January needs something. It's easily the worst month, if we pretend that February -- the month when watching puppies slowly die is better than living -- doesn't exist.
We wake up on New Year's Day with a hangover, never expecting it to last the full month. But that's all January is, the wish-I-had-puked-last-night stomach churning that follows a period of unmemorable debauchery.
January needs a week-long holiday to come alive:
Friday: Wake up at 8:40, no later. Rather than making coffee, make lasagna. Spend all day eating lasagna, because it's really good. Watch Garfield, the show with the cat. You are Garfield now.
Saturday: Go to the Independence Hall area and take a tour. Pet the Liberty Bell; it's in need of some TLC.
Sunday: Ignore Jesus (more than usual), and see what happens.
Monday: Obviously, don't go to class. That applies for the whole week. Today, go to Van Pelt. Smoke under the button, have sex on the steps. Get high off the irony.
Tuesday: Go to the zoo, but ignore the animals. Instead, sit on a bench and cry.
Wednesday: Listen to Sonic Youth. Evidently, this will be your biggest challenge of the week. But really, they're good.
Thursday: Read 34th Street magazine all day. No bathroom breaks, no eating, only mild masturbation. People say that Street seems too insulated at times, that it doesn't make sense. Let me assuage these concerns by saying a giraffe wrote this column. Or was that just stupid?
So there's the holiday schedule, which is flexible. It will be called January Week, because we here at Street don't like misleading, absurd headlines, or hypocrisy.
Of course, the most important day of January Week will be Thursday. Call me biased, but it's my first column of this sort, and you better get used to me ordering you to read the magazine. You've made it to the second page, so why not keep going?
You show me the lasagna, I show you the world.
- Jim
