"The people that you meet each day…"-Seseme Street Cast.

Life is about community. Community is not about the string of 1200 ft hovels surrounding my glorious stucco palace with its well exposed back yard and curiously obedient canine. Although the curious canine without curiosity for his environment is part of my community.

That dog won't leave his yard no matter how many wood walls the big bad wolf-wind blows down. He's a stay in his imaginary box kinda guy. Mime Dog. It explains the white make-up. I hope he didn't learn that from me. He won't eat out of a bowl either. In fact, he eats his food in a circle, like he's unraveling a Science Diet chicken and lamb chunks cinnamon roll. I know I didn't teach him that. I blame MyUnwife. She was part of his community. She was part of mine too. We learned a lot of things from her. Some of them weren't bad. None of them will I give her credit for. Ok, I'll give her credit for the bad.

That's what community is about: Plagiarizing the good, blaming the bad. All bad belongs to the excommunicated.

"Do you know what MyUnwife did?"

See? It doesn't matter whether or not she did it. She's no longer part of the community. Who's gonna fact check? You can fact check this: It's taken a long time getting used to a community without her. She was here for a long time, and her exodus was biblical.

"Pharaoh Rob, let MyUnwife go."

"Ok."

"Uhm...You're supposed to say 'no.' I have this whole water to blood thing planned."

"Yeah, yeah, you've been part of my community for a while. I've seen it. Impressive. Go ahead and go."

"Frogs? I do frogs."

"I saw a donkey show on the internet last week, frogs aren't impressive."

"Rain them! Rain them, you freak! I Rain frogs."

"yeah, rein. That's what they did with the donkey too. Still not impressive. Although I do suppose they'd look cute in their little tack and harnesses. Do you race them? Where do you find the jockeys?"

"OOOHHH! I am so striking you with a plague of gnats!"

"Gnats? Oh, well that line stars over there behind my third grade girlfriend. She has lice…"

That's when she huffed out. Still, she didn't leave the community until she'd plagued my kingdom with gross neglect and animosity. Or was that in my gift basket to her? It's so hard to tell from this side.

People don't abandon communities because they love their lives and the people around them. Things in the community are not to their liking; any other reason they give is superfluous. So she packed up her gold, jewels and her animals, and left. It didn't take 40 years, a tribe, or a miracle of God, just 150 bucks, three starving students, and a moving van, to relocate. The denizens of milk and honey: that's her new community.

My community is my dog. Oh don't look at me that way! I was taking a breath, there's more! My community are all those who contribute to my life:

"I regret to inform you that I am not the slip n slider you thought."

"I'd probably be strangely flattered if you plagiarized me!"

"You're luckier than Steven Segal."

"Reach into his jacket and pull out his heart."

This is my community. My community gives me their voice. My community is a place where things go wrong, but there's always somebody monitoring just a modem away, trying to make me see the good. My community, a consortium of strangers, not afraid to reach out. I like this place. I like it's people. Thanks for being part of my community.

"Showed them what you can do…"-Rilo Kiley

Sometimes my life feels adrift. Maybe that's why I'm a creature of habit: When water is glass and sails are lead, I have something to do. It beats staring over the rail at my distant reflection.

Extended reflection is bad; viewing becomes an intoxicating love or loathe session. Routine is the cop keeping me in line.

"Step away from the mirror, slowly."

"But he's gorgeous, bro."

"Don't make me tase you."

"Don't tas—" no, I can't say it. I have too much pride. I need to be able to look in the mirror sometimes.

So back to routine. It's my cop. It keeps me in line. Today's the day I swab the decks of the good ship Rob. Sorry, I should go ahead and drop the boat metaphor now, huh? I always wanted to be a pirate as a kid. Then, in my early 20's, I wanted to run a pirate radio. When I was married, I dressed up…nevermind, you get the idea.

Arrrgggh! Prepare to be boarded by Dread Pirate Robby!

