Grading The Rebooted Resolutions Machine

"You know what? Go ahead and jump." photo by Joe

Friends! Remember a little over a year ago, when I attempted to Reboot the ol' Resolutions Machine? Yeah, neither did I until a few minutes ago, when I reread it. Feels like half a lifetime (and three-quarters of a democratic republic) ago, doth it not?

It doth, Joe. It SO doth.

Okay, as all four of you dear readers surely know by now, I just adore doing self-evaluations (I don't) - almost as much as I LOVE making New Year's resolutions (I don't. Why do you think it routinely takes me until many weeks past January 1st to make them?). Yeah. So let's make haste, and grade the results of last year's to-do list, and then jot down a few goals for the remaining 318 days of 2025. Shouldn't take long...

First, last year's list:

• Take the Christmas tree down (DONE!)
• Make mac & cheese (DONE!)
• Shovel snow twice (DONE - Oh, I remember, now. This is a bunch of stuff I had either already done when I made this list, or things that are so easy and routine as to not even remotely count as "resolutions." Pet a dog? Come on, man!)

So, I scored like 110% (which at many of our employers means MET EXPECTATIONS). Let's make things a bit more challenging for 2025, shall we? Shush - we shall, and it's not up for debate. Yes, even though I said "shall we," as if putting it up for debate. There will be no debating that we shall. You love it when I do this, as do I.

I resolve to:

• SURVIVE.
• Deposit 145 checks from my Beloved Donors within 24 hours at Beloved Employer (HA!! The year-end flood is only just now subsiding; I've already completed this resolution several times. Not sure what I was trying to pull off, there. Just showing off, I guess.)
• Remember to say "white rabbits, white rabbits, white rabbits" upon waking up on the 1st of each month. I'm told that doing so will result in good luck for the entire month, and I'm all about superstitions, yeah?
• 'Spread awarene's's of approaching 's's, by way of overu'se of apo'strophe's.
• Use, fewer, commas,
• Get to the National Zoo to visit our new giant pandas. Given the new regime's onslaught of massive, cruel, ill-informed and blundering destruction, I'd better hurry.

Baby Tai Shan in early 2006. photo by Joe

• Memorize John Mulaney's "Horse Loose In A Hospital" routine, update it a little for 2025, and randomly recite it as my own, at work and with family and friends - almost none of whom will know it's stolen. (oh, I'm kind of excited about this one!)
• Purchase all of Kendrick Lamar's music catalogue. If fragile white male racists hate him, he must be good people.
• Get someone to spontaneously play THIS GAME with me.
• Not rest until the Potomac River is officially renamed the Max Headroom Crayfish And Minnows Express Waterway And Food Court, Sponsored By Nordstrom Rack.
• Be someone's lava lamp.
• Learn a dead language. Deader than Latin. Deader than Disco! Then, I'll hold lively conversations with myself on the Red Line, so no one wants to sit next to me (no one wants to sit next to me now, but a little insurance couldn't hurt
• Be doomed. (HAHAHAHAHA - done!)
• Two words.
• Seriously, something's gotta be done (attempted) to get one or two of my little novels to see the light of day. I keep telling them that the light of day is totally where it's at, but they are shy.
• SURVIVE.
• Atone for my race and gender. This might take a minute.
• See Simple Minds, Soft Cell, and Modern English in concert, preferably on the same night.
• Finally read all the "Harry Potter" books. Don't judge me!
• Watch cartoons.
• Repeat.

Let's stop there. You guys are TROOPERs, but we all know I'm not going to do half of that stuff, let alone any real resolutions like find my Ebn-Ozn t-shirt (ha), drink more water (as if), be more positive (barf), read more, write more, reach my target weight, blah blah blah...

But I can dream, can't I? Of course I can. It's basically all I do.

On The Ongoing Cultivation Of Even More Alternate Memories

 

"The guy at the gate said it was okay." Photo by Joe

Ted leaned against the impeccably-restored 65-year old tractor, one of three such relics that stood at the western edge of Seneca Farm, looking as though they were guarding against any intruders who might approach from the CSX railroad tracks that bisect Dickerson, Maryland. The old farm, which had now been dormant for several years, was once a favorite venue for assorted teen shenanigans and hijinks for Ted and his friends. 

In the years since the 2010 death of his best friend, Bobby, the row of tractors had been the setting for therapeutic coping sessions with Bobby's widow, Nicole, in 2017 and again in 2019. The following year, Ted and Nicole learned that the property, which was on the verge of being turned into a farm of giant houses too close together, had been purchased by their mutual friend, the MAGA hat-wearing former lobbyist Brock "Swack" Swackhammer (they tolerated his politics by way of avoiding seeing Swack more than once every few years). Now, on this unseasonably-warm Saturday afternoon in October, 2023, everything had changed - except for the need for a favorite shared coping mechanism.

