Stories
26 Days to a Better New Year
The New Year is approaching, causing nation-wide anxiety: You need a date, a party, and a resolution, plus you still have to finish your holiday shopping. ROSECRANS BALDWIN has a 26-day guide to ensure your New Year’s Eve goes well.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- First Scary Movies (Of Recent Note)
- Beloved Children's Books (Of Recent Note)
- Superpowers, Revealed (Of Recent Note)
Also by Rosecrans Baldwin
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- How Everything Turned Out (June 27, 2007)
- What's the Frequency, Musad? (June 15, 2004)
- The Education of Elisabeth Eckleman: Back to School (June 6, 2005)
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New Year’s is usually a good party, even alone at a bar, except for one sniggling, soul-wracking, and extremely important detail: New Year’s Resolutions.
It’s never enough to toast friends’ health and good fortune. There’s always one buddy who insists, in front of the crowd, that everyone explain what they plan on doing that year to make their lives better. And it’s not secret knowledge. You’re expected to testify to exactly what your resolution will be, thus admitting you didn’t do said thing in the past year, or at least not well enough, and since you probably know a few people around you (and if you’re at a bar by yourself, then you’ve at least met Frank, or Genie, or whoever rounds out the intro-falsettos on ‘You Can’t Always Get What You Want’) you’re also telling them, Look. I need to do this different this year. If I don’t, my life’s bound to be worse than it was this past year, which wasn’t great, so yes, you’ve got a license for judgment. I’m telling you: I’m no good now, but I might be better over the next 12 months. Watch me.
In a court of law, you might cop the fifth amendment, but in a court of friends, well-wishers, and invariably an ex-boyfriend looking for an easy make-out, it’s open season on your moral growth, where everyone remembers the time you undressed in public because someone dared you.
So why go unprepared? Why leave your resolution-planning to the last minute? If you start early—tomorrow—and follow a strict, 26-day program of self-examination, training, and severe pessimism, you can ensure a happy New Year’s, and possibly a happy new year.
Holiday shopping can be left to the last minute. Becoming a better person takes patience.
Also, call the cable company and sign up for HBO. It’s high time you stop looking like an idiot when someone mentions The Sopranos.
You: [to the group] My resolution is to break up with Steve this year.
Steve: What?
You: He’s no good. Frankly, he’s trash.
Friends: [Applause]
Steve: No, fuck that. I’m breaking up with you.
Friends: [Applause]
You: What? You can’t dump me.
Steve: I just did. [saunters off]
A phone call will be fine.
Note: Rock-hard abs are only achieved by smoking. Six a day should work fine. Even though you don’t smoke, you also don’t do many sit-ups; you see?
In times of distress, practice the following mantra during moments of anxiety: ‘He Wiped His Nose On My Cashmere.’
Also, we begin our Annual Review today. Answer the following questions on a scale of one to five, one being an emphatic yes, five being a sullen no:
These will be used shortly.
Stop by Steve’s local bar around midnight—do not say a word—and take Steve home with you. We repeat: Do not speak. (This should not be difficult, Miss No Sounds During Coitus.) When you’re finished, listen in the ensuing silence for a voice inside your head. If it sounds like Debra Messing (‘Grace’ from television’s Will and Grace), let Steve spend the night. If it sounds like Emmanuel Lewis (‘Webster,’ from television’s Webster), boot him out.
Also: Assuming your smoking’s going well, your abs should be half-way rigid. If not, increase brand-strength.
This week’s diet, for daily consumption:
Hi [insert their name], it’s [insert your name]. Yeah, I know, I know. Listen, I was wondering, could you please detail exactly what I did, that caused you to never talk to me again? Just begin your response with ‘You, [insert your name], acting of your own free will…’
Record their answer on a notepad and politely slam the phone down when they’re finished.
Lena, the woman who wears homemade hats to work.
You don’t know Tim at all. Lena counts you as one of her ‘bestest bestest friends’ and sent you an e-vite seven months ago to reserve the date.
It’s time to get to know Tim better. He’s not bad looking, is he? Baldness can be a sign of good grooming.
And just because lunch is Pret A Manger, and for some reason he asks if you’re that ‘tattle-tale’ he met six months before, does not mean lunch went badly. You’re nice, smart, and funny. That new top from Club Monaco was a smart buy—you always look good in cashmere.
Tonight, however, is difficult, and requires all the muscles you’ve built in the last 15 days.
Make your final phone call, pour an extra glass of champagne when you’re done, and sit down to review the list of complaints.
The responses are: In the last year, You, acting of your own free will…
Based on the responses you got, it’s best to not use any of them as inspiration for your New Year’s Resolution. Instead, you’re going to employ something pat, like the classic ‘Give more to charity,’ though the operative word there is more, and for you it’s a bit of a stretch.