Didn't you always want to be a pirate? I did. I saw the Errol Flynn movies. I did the Walt Disney ride. What else was there? Rickets? Confined spaces? Bad hygiene? Oh…can I be a land pirate? See, that's when the reality of the reflection kicks in. If I'd have just swabbed the decks like a good boy, I'd have been fine.

Because even living out the coolest dream has it's down time. We need the routine to break that up. When I was the fast-action fast food server at Jack-in-the-Box #169 I still had to take time to clean the shake machine. You're never too glamorous to shine the shake machine. That's what my boss always told me. My boss never shined the shake machine. She was never glamorous.

But that's back when I was adventurous. Now I'm just a guy writing out his life. Still, I need routine. Today, is clean the house day. Today is pay the bills day. Today is buy the groceries day. Man, today is a suck the joy day. You know what every routine needs? Distraction! And me? I'm just the guy to create it. Or if nothing else, fall for it. Maybe that's why I need pirates. Despite their unnatural parrot-love, they're kinda fun. And like my pirates, I take time to have fun on my routine day. I take time to work on my next fiction project before buying groceries. If it doesn't rain, I'll do that tonight.

And it's also the night I usually run into my grocery clerk buddy. Oh, don't put any extra thought into that statement. It's nothing. She's more routine than distraction, but she is the one person I run into on a regular basis. She has a routine too. And what's really cool, is her routine requires that she stand and listen to my distraction: so long as I have groceries for her to ring up. I can get behind any routine that makes people listen to me! Maybe that's why I got married! Yeah, that never worked out as planned.

"Why is it I have to wear the gag again?"

"It's part of the distraction, Dread Pirate Robby."

"Oh! Oka-mmmf."

So the buying groceries routine includes the talking to the clerk routine. Who says all routines have to be bad? If I can talk to her, rather than swabbing the deck one more time, I'm all for it.

"did you get a rush…"- British Sea Power

A blog. An open window into somebody's life. The reader plays voyeur to whatever show the writer "unknowingly" reveals. But what if the blogger has nothing to reveal? Who peeps into an open curtain to watch a guy in red and white sweats toss a matching hacky-sack against the ceiling?

I'm telling you, now that the holiday rush has drawn to a close, my life is boring. Even the computer monitor habits of this North American male are barely glimpse worthy. Here look:

See, I told you. Thanks for looking though. It makes me feel important, and maybe a little dirty. Yeah, I know, it doesn't take much these days. I don't even have premium cable channels. I saw somebody kiss through Saran Wrap the other night and thought, "how hot!" I need a life.

Not that I really had one while I was married. MyUnwife will be the first to attest to that. The rugged captain of travel and adventure I was not. Yeah, the guy in the window, the one trying to knock Gumby from his speaker-top perch with the previously mentioned hacky-sack? That's the same guy she married. I wowed her with my inability to hit a florescent green posable figurine from 3 feet with a leather bound sack of beans.

"That man's a provider!"

Hang on, I need to retrieve my ball. Here, you looking? I'll shake my butt as I bend over to pick it up. It's ok. the burning and watering eyes thing? That goes away after a bit. Go Google Jake Gyllenhaal. That's what worked for MyUnwife.

Still, I don't think I ever misrepresented myself in my marriage. Sure we all have traits and flaws we hide behind the curtain, but I always gave MyUnwife the ability to draw the curtain back, even before we were married. It was important that she know what she was buying.

"Here, check the teeth…"

Sure, it appears that she got more than she wanted, but is it my fault she didn't look? When we stare through the window, we see what we want to, and that's not always what's really staring right back at us. I know that MyUnwife feels I misrepresented myself in some areas. I disagree. I disclosed my flaws, hairy butt and all--Your eyes, they're watering again. Oh, sorry…

If anything I flung my flaws like a monkey flings his poop. I wanted her to know. I wanted her to be sure. And to her credit she did the same thing. I knew who I married. Yeah, I didn't see the "divorce" thing coming, but I think I get a pass on that. Call it "Hopeless Optimism, " or just poo that missed it's mark. Or Rob in this case. Sorry, bad joke, I couldn't help it. It's who I am.