A car came crunching down the long gravel driveway and stopped at the house. Ted watched as Nicole pulled herself up from her Prius and walked the hundred yards from the house to the tractors. When she was about halfway there, she stopped. "Take a picture - it'll last longer."

He pulled out his phone and turned on the video camera. "Don't do anything embarrassing, Nic. I'm livestreaming."

"Ha. You're like 55 years old, Theodore. I know damn well you don't know how to livestream."

"I know." He turned off the phone and pocketed it. "I can't tell you how glad I am to see you. You look just as spectacular as ever."

"Back at you, dude," she said with a smile. She stepped up to him and kissed him - a friend's kiss, although right on the lips, which was new - and then hugged him tightly.

"Whoa," he said. "What was that for?"

"That's for agreeing to walk Claire down the aisle. She's so thrilled-- Well, thrilled is the wrong word, but you know what I mean. She said you're the only other man her dad would have approved of, to give her away. Then she reminded me to tell you that you're not giving her away, because it's 2023 and she's not property. Then she went on a bit of a rant, of course."

"Of course. You must be proud. She turned out so cool."

"Yeah, I did okay, I guess. But that's not what I came here to talk about. She's pretty much the only thing in the world that's not an absolute shit show, right now."

"Uh oh. What's going on," he asked, adding, "I mean, besides Israel and Gaza and the dumpster fire that is Congress, and our nation's collective delusion that the economy is in ruin when it's actually doing legitimately well? And besides our having been expertly trained to hate each other, lately? And besides climate and women's rights and the actual stealing of a US election - NEXT year's - and Ukraine and Putin and Taylor Swift? Oh - and besides the fact that the ex-so-called-president has a very real chance of getting away with most, if not all, of his crimes? Also, what's going to happen to this old farm, what with Swack going on trial for January 6th--"

"They convicted him," she said flatly.

"What? When?"

"Today. Jury was out for like half an hour. Sorry - I assumed you would have heard."

"Nope. Well, no surprise, there. He's guilty of way more than they even charged him with. Can't believe he lied to us about renouncing his membership in the red hat cult."

"I think he really tried, for a hot minute. But you know how hard it is to get out of a cult."

Ted nodded. "Pretty hard, apparently."

"Anyway, before we get to what's going to happen to our beloved tractor graveyard and the world in general, there's something I need to talk through. Something that's been haunting me - literally."

"Okay..."

Nicole cleared her throat, drew a deep breath, moved her annoying tendril of hair, now at least fifty percent grey, to a position behind her right ear - a position she knew would be frustratingly temporary. "We've never talked about what happened on the camping trip."

He fought the urge to roll his eyes and or laugh out loud. "Oh dear God. That was a lifetime ago."

"I'm serious, Tedward," she insisted. "It haunts me. I think it's actually getting worse."

"You're still the only person allowed to call me Tedward, you know. And I don't know what you want me to say about the camping trip. You and Bobby in your tent, me and Astrid in ours, Swack and his babe of the month in theirs. Camping. Drinking. I remember a lot of drinking, and Swack being a pig, and his date taking off after the first night. Am I missing anything?"

"You know you remember more than that. Come on. It's me. We have to talk about it."

Ted shuddered and took a couple of deep breaths. "Okay, fine. Of course I remember. I just think my brain is better at shutting out traumatic memories, or something. But yeah. I remember. I've never been more terrified, before or since."

"When Swack came back from looking for his date in the woods all day, and he was covered in dirt and bloody scratches, and he swore up and down that it had been three days since he'd left. What the hell was that?"

"And we just laughed at him," Ted added. "He was shaking, and in tears. His eyes were crazy, like he'd seen a..."

"Ghost," she said. "Like he'd seen a ghost. Or worse. And then he and Bobby got into a huge fight over the damn map, and Swack took off again. And you and Astrid tried to go after him, and Bobby and I waited for you at the campsite, and you never came back. It got so freaking cold that night, and we couldn't sleep - at first because we were listening for you guys or Swack to return, but later, because it sounded like we were completely surrounded by a bunch of snarling and growling and gurgling and weird, semi-human moaning. Look at my arm - look at those goose bumps. I'm getting them all the time, lately."

"I'm sorry we weren't there," he said sadly. "That sounds awful. But we were way out in the woods, and in the moonlight every single shadow or rock or tree trunk seemed to literally be chasing us. Do we really have to talk about this?"