Focus on what’s important: Good Party. Good Date.
Remember your training and your mantra. Today is the day you get back in touch with YOU.
By watching The Sopranos.
Of course you accept, but not too quickly—you don’t want to seem desperate. Respond later in the day. Say you’re sure you don’t have anything planned that night. Say this as if it’s possibly not true.
Also, and boy, was this unexpected, you run into Lena in the bathroom. She’s crying in one of the stalls. You try to ignore the pitiful sounds, and pray you can get out before she’s finished, but as luck would have it she exits her stall the same time as you.
No one has said they’ll come to her New Year’s Eve party, though at least a dozen have told her that yes, they received the invitation.
What can you do? Look at her eyes. Her matted hair. The eyeliner streaks on her cheeks. You accept her invitation, and her hug afterwards, because you are, after all, the bestest bestest friend ever.
That you lied is no big deal because this is not your year for exemplary ethical and moral performance. That’s 2003, baby!
Rural Pennsylvania is neither who nor what you are.
Rural Pennsylvania is neither who nor what you are.
Rural Pennsylvania is neither who nor what you are.
Rural Pennsylvania is neither who nor what you are.
By now you should be able to drink two bottles of champagne without burping, annihilate black beans, and smoke a pack of cigarettes in less than an hour with the concave abs to prove it.
You are very close to complete success.
Steve calls early in the morning and says his father, long-diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, is in trouble. Cancer has been found, with severe lateness, in his liver. Steve was there on a routine visit and now needs someone with him. It may be close. He is panicking over the phone and you agree to meet him at St. Vincent’s.
His father is stabilized that evening and afterwards, walking down 7th Avenue in the dark, Steve grabs your hand and asks you out for Thai food. You say yes.
And you don’t remember your date with Tim until one in the morning when Steve—in bed—explains how he frightened his mother by calling her from the hospital with the bad news, and his dad, wheezing at the time, called him a ‘tattle-tale.’
‘I’m going to quit smoking,’ you say.
But he mashes your lips with his at the last second, for the ritual New Year’s midnight kiss. Whether he heard you or not, it’s not very important at this point, because you’re just making out. Two semi-grown-ups underground, making out in a suburban basement while two other semi-grown-ups make out behind you, and a woman wearing a homemade tiara sings along to Michael Jackson.
It’s never enough to toast friends’ health and good fortune. There’s always one buddy who insists, in front of the crowd, that everyone explain what they plan on doing that year to make their lives better. And it’s not secret knowledge. You’re expected to testify to exactly what your resolution will be, thus admitting you didn’t do said thing in the past year, or at least not well enough, and since you probably know a few people around you (and if you’re at a bar by yourself, then you’ve at least met Frank, or Genie, or whoever rounds out the intro-falsettos on ‘You Can’t Always Get What You Want’) you’re also telling them, Look. I need to do this different this year. If I don’t, my life’s bound to be worse than it was this past year, which wasn’t great, so yes, you’ve got a license for judgment. I’m telling you: I’m no good now, but I might be better over the next 12 months. Watch me.
In a court of law, you might cop the fifth amendment, but in a court of friends, well-wishers, and invariably an ex-boyfriend looking for an easy make-out, it’s open season on your moral growth, where everyone remembers the time you undressed in public because someone dared you.
So why go unprepared? Why leave your resolution-planning to the last minute? If you start early—tomorrow—and follow a strict, 26-day program of self-examination, training, and severe pessimism, you can ensure a happy New Year’s, and possibly a happy new year.
Holiday shopping can be left to the last minute. Becoming a better person takes patience.
Day 1: Friday, Dec. 6
This is your first day. Don’t worry, we have plenty of time left. Today’s big task is to join a gym. It doesn’t matter if you never actually go; what’s important is that you’re not the cliché at the New Year’s party who says they’ll join a gym next year.Day 2: Saturday, Dec. 7
Take the day off, but spend it alone. Think about your goals. Your ambitions.Also, call the cable company and sign up for HBO. It’s high time you stop looking like an idiot when someone mentions The Sopranos.
Day 3: Sunday, Dec. 8
During lunch: break up with your no-good boyfriend. There’s no easy way to say this, but frankly, he’s trash. Plus, this way you can avoid the following scenario on the 31st:You: [to the group] My resolution is to break up with Steve this year.
Steve: What?
You: He’s no good. Frankly, he’s trash.
Friends: [Applause]
Steve: No, fuck that. I’m breaking up with you.
Friends: [Applause]
You: What? You can’t dump me.
Steve: I just did. [saunters off]
A phone call will be fine.