The thing about divorce is it's not only the person looking in who feels like they've just received a mail order package from the back of a comic book. The window dressing object is left going, "Am I really as worthless as the X-ray glasses? It takes time to rebuild the self esteem, throw back the curtain and say, "look at me world!" I'm there now; I may not be exciting, but look at me! Your eyes again? I gotta tell ya, you're not doing much for my esteem. Still, thanks for looking.

"Be there when I feed the tree…"-Belly

Tink, tink tink..."Warriors, come out and play-ay!" Without movies like that, I'd have never learned anything useful. "Can you dig it?"

Yeah, I can. I never know when I'm gonna have to fend off guys in baseball uniforms and clown makeup, boppers. Now that I've seen The Warriors, I can. I can also wander through the boroughs of New York, spotting indigenous gang members. If they're ones I know, I can converse using trendy 1970's lingo. I'm part of the family. Still, for some crazy reason MyUnwife only took one trip to New York with me. I don't get it.

Movies also taught me to stand up my fallen fence. I think I know why I'm picking it up after every new storm too. The techniques I've learned for leaning barricades only work against psycho killers and zombies. They are not the same structures I'd use against forceful weather. For that, I kneed to go back and watch Twister again. Zombie movies never have wind. Some have rain, but it's always coming straight down, and usually leads to the zombie infestation to begin with. My fence won't work against sheeting rain either. It's just best to stay inside on those cold, cold wet days.

That's ok. I'm waiting on my home owners insurance people to give me money so I can eliminate my fence problem. I think that's the reason you never see insurance appraisers in the movies: It takes them more than two hours to get out a claim. Yeah, and I think after that bit-o'-humor, it'll be a bit longer. I may see a zombie revival before I see the fence change.

Maybe that's why my marriage went awry: zombies. No, don't be stupid, I mean movies. I watched the wrong movies, and I gotta blame somebody. I learned that from Paul Reiser's character in Aliens. I also learned, in marriage, The Highlander is pretty much useless.

"There can be only one." Yup. I got that. I'm here. Now what?

What movie offers me a reasonable divorce? Better yet, what movie offers me a good marriage template? They either fade into the sunset assumption of "happily ever after, " or they're stark light on couples in conflict. Who got the warm fuzzies watching War of the Roses? Certainly not the family pets. It is the reason MyUnwife and I maintain the "Friendly divorce" approach. We both took notes during that training film, and now we scare each other.

"I see dead people."

Ghost. That was fine, but he had to die to keep that marriage alive. I said "death do us part," not "I'll be lurking in your closet after my body turns to worm housing." Now we're back to the horror movies.

Maybe it's time to strike it on my own. Leave what I've learned behind and forge a path for myself. The early pioneers did it. So did Mowgli, the mancub. Better yet, I could be the next Tyler Durden! I could revolt against the structured DVD norms society has fenced around me. MyUnwife always said I looked like Brad Pitt. Ok, that's a lie. She did mention her Uncle Brad though, and that's close. That's close enough for 2008, now that I've left 2007's undead behind.

"...drank a toast to now …"-Dan Fogelberg

Somebody said "Have some soup." I thought that sounded like a good idea, so I did. Somebody said, "Toast in the New Year, because how you receive the New Year, is how it will be." I thought that sounded like a good idea too, so I did. Nobody said, "careful how you toast the New Year, Rob. You might want to remember at least part of it." So I didn't think about that idea, and well, I don't remember what I did.

Ok, that's an over exaggeration. I do remember. I'm just not sure from this side if it was a good idea. I try to forget the bad ideas. Maybe I need more alcohol to do that. No, no, I don't think that's a good idea either.

