A Brutal and Petty Year: Some 2024 New Year's Disillusions

Another year down the pooper. Instead of New Year’s Resolutions, which are things we hope will happen in the coming year, I am going this year with New Year’s Disillusions, which are things that I hope stop happening/or happen less often as we march like lemmings into the coming year of dread.

First off, it’s an election year. Maybe we can do away with that and save ourselves so much agita. Elections used to be cool but lately they’re just one nightmare scenario after another. Let’s get rid of them. Instead of having two bumblefucks compete for the presidency, let’s throw some everyday American of 35 years or older into the White House and see how they do. They only additional qualification they must have is that they don’t want the job. You have to figure any decision that gets to the President’s desk is probably 50/50 anyway. How badly can any of us mess up 50/50 decisions? But just to give them extra motivation, we’ll tie their use of Air Force 1 to their job performance. If they do well, they get to use the plane. If not, Greyhound.

Second, let’s spend a little less time on Taylor Swift in 2024. Don’t get me wrong: I like Taylor Swift just fine and I do not wish us to spend no time on Taylor Swift. I’m just suggesting we cut it back by, let’s say, 30%. Even a small reduction like that would pay big dividends for the rest of us. I think a lot of people would appreciate it, including probably Taylor herself. Maybe she’ll do us all a favor and squirrel herself away in the studio or something this year. But God forbid she marries that football player this year. Then we’re all fucked.

Burgers. 2024 should be the year we stop comparing which burger chains make the best burgers. Everybody’s going to have their favorites and it’s a much beloved topic of conversation, but let’s give it a rest this year. You like In-n-Out, somebody else likes Shake Shack. Great. We don’t need to talk about it. We don’t need to compare their fries. We can just accept that each of us has a personal preference and those personal preferences don’t need to be rehashed at every goddamned opportunity. In fact, we could extend this idea to movies, songs, books, and everything else. No loud opinions in 2024.

The general theme for 2024: Shh.

Another New Year’s Disillusion: I would like this year to be the year my wife stops buying stupid shit off of Instagram. If you ever scroll through Instagram and wonder who the hell is buying all this stupid shit, the answer is my wife. Every couple of weeks, she will have some new energy drink or illuminated face mask. “Where did this come from?” I will ask and she will respond, “I got it off Instagram,” and then she will tell me why it’s a dumb product she should not have purchased and I will encourage her to stop buying stupid shit off of Instagram and she will tell me she will. The next week we repeat the cycle. This has been going on for years.

No new celebrities in 2024. For God’s sake, give us all a minute to try to catch up on the ones we’ve already got. Their numbers are increasing faster than any culture can possibly absord. Let’s just take a yearlong break so people can catch up on the ones whose names all sound like they were created by ChatGPT. Jacob Elordi? Is that somebody? What about Tyla? Hard to say – let’s just take a year to get it all sorted and to clear out the backlog. Then, when 2025 kicks in, we can go back to promoting random attractive people to celebrities, and we can give them an extra year of eligibility as compensation for making them sit out the season. Sound fair?

No March in 2024. Nothing good ever happens in March. It’s kind of a wasted month as we wait for spring to kick in good and proper. Maybe we do away with it and, instead, have two Junes. June is a far more beloved month due to the promise of sunny days and school vacations. We could get this done one of two ways: either we go January, February, June, April, May, June. Or we go January, February, April, May, June, June. I’ll leave it to brighter minds than mine to figure out the most efficient way to make it happen, but “No March, 2024” seems like a no-brainer. If, for whatever reason, it doesn’t work out, we bring back March in 2025 no harm, no foul.

Phone calls: eliminated in 2024. Got something to say? Text, email, or letter. We don’t need to talk about it. Whatever is on your mind can be better communicated through the power of the written word. That’s why I didn’t call you to discuss this list of New Year’s Disillusions. I wrote it down like a proper gentleman. In fact, I’d be ok with eliminating all verbal conversation in 2024. There can be exceptions, of course: asking who farted, reporting a burglary to the authorities, or yelling Yahtzee. Beyond that, I see no reason to speak.

Kale Caesar salads: off the menu in 2024. I know kale is already on the way out as an au currant source of ruffage, but I still see too many kale Caesar salads on the menu even at this last date. Personally, I have no problem with kale. My problem comes from the corruption of the classic Caesar salad, which demands romaine and anchovies. Once we started bastardizing that recipe by removing the anchovies, it was inevitable that we would eventually replace the romaine. Yes, you need fiber. Yes, kale is an excellent source of all kinds of nutrients. But let’s not pretend a Caesar is a Caesar if the base green is kale. That’s just disrespectful, it's gone on too long, and it has to stop.

Finally, I hope 2024 is the year we are finally able to look each other in the eye at its conclusion and say, with equal surprise and relief in our voices, “That wasn’t so bad.” Do I think that will be the case? Absolutely not. Recent history has shown us that each year ramps up the previous year’s “What the fuckedness” quotient by a factor of 2 or 3. I suspect 2024 will be no different, but how lovely it would be to have a respite. A year of relative sanity, greater peace, and falling real estate prices. Unlikely on any front, of course which is why I am advocating for a “No March, 2024” More realistic than hoping for greater goodwill.

However you acknowledge the new year, I hope you do so in peace and comfort and style. Better days are almost certainly not ahead, but better outfits may be. If I have a wish for all of you in the coming months, it is that you stay sane in what promises to be a brutal and petty year. And if you can’t stay sane, stay drugged.