Day 4: Monday, Dec. 9
Do not under any circumstance call Steve today. Instead, stand outside your new gym and watch the Stairmaster clones through the window. Smoke a cigarette while you do this.Note: Rock-hard abs are only achieved by smoking. Six a day should work fine. Even though you don’t smoke, you also don’t do many sit-ups; you see?
Day 5: Tuesday, Dec. 10
Steve has left you 16 voicemails at home, another seven on your cell phone, plus a 126K email waiting in your in-box. Delete all without digesting.In times of distress, practice the following mantra during moments of anxiety: ‘He Wiped His Nose On My Cashmere.’
Also, we begin our Annual Review today. Answer the following questions on a scale of one to five, one being an emphatic yes, five being a sullen no:
- Did you fall in love this year?
- Did you realize your position as an agnostic is actually a matter of spiritual wimpy-ness and a good sign of your inability to make decisions?
- Have you made significant progress on your life’s goals, related to the one specific thing you were brought onto this earth to perform?
- Did you give away all your worldly possessions after realizing they are inherently meaningless?
- Did you learn to make sounds during coitus?
Day 6: Wednesday, Dec. 11
Purchase new cashmere.Day 7: Thursday, Dec. 12
Compile a list of friends whose opinions you trust. Also compile a list of friends you’re no longer on speaking terms with. Finally, compile of a list of guys at work whose hot-factor outweighs their likeliness to want to have lunch together everyday post-intimacy factor.These will be used shortly.
Day 8: Friday, Dec. 13
Congratulations! You’ve made it one week through the program. You deserve a treat.Stop by Steve’s local bar around midnight—do not say a word—and take Steve home with you. We repeat: Do not speak. (This should not be difficult, Miss No Sounds During Coitus.) When you’re finished, listen in the ensuing silence for a voice inside your head. If it sounds like Debra Messing (‘Grace’ from television’s Will and Grace), let Steve spend the night. If it sounds like Emmanuel Lewis (‘Webster,’ from television’s Webster), boot him out.
Day 9: Saturday, Dec. 14
Emmanual Lewis was a horrible influence on many people’s childhood.Day 10: Sunday, Dec. 15
Remember those three lists of names we made? OK. Destroy the first one, memorize the third, and put the second list—friends you’re no longer speaking to—by your phone.Also: Assuming your smoking’s going well, your abs should be half-way rigid. If not, increase brand-strength.
Day 11: Monday, Dec. 16
Today we’ll work on your alcohol tolerance. New Year’s Eve always includes champagne, and sometimes seven-layer dip, so we want your stomach ready for the big night.This week’s diet, for daily consumption:
- (2) cups of coffee
- (8) cigarettes
- (2) glasses of champagne
- (1) ‘everthing’ burrito
Hi [insert their name], it’s [insert your name]. Yeah, I know, I know. Listen, I was wondering, could you please detail exactly what I did, that caused you to never talk to me again? Just begin your response with ‘You, [insert your name], acting of your own free will…’
Record their answer on a notepad and politely slam the phone down when they’re finished.
Day 12: Tuesday, Dec. 17
Continue diet, phone, and Not-Hearing-Steve-Call regimens.Day 13: Wednesday, Dec. 18
You’re now halfway done! This means it’s time for a difficult task: finding the best possible New Year’s party to attend. Most likely, a friend or an acquaintance is throwing a big bash. In fact, you’ve heard that Tim in HR is renting out a restaurant in TriBeCa. You’ve also heard that Lena from Communications is having some friends over to her cousin’s house in Newark.Lena, the woman who wears homemade hats to work.
You don’t know Tim at all. Lena counts you as one of her ‘bestest bestest friends’ and sent you an e-vite seven months ago to reserve the date.
It’s time to get to know Tim better. He’s not bad looking, is he? Baldness can be a sign of good grooming.
Day 14: Thursday, Dec. 19
- Email Tim, innocuously asking about 401(k) policies and any new ‘plans’ that may become available in 2003.
- While passing Lena, ignore her ‘Hey babe!’ by staring at the wall.
- Continue diet, phone calls, and Stairmaster-watching.
Day 15: Friday, Dec. 20
Tim has answered your email and asked you out for lunch! This is significant progress.And just because lunch is Pret A Manger, and for some reason he asks if you’re that ‘tattle-tale’ he met six months before, does not mean lunch went badly. You’re nice, smart, and funny. That new top from Club Monaco was a smart buy—you always look good in cashmere.
Tonight, however, is difficult, and requires all the muscles you’ve built in the last 15 days.
Make your final phone call, pour an extra glass of champagne when you’re done, and sit down to review the list of complaints.
The responses are: In the last year, You, acting of your own free will…
- Forgot my birthday, for the last time
- Um, like screwed me out of a promotion because you told Tim Evans in HR that I stole a laptop from the company, which was like, only part of the story, and not even my part?
