The beginning of a new year is symbolic of life's cycles, significant only, of course, to those who decide it is, but allows us - at least the people that follow the Gregorian calendar - an opportunity to pause, analyse, reassess and then make provision for the coming twelve months. I choose to do so thus:
- I refuse to allow my fucking back with it's two herniated discs to dictate to me what I can and can't do. I will not bow to the false god Sciatica.
- I have determined that 2011 is the Year of the Memoir. Therefore, this year I will read no work of fiction other than that manufactured (as deliberate deception or otherwise) by auto- or biography. I have begun with Christopher Hitchens' Hitch-22, and am now on Don Watson's Recollections of a Bleeding Heart. There are some that I will revisit, namely Karen de Young's excellent biography of Colin Powell, Soldier: The Life of Colin Powell, and Ghandi's The Story of My Experiments With Truth. There are others that are on my list, like Bill Clinton's autobiography (surprising that it is simply titled My Life), Keith Richards' ghostwritten tome, Life, and, heaven help me, John Howard's intimidating and impudently titled Lazarus Rising and George W Bush's Decision Points (goddammit, he's done it again - what the fuck is a 'decision point'?). Any other suggestions are appreciated, but I would ask you to refrain from suggesting anything like the fraudulent Pentateuch or any other such religious fabrications - and the Forum section in Penthouse magazine, as tantalizing and provocative that it may be, doesn't qualify either!
So now it's January 13th, let's get on with it!