aggravating yearly ritual of guilt brought on by lack of funds for that whole gift giving thing. I am not one of those people that breaks out the big bag of goodies for every Tom, Dick, and Harry I've ever met, and I make sure to warn everyone a month in advance that if they buy for me expecting something in return, they will end up being sorely disappointed. I have an extremely small circle of people I buy for. My nephew, because I'm childless and someone has to take care of me in my old age. My step niece, because it just wouldn't be fair if I got something for my nephew but not her, and I don't want to start a war in my sister's household-at least, not one that doesn't give me some sort of perceptible advantage. My mom, because the woman birthed me and raised me and kept me in coffee and books all throughout my childhood. And if I can figure out just what the hell he wants, I'll try to buy a gift ...

Marathons suck. Hear me out on this one. I work in New Orleans most of the week, and one of the things I hate about working in the city is having to pay for parking. The hotel I work at charges its employees six dollars a day for this privilege. Six bucks doesn't seem like much of an expense, but it adds up, and it's still money I could be spending on books or the Catching Fire Blu-ray when it comes out. Note to Santa: Hint, hint. Nudge, nudge. Another thing I hate about working in New Orleans? I'm directionally challenged. Driving to unfamiliar places is a nightmare for someone like me because I get so easily lost, especially a city like New Orleans where every other street seems to be one-way. Hell, I get lost on the Westbank, and I grew up there! If it weren't for the wonders of GPS, I'd never make it out of my driveway. Once I've driven to a particular destination a few- cough, hundred, sputter -times, I'm good. Once I learn the route, as...