"I'm still trying to wrap my head around whatever the hell that was, at the old stone house. First of all, I would still swear under oath that that house was NOT there, the first time we passed that way. And then the screams - whose screams were those? Stupidly, I let myself think for a second that you guys were just pulling some elaborate Swack-inspired prank on me and Bobby. But those screams were straight out of hell. And the blood all over the stairs and walls..."

"I know. We got there right before you did, and we hadn't found Swack, so we also  suspected a giant practical joke. But it wasn't. I don't know what it was, but I don't think I want to know. Seriously.

"He was standing in the corner in the basement, just lurking there, like a kid in some ghoulish time-out..."

Ted put up stop sign hands. "No! Nope, nope, nope, and nope again. That's 'Blair Witch Project,' and you know it!"

Nicole smiled sheepishly. "I know. Sorry. I'll never be as good at the make-shit-up game as you guys were - and are. Thanks for playing along, though. Nice escape. I think I actually scared myself, for a minute there."

"You're getting pretty good at it, actually. Of course, you learned from the best. It's getting dark. Shall we vacate these soon-to-be-foreclosed premises?"

"Yes." She took his hand and they strolled toward their cars. "Hey - did you see the cows, on your way in?"

"Yep. I stopped the car and took a picture of them, and they just stared at me like, what? I think the dairy farm next door is going to bid on this place - or at least part of it."

"Huh. I wonder if they'll let us continue hanging out here, even though at our age it's undoubtedly increasingly weird- and sad-looking."

"Maybe."

They reached Ted's car, and he started to let go of her hand, preparing to give her a see you later hug. She didn't let go, and took his hand in both of hers. "One more thing, Tedward. Yes."

"Yes what?"

"Yes, I will go on a date with you." She smiled.

"When did I ask you out?" he wondered aloud.

"2017," she said matter-of-factly, "right over there by the tractors. And 2019. Pretty much every time you've seen me in the past six years. And in a couple of texts. Anyway, yes."

"Awesome!"

On The Further Cultivation of Additional Alternate Memories

It's prettier when it's yours.

It wasn't an invitation. it wasn't a suggestion. It was an order - a veritable commandment - from Brock Swackhammer: "Meet me where the old tractors used to be, between the train tracks and Seneca Farm Road. It's a moral imperative," the email said. It wasn't Ted's first visit to the ancient farm at the edge of the ever-expanding Maryland suburbs. It had been a year since the last time he'd been here. By then, the farm had been sold to a developer, and he assumed that he'd seen the last of the prehistoric rural partying grounds of his misspent youth. 

He was wrong. 

Ted was the first one there, and he stood at the end of the old dirt road and stared, confused. The desiccated corn was long-gone, as were the old farmhouse, the barns, and a lot of the topsoil, but at the property's edge the ancient rusted tractors defiantly continued to sit. There were signs yelling "No Trespassing" and "Coming Soon - Seneca Village and Estates," but no construction equipment; no indication of any recent activity whatsoever. A small rock sailed over his head, landing with a clack in the ballast of the railroad tracks.

"Dammit, Swack!" he protested. "What is your damage, dude--" he turned, ready to unload on his unruly friend, but the endlessly clever and profane tirade caught in his throat. "Oh! Nicole! Hi! Um..."

"Sorry," Nicole said sheepishly, through longish bangs of increasingly-grey-streaked brown hair. "I thought it would be funny. I also thought you would be Swack, and not Ted."

"Oh geez - I thought YOU would be Swack," Ted groaned.  "Please tell me he didn't set us up for a rom-com set-up thingy?"

"A what?"

 "You know. I come here expecting to find Swack. You come here expecting to find Swack. But what's this? It's just us! What? Guess we might as well make the most of it, and go ahead and get engaged. Not getting any younger, you know..."

"Um, no..." she growled. "I'm married to being single."

"Oh, so am I, so am I," he lied. "I'll settle for a nice friendly hug..."

"And I'd settle for you two doing a little gratuitous pawing at each other in the back of that Prius over there - presumably Ted's," Swack said, walking up the dirt road, seemingly from nowhere. "You know - makin' up for lost time..." He belched loudly. "But make it quick - great things are afoot, and we must converse."

Ted pinched the bridge of his nose. "Oh, geez..."

"Will you seriously never grow up, Swack?" Nicole muttered, turning to accept a hug from her inappropriate old friend (more accurately, her late husband's inappropriate old friend).

"Never, Yoko," he affirmed, releasing her from his requisite just-slightly-too-lengthy embrace. He reached toward Ted, offering and receiving a fist bump. "'Sup, Theodore. I'm glad you're both here. We must converse - and quick-like, because it's cold as balls out here."

