Two thousand and two is going to be my breakout year. You best get
out of the way, because this is not going to be pretty.
For a long time, I believed that "healthy, wealthy and wise"
automatically followed "early to bed and early to rise." I
have recently been disabused of this notion. I go to bed at 10 p.m.
and wake up at 6 a.m.. Yet my finances are still deep inside the red
zone, and I continue to feel crappy and stupid most of the time. The
fact is, you also have to do something constructive between those remaining
hours. Which is precisely the plan for this year.
In 2002, the waking hours will be quality time. For a change.
Personal appearance and diet
It is high time I dress for success. This office is a study in hipness,
and yet I continue to wear shirts and trousers from the Ozzie Nelson1
collection.
So dig my 2002 wardrobe: black turtlenecks, black bell-bottoms, Skechers2
hobnailed boots, tiny, mean spectacles and a shaved head. My co-workers
currently view me as a slightly out-of-it older fellow who may possibly
have sustained minor brain damage. They are about to find out that I
didn't! Sustain minor brain damage! I may even draw on a tattoo or pierce
something.
As for the diet, it needs a smidgen more balance. I do eat one salad
per week (slathered in creamy Italian dressing with crumbled blue cheese
on the side), but my fare mainly consists of crackers, assorted cheeses,
Sugardale Coneys, onion bagels, Peter Pan Creamy, ground beef, Dan-Dee
Bar-B-Q potato chips and Pennysticks pretzels.3
(As I inventory it, this diet does appear a bit more revolting than
I first thought.)
I hit the nadir last week with my lunch consisting of a bowl of bean
soup and a MoonPie.4 When beans and marshmallows
encounter each other in your digestive system, it makes the Browns Stadium5
bottle-chucking man look like a preschooler in tea party. It's an absolute
debacle.
In 2002, I will try to eat at least two salads a week, accompany my
burgers with a V86 and consume a canned fruit
medley at the office every other day. Voila! Every nutritional requirement
fulfilled while maintaining caloric integrity. Maybe I will lose this
waxy British pallor once and for all.
Growing personal wealth
Every year I ask myself the same question: When the hell am I gonna
cash in? Where is the big American payoff for yours truly?7
Then it came to me: I will write a book! "But you don't know anything
about anything," you say. I know, but since when has that stopped
anyone? Particularly a novelist.
That's right. I am going to write fiction—genre fiction. I am going
to write a mystery set at a weekly newspaper. This way, I can work in
things I am familiar with (writers, editors, newspaper production),
and research things I don't know so much about (murder). But really,
how much research do I have to do for that, besides watching a few old
Columbos?8
I am thinking of a story involving a demented freelance writer who begins
to serial-kill editors after one misspells the freelancer's name in
a byline. I will work editing and proofreading into the story as critical
elements. I even had the perfect title—The Corrections. Shit.
But I have alternates:
The Editors Puked Blood
Copy Desk of Death
The Virgin Editors
Seeyouinhell.doc
I Spit on Your Edits
Who Moved My Clause?
The title is everything. Once you nail that, you are on your way.
See you on Oprah.9
The getting of wisdom
Who needs it if you wear outtasight10 clothes, mix canned Del Monte11
fruit cocktail into your diet and have a major book deal—I will settle
for two out of three. That's wisdom right there.