Here, I'll start at the beginning, with the good ideas. I've been trying to shake this stinkin' cold since Santa dripped it in my stocking. So far, it's been gnawing at me like 5 year old after a downed piñata beast; I can't get rid of it. I've tried store bought soup: that didn't work. Last night I loaded the big guns: I resigned to make my own chicken noodle soup. Good idea! I even got kind of excited about it. I copied down all the ingredients I didn't have (like a whole chicken), made my list, checked it twice, and climbed in the car.

All the while, I'm remembering something somebody else said, "I hope you're well enough to toast the New Year."

Me too, I thought. Then something else happened: Phlegmy brain receptors introduced synapses that had no business talking to each other. You know how almost every New Year's eve you meet somebody, and you've regretted meeting them within a week? Then you spend the next 12 months trying to shake them like a bad cough?

Because how we receive the New Year, is how it will be…

That's what happened in my brain. Watch as I break into a dramatized reenactment: Thought Process A (TPA) will be played by Zooey Deschanel. Thought Process B (TPB) will be played by Colin Ferrell. Got that in your mind? Good. Here goes:

TPA sitting at a bar nursing her velvet crush, talking to TPC (unpaid extra who just wanted screen time): I know! Since this is our first New Years Alone, lets buy a new bottle of champagne!

TPB, grabbing TPC by neck and throwing him over the bar: Is this seat taken? (not waiting for answer, he slides in really close) May I make a suggestion? (not waiting for an answer,) let me buy you a drink and we'll talk about this.

TPA looking like doe a waiting for a tractor trailer: Okay!

TPB (or tractor trailer): I gotta say, buying a new bottle of champagne, that’s a great idea. (Finishes drink, orders another for both of them. TPA is trying to keep up.) What if I made it better?

TPA: How?

TPB: You drink a new bottle in a new glass for the new year, but first, remember the bottle you got when you were married?

TPA: The one the hotel gave us?

TPB: Exactly! Drink it! Drink it in one of the complimentary glasses the hotel gave you! The one still sitting on your shelf!

TPA: That sounds like a great idea!

Light fades, the couple continues plotting, nuzzling closer and closer…

See? I didn't stand a chance. Even my favorite cashier gave me a 2 handed wave. I thought she was really excited about wishing me a happy New Year, but in retrospect it was two hands waving "DON'T GO DOWN THE SPOOKY PATH--WHERE 15 PEOPLE HAVE BEEN MURDERED IN THE PAST 4 SCENES--IN THE RAIN WITHOUT A FLASHLIGHT!" I didn't see it. Thought Process B was just too charming…

So I made my soup. That was great. My nose opened up, and said "Thank you!" Then I opened the old Orleans champagne circa 1999. I should have been a little leery. The cork was plastic. It was also sticky: it had leaked a little over time. After 15 minutes of trying, I put the bottle down, and rested. It was like a childproof cap, but there were no secret press points. Resolved, and refreshed, I went back at it. This time it popped. Ok, it didn't "pop" it sort of fell off. Like a hairy clog passing from a pipe.

Mmm…tasty….

Still, it was a process, and I had to move on. I toasted the past: the memories, the people, the plans that were. I said goodbye, and I drank. The champagne was sweet but hollow and flat. I'll let you work your own marriage metaphor here. I'm just the guy drinking the Kool-Aid.

11:58 I pour the remainder out, open my new bottle, and grab a new glass. I hear Dick Clark croak out the last 5 seconds from my office as I quickly pour. "Happy New Year!" I toast the future, the unknown, and 2008. "Whatever lies ahead, here's to you!" I tip it back and fill it again. It tastes of good fruit, and bubbles with promise...

So I woke up this morning. My cold is gone. I think the all-out chicken and champagne assault sent it scrambling for safer terrain. My head hates Thought Process B, but I don't know. It was kinda cathartic. I feel good about 08. Now excuse me, I'm gonna go have some more soup. I gotta get my strength up for whatever Thought Process B has roped me into.

Oooooh sparklie

Happy new years!

From me to you: may 2008 bring all the joy of your dreams to reality.