Stop writing posts that are lists of disconnected paragraphs: They’re fun to write because there’s no real need to be sober, but the only constructive criticism I’ve gotten from the increasingly invective-laden comments is that I do this too much. Also, “push yourself to grow as a writer, set new challenges,” etc. So. Real, actual, coherent posts, after this one obviously.
Use my Waterpik every day: I bought a Waterpik because the dentist told me it was “better than flossing.” It’s wonderful. If you don’t know, it’s a little reservoir attached to a nozzle and hose that shoots a little jet of water at your gums to whisk away food particles and “provide all-important stimulating gum massage.” I think it’s bullshit that gum massage is “important,” but it feels good and alleviates my guilt about seldom flossing. I’m not really expert with the pik yet, though, so I tend to get water everywhere. It’s a small price to pay for gum massage, though.
Get an SNES emulator and finally beat Super Castlevania IV: I’ve been trying to beat this game, in fits and starts, since 1993. As a child I would graaaaadually do better, graaaaadually get further, and then as an adult in college I got an emulator, discovered save states, and like 90% beat it. I could never get past the third-to-last monster, which is a pterodactyl skeleton encased in some sort of impenetrable armor.
Get a master’s degree: This is kind of cheating because I’m already over halfway through getting one.
Win Evie’s love: Did Meg tell you that when I spent a weekend in the McBlogger house in June, Evie hid from me until Meg got home, and then when I wanted to go get food Evie forcibly cuddled Meg for an hour as I quietly starved?
Have sex with Kevin Yang: That counts as a 2Birds1Blog investigates, right?
Fake my death, maybe: When I left Austin, I deliberately broke ties with some “friends” who’d treated me badly. (This, more than anything, is why I don’t have a facebook account: if I want to disappear, I can.) I’ve been thinking about somehow falsely reporting my death to these people (I’m not sure how), mostly to see if they try to send flowers. I told Meg this and she said it was one of the most fucked-up things she’d ever heard, which I thought was kind of extreme – fucked up, yes, but one of the most fucked-up things she’s ever heard? With Italics? More fucked up than fucking machines and The Tinge? I can always claim the reports of my death were a prank played by someone else, but a fucking machine is undeniable.
And of course stop smoking, lose weight, find inner peace, and all that Oprah bullshit.