Songs of the not-so innocent

Today, I returned a pair of leather boots. And felt wonderful. I don't know when I quietly began adjusting to shoes and clothes. A number of shirts and trousers in my wardrobe are a shade baggy. While I have no fanciful notions about tight tees and jeans that seem painted on (still don't get the point of slim fits), I am certainly not fond of garments billowing like the Spanish Armada either. Yet, anyone with reasonable vision only needs to glance in my direction to understand that I don't wear clothes as much as they envelop me. Shirts that are an inch too long. Trousers waists with interesting drag coefficients that cling limpet-like for dear life to various belts. And then, there's my ancient nemesis - shoes. To say that I have a difficult relationship with shoes is like saying ice cubes have a troublesome time with heat. It's practically an independent branch of the occult arts. Take me to a shoe store. Ask me to pick a shoe. Then ask the sales chappie who ...

Lots of people would say the changing of the year is an artificial construct and serves no purpose. Part of me agrees. Another part of me is flipping those people the bird. In the greater scheme of things, maybe there's nothing great about going from December to January, 6 to 7. In the greater scheme of things though, nothing really matters. The changing of the year allows us to drop anchor. Close doors. Turn the page. It helps fool our minds. Considering how dangerously powerful the brain is, that's a good thing. Otherwise, what's stopping us from giving up? From staying on the stationary bicycle of bad habits, pedalling away to nowhere? We / I need the changing of the year to want to make some difference in my life too. I'm not saying this will be the year I meet the girl of my dreams, come up with the kick-ass, award-winning ad campaign and finally achieve a measure of sustained satisfaction. But I want to try. And, if the new year is what it takes to fool mys...