Ah, the new year.
2012 might be the last year we have together, at least according to a civilization that hasn’t seen a year unfold in many moons. The idea that our last rhapsody is upon us leaves many questions unanswered, here are just a few:
- Will the next evolutionary inhabitants find uses for our discarded iPods, will they even understand Kanye’s subtle nuance by then?
- Will people become the new oil?
- When the apocalypse comes forth, will the religious foretellers be guaranteed jobs in the new awakening, and will they receive union wages? Do zombies even need benefits?
- And perhaps most importantly, are we, as a society, willing to allow ourselves to be erased from this planet swathed in grunge-tastic prairie dresses and brown topsiders with the laces spiraled at the end?
Listen, the 90′s were great and all, but is a rehashed version of the first Lollapalooza the way we choose to be remembered by the highly evolved telepathic floating creatures that will one day write our history? Be honest. I for one, have been planning this year’s wardrobe for quite some time. I have collected enough 1940′s frocks to ensure that on any day the s*%t finally hits the fan, I will go down in a glamorous blaze of glory. Presumably with the song “Blaze of Glory” blaring from my now useless iPod (because really, Bon Jovi will always stand the test of time).This little diddy is slated as day 134. Not pictured is the feather headdress and hand beaded clutch that will be gripped in my cold dead skeletal hand.
Sitting in my secret headquarters sewing bow ties in full evening regalia is not as easy as it sounds (especially when there is an elaborate headdress involved), but I persevere. And besides, bow ties make me giddy.(apparently a Brooklyn street artist shares my bliss.)