Party like it's 2012

Some of us seem to have let it slip from waking consciousness that we are all on a cosmic surfboard, sliding down the face of a big wave into oblivion. 

Not to be a downer. 

But admit it - you forgot about the End of Days.  Did you even mark your calendar?  December 21^st?  Hello!  

That’s why these mid-year reviews are crucial.  If we don’t look back and gain our bearings, it’s easy to veer off course. 

OK.  I forgot as well.  I’ve been cruising along, or some might say lurching.  And I’ve made some questionable choices given the countdown. 

Shopping at Costco for one thing.  That’s stupid.  We have enough Q-tips and dental floss to carry us into a new millennium, if only there were one on the horizon.  As it is, even MacGyver would be hard pressed to make good use of such a cache of hygienic staples. 

On some kick or another I bought oatmeal!  At Costco!  OMG!  The Quaker’s face is so big on the box it scares the cats out of the pantry!   

So, there’s that. 

I see now that this case of Orville Redenbacher’s Gourmet Popping Corn will not reach its expiration date before we fly off into the ether.  I can’t watch enough movies between now and then to come out ahead on the cost-benefit analysis. 

One can only hope that at the key moment, each 100-calorie pack will burst, adding fun to our finale, and perhaps marking the one and only occasion when all kernels pop.  

All this inventory assessment began when, in the interest of course correction, and as it turns out, doomsday preparation, I checked my New Year’s Resolutions for 2012.   

Tell the truth:  Can you remember the promises you made to yourself?  Why do we treat ourselves so shabbily?  Lie, lie, lie!  

And how can we persist in being so gullible?  Oh!  She really means it this time.  She’s going to meditate every morning before a healthy breakfast.  It is the most important meal of the day!   

Right. 

But in spite of the ocean of evidence to the contrary, I cannot accept that resolutions constitute a charade.   

Case in point:  Despite what felt like a firm and sincere resolution, I never made a pie in 2011.  However, resolving to learn to make a flaky-crusted pie brought me closer to…people who make flaky-crusted pies!  I got a lot of good slices of pie out of that rez.  On hearing my resolution, which I trotted out routinely in kitchens around town, unsuspecting non-resolvers couldn’t wait to let me judge their prowess.  And I must say they were all good. 

So in the final accounting, which is near, all was not lost even though the letter of the resolution was not met.  The spirit of it swam a la mode. 

On review of my 2012 pledges of improved living, I’m stunned to discover that in spite of the shrinking timeline, of which I was well aware, I resolved to “keep up my fitness goals”!   

Puh-lease!  Whatever was I thinking?  That’s like finding yourself floating toward the brink of Niagara Falls on a chocolate raft and saying, “Oh, better not nibble!” 

So all this time I’ve been walking and walking!  For what?  On the appointed day, even we fatties will fly. 

Perhaps the key contract with myself for this, our last year on the planet, was to have an Elvis party.  It’s demoralizing to admit that to date, I have acquired no yellow-lensed aviator glasses with muttonchops attached.  I don’t have his and hers white sequined jumpsuits, nor red scarves.  I haven’t sneered into the mirror since I don’t know when.  

But wait!  What’s this?  A life-sized cardboard cutout of young Elvis?  Gold lame’ suit…  Twig of hair falling just so over the forehead…  Curled lip…  King Creole!?! 

I did do something!  I made progress on my resolution!  Good golly Miss Molly, I said I’m having a party, and I’m having a party!  I’m having an Elvis party!   

Oh yeah.  I can pull this together and create an exit befitting the End of Days.  I’m getting a karaoke machine and some blue suede shoes.  It’s not too late!  An Elvis party! 

Thank you.  Thank you very much.