"'Cold as balls,'" Nicole repeated. "Nice. Hey - have you lost weight? You look good - and now that we've noticed, put your coat back on. Looking at you is making me even colder."

"Thirty-five fuckin' pounds, dude! Wanna know my secret? A fifty-game season plan for the O's, parking a mile from Camden Yards, and nothing but H2O at the ballpark."

"Whatever works for you," Nicole laughed. "Hey - that reminds me..." she pantomimed removing an unseen baseball cap. "N - A - T - S, Nats, Nats, Nats, WOOOOOO!"

Swack smiled and looked away. "Okay, okay. Credit where it's due. Congrats, you guys. I did not see that coming. I mean, who did, right?"

"Oh, but wait - there's more," she teased, starting a strange, straight-armed clapping, aimed at Swack.

"What is that? What's happening?" he said, backing away.

"Baby shark doo-doo-do-do-do-doo, baby shark doo-doo-do-do-do-doo, baby shark doo-doo-do-do-do-do-doo, baby SHARK!" she sang.

"Okay, okay, stop! Jesus! I get it. The Nats had a magical, ridiculous year, and exorcised all kinds of demons, and God bless 'em - it was fun to watch. I got nothing bad to say about any of it. They still need to win a couple more World Series, just to match the O's, but whatever..."

"You want me to sing more 'Baby Shark' at you?" Nicole threatened.

"No! Listen - I dragged you guys out here for a reason. I need your help with something."

Ted and Nicole shared a long look, unsure of their next step.

"Did you-- did you lose your MAGA hat," Ted started, "and you need us to help you look for it?"

Swack shook his head sadly, looked skyward, and sighed heavily. "No. I'm out of the red hat club - and no, I don't wanna talk about it. Anyway... you guys remember the party at Bobby's house - senior year - 1986?"

"Oh lord," Nicole groaned, "we hadn't met, yet. I didn't meet Bobby - or any of you guys - until college."

Swack was momentarily flummoxed. "Oh. Right. Shit. Well, um, Ted - you remember that night, right?"

Ted looked helplessly at Nicole. "Are we really doing this?"

"I'm not. I'll sit this one out," Nicole said. "But we will circle back to that 'out of the red hat club' thing..."

"You remember the air raid sirens?" Swack continued, "the news interrupting MTV, and the lights went out..."

"And the walls came down," Nicole muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing." 

Ted's eyes did a slow, are we really doing this loop-the-loop beneath their lids, and he shook his head in disbelief. "Yep," he deadpanned, "I remember it like it was three-and-a half decades ago."

"...And we tried listening to the radio with Bobby's boom box, and all the stations were doing news alerts or emergency broadcast network shit, but everyone at the party was yelling at the same time and we couldn't hear the radio, and before we could get everyone to shut up, all the radio stations went dead..."

"Yes, Swack. It was the scariest twenty minutes of our lives - mine even more so, because I lost my virginity with Chloe during the blackout, utterly convinced that we were about to die in an all-out nuclear war. You're terrible at the make-shit-up game, by the way."

Swack sighed heavily. "I know."

"What's really going on, dude?" Ted asked. "I don't think I've seen you this stressed since Obama was elected."

"Ha," Nicole added, checking her phone.

"Are you finally having the existential crisis the rest of us went through at least ten to twenty years ago? If so, we're here for you and all, but mostly it's about freakin' time, man."

"You wanna talk about leaving the red hat cult?" Nicole said, affecting a syrupy after-school special tone. "Ooh - is that a train? I think I hear a train, guys."

"Ugh. No. What can I say? It's a cult. I got wise to the bullshit and fuckin' quit. I'm not a fan of being used, so I cut my losses and cashed the fuck out. End of story."

"Congratulations, Hannity," Nicole said, trying and failing to sound genuinely supportive. She bent over and picked up a couple of fist-sized rocks. "Train's coming, boys. Get some rocks..."

Swack quickly moved to position himself between Nicole and the railroad tracks. "No, no, no. Nobody's throwing rocks at trains from my property!"

Ted and Nicole stared at Swack, then at each other, then at Swack again, then at each other again, and finally at the sprawling old half-excavated cornfield that surrounded them. "Say what, now?" Ted eventually said.

"Seriously?" Nicole demanded.

"Seriously," Brockton Swackhammer replied, "Life's savings - every damn penny I ever made as a lobbyist for the Dark Side - everything I have and a double-mortgage on my future, just to keep this place from becoming four rows of townhouses and sixty-six McMansions. So, yeah - I'm feeling a little fragile..."

"Can we continue this at a nice warm bar in Frederick," Nicole interrupted. "It's cold as balls, out here."