Resolutions for 2013: I promise to stop being a dick and shut up about Belle & Sebastian
New Year's resolutions are typically useless; they're often way too ambitious and usually forgotten by February. But there's value in the ritual of taking stock of the past year and making goals for the year to come.
When I was asked about my resolutions, I said couldn't think of a thing I'd like to change about myself. And anyone who could make that arrogant statement probably has a thing or two about their personality that could use some tweaking. So in the great literary tradition of self-loathing, I hereby proclaim that I will: stop marinating in my own hatred for cars while riding my bike; stop insisting that every person on earth listen to Belle & Sebastian; stop defining my self-worth through social media; and stop being a dick to people who genuinely care about politics.
Stop insisting that every person on earth listen to Scottish twee-pop band Belle & Sebastian
Ask any of my co-workers, ex-girlfriends, family members, accountants, taxi drivers or pot dealers, and they'll all tell you: Josiah Hesse talks about Belle & Sebastian too fucking much. More than talk about them, I'm known to play B&S albums incessantly, not only for myself, but for anyone unfortunate enough to set foot in my home for more than five minutes. And you'd think inundating people with obnoxiously precious songs about thin-skinned bookworms and their Oedipus complexes would be enough, but I've also been known to ruin dinner parties, wedding toasts and moments of intimacy when I burst into long-winded rants about how Belle & Sebastian are to us sensitive dandies what nutritional porridge is to the starving children of Uganda. It needs to stop. It's time to move on to Oasis.
Stop marinating in my hatred for cars while riding my bike
As with disputes between roommates, co-workers and politicians/reporters, there will always be a repressed hatred between those who pedal themselves down the road and those who ride in steel cages powered by fossil fuels. I know that I can't ride more than five blocks without feeling a juicy dose of malice toward some car that I felt passed too close, too fast, too slow, or playing some god-awful Bruno Mars song at full volume. It needs to stop. Bicycle culture is expanding as rapidly as Jessica Simpson's waistline, and we need to learn to get along with our engine-powered roadmates. True, sometimes they knock our elbows with their side-mirrors, ride our asses at a dangerously close pace, or panic with confused fear at intersections, causing them to stop when they don't have a sign and give you a patronizing wave ahead. But we can be dicks, too, and I am going to try and find a common ground of mutual appreciation with the motorists of Denver.
Which will probably last about twenty minutes before I see another person texting while blindly rolling through an intersection, and then I swear to God . . .