- Wrecked my car, doofus
- Moved out of my building? But we can still talk. I may be a landlord by day, but…
- RUINED MY LIFE
Based on the responses you got, it’s best to not use any of them as inspiration for your New Year’s Resolution. Instead, you’re going to employ something pat, like the classic ‘Give more to charity,’ though the operative word there is more, and for you it’s a bit of a stretch.
Focus on what’s important: Good Party. Good Date.
Day 16: Saturday, Dec. 21
Booty call.Day 17: Sunday, Dec. 22
Yes, we know, we know. Take it easy on yourself: Nobody’s perfect! Just because you’ve seen him two weekends in a row does NOT mean you’re back together, no matter what he says.Remember your training and your mantra. Today is the day you get back in touch with YOU.
By watching The Sopranos.
Day 18: Monday, Dec. 23
Tim has sent you an email out of the blue. It is an invitation. It is a date. He wants to have dinner with you on the 30th. He explains he wants to test out his party-restaurant ahead of time. Though there isn’t an explicit invitation to his party, it is safely inferred, and a date the night before likely means a date the night after.Of course you accept, but not too quickly—you don’t want to seem desperate. Respond later in the day. Say you’re sure you don’t have anything planned that night. Say this as if it’s possibly not true.
Day 19: Tuesday, Dec. 24
Unfortunately, tomorrow is Christmas, and your family—especially your mother—may not understand your training goals and will expect gifts, despite your busy schedule. Luckily there is the Internet.Also, and boy, was this unexpected, you run into Lena in the bathroom. She’s crying in one of the stalls. You try to ignore the pitiful sounds, and pray you can get out before she’s finished, but as luck would have it she exits her stall the same time as you.
No one has said they’ll come to her New Year’s Eve party, though at least a dozen have told her that yes, they received the invitation.
What can you do? Look at her eyes. Her matted hair. The eyeliner streaks on her cheeks. You accept her invitation, and her hug afterwards, because you are, after all, the bestest bestest friend ever.
That you lied is no big deal because this is not your year for exemplary ethical and moral performance. That’s 2003, baby!
Days 20-23: Dec. 25-28
Rural Pennsylvania is neither who nor what you areRural Pennsylvania is neither who nor what you are.
Rural Pennsylvania is neither who nor what you are.
Rural Pennsylvania is neither who nor what you are.
Rural Pennsylvania is neither who nor what you are.
Day 24: Tuesday, Dec. 29
You are on the road to success. You have memorized your resolution, your date and party are practically fixed, and your ex-boyfriend left only 13 messages while you were away and only called your mother once on Christmas to wish her a happy holiday, which, you must admit, was nice.By now you should be able to drink two bottles of champagne without burping, annihilate black beans, and smoke a pack of cigarettes in less than an hour with the concave abs to prove it.
You are very close to complete success.
Day 25: Wednesday, Dec. 30
You admit: no one could have seen this coming. Thankfully you handled yourself well, though a tad sentimentally. It’s OK—you’re only 25 days-trained.Steve calls early in the morning and says his father, long-diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, is in trouble. Cancer has been found, with severe lateness, in his liver. Steve was there on a routine visit and now needs someone with him. It may be close. He is panicking over the phone and you agree to meet him at St. Vincent’s.
His father is stabilized that evening and afterwards, walking down 7th Avenue in the dark, Steve grabs your hand and asks you out for Thai food. You say yes.
And you don’t remember your date with Tim until one in the morning when Steve—in bed—explains how he frightened his mother by calling her from the hospital with the bad news, and his dad, wheezing at the time, called him a ‘tattle-tale.’
Day 26: Thursday, Dec. 31
A number of things go surprisingly well:- Lena’s cousin Mark and his wife Terry are both nice, down to earth, and pride themselves on a fully-stocked karaoke machine in their basement that includes ‘Eye of the Tiger.’
- There is no seven-layer dip, but there is salmon spread, which you later lose to the gravel by Steve’s car, knicking his front-left tire. He does not say anything, only smiles.
- Lena quiets the party at 11:56 p.m. and asks everyone for their New Year’s resolutions, and because there’s only five of you, and everyone says they plan on joining a gym (except for Steve, who says he will sell his PlayStation) you are left to answer just before the ball drops.
‘I’m going to quit smoking,’ you say.
But he mashes your lips with his at the last second, for the ritual New Year’s midnight kiss. Whether he heard you or not, it’s not very important at this point, because you’re just making out. Two semi-grown-ups underground, making out in a suburban basement while two other semi-grown-ups make out behind you, and a woman wearing a homemade tiara sings along to Michael Jackson.
—Published December 5, 2002
