Day 34: New Year’s Resolutions 2015

Duck Rabbit
Finally attain inner peace Stop making impossible-to-follow-through resolutions (surely, is stealth route to finally attaining inner peace?)
Come to terms with fact that will never possess sleek, velvety ears but that does not make me worthless Concede was stretching truth when claimed that hopping is form of yogic flying as practiced by David Lynch and others
Enjoy well-deserved rest on laurels (N.B. laurels are type of chaises longues, no??) Stop getting into arguments with philosophers; they always win
Look up meaning of word “laurels” Take art class as prescribed by lavishly compensated mental-health professional
Eat more crisps. Crisps are vegan!!! Keep straight face when people without celiac disease say they can’t eat gluten
Use crisps to fill “hole” of nihilistic emptiness that currently occupies spot, in manner of recalcitrant squatter, where beautiful true “self” should reside Avoid, at all costs, all hole-related metaphors.
Solve problem of induction in spare time Find someone who can explain, once and for all, Heidegger’s essay “Das Ding” to me. [1]
Embrace reading Angelo by Quentin Blake to younger flospy-duckit for 427th time as form of meditation and opportunity to reflect on and appreciate the enchanting art of Quentin Blake who is national treasure Stop clutching head despairingly and muttering “Oh God, I don’t know, what is it about?!” when asked what my book is about.
Figure out how to use that Swiss-army-knife type corkscrew that sommeliers use In tribute to Scottish heritage, acquire taste for single malt Scottish whisky (but only whisky produced by distilleries founded in nineteenth century)
Accept that will never finish knitting motherfucking scarf for the elder flopsy-duckit that I started four years ago. The scarf is not emblematic of general inability to follow through and finish things. The scarf does not have talismanic properties Finally finish knitting that scarf. For real. I’m not fooling around. This year, it’s happening


[1] “The thing things.” That statement makes no more sense to me now than it did twenty-eight years ago when I first read that sentence. In German it’s Das ding dingt. Is it possible that it’s some kind of onomatopoeic joke that just doesn’t translate? Does the thing thing? Is it thinging right now? If it stops thinging how will I know? Is it possible Heidegger’s translator had a lisp and it’s “the thing sings”? Separate question: do the Ting Tings derive their name from this phrase?


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