Using his mysterious meme powers, the redoubtable C.T.S. Crumlish has compelled me to publish here the first line of my first blog entry from every month in 2007. I am nothing if not compliant, so here they are, with comments.

“I don’t necessarily want to take credit for the miraculous resurrection of Jackie Earle Haley.”
(Actually, I did.)

“After deliberating for thirty-nine days, as required by law, I am ready to name my album of the year for 2006.”
(It was Game Theory by the Roots, and I have no regrets about that pick. Fucking fantastic album.)

“So, yes, it’s been a while. I missed you too, blog.”
(This was a particularly fallow blogging period. In fact this year as a whole was pretty spotty. I would feel bad about this, if it wasn’t due to having somewhat more of a life lately.)

“I feel violated.”
(The reference was to a TV ad starring Sheryl Crow, but it tends to happen anytime I am forced to watch commercials. Fortunately, thanks to the magic of DVR, this rarely happens anymore.)

“These are weird, wild times here in the city some call ‘Golden State.’ “
(This was written on the eve of Game 6 between the Warriors and the Dallas Mavericks, which the W’s went on to win to clinch the series. Greatest sports moment of my life since the Phillies won the World Series in 1980.)

“Since viewing last night’s penultimate episode of The Sopranos (and how often do you get to use the word “penultimate,” accurately anyway, in your daily discourse?), I have been mulling over a theory that is as yet half-formed, or maybe half-baked.”
(This is technically the second entry in June. The first was a blogiversary year-in-review type thing, and to cite it here would possibly lead into an infinite loop that I would never escape from. The mention of The Sopranos reminds me that I meant to write about the final episode and never did. For the record, I was in favor.)

“I stand here before you today to sing the praises of Television.”
(That’s Television the rock band, not to be confused with television the medium, the Televison Personalities, TV on the Radio, or the TV dinner.)

“So, yeah, I haven’t been writing much lately, but there’s a good reason for it: I am terribly worried about the Forths.”
(Because I am at heart a twisted bastard, I was somewhat disappointed that this Christmas didn’t find Ted Forth indiscriminately mowing down one victim after another at Sally’s office holiday party, then turning the gun on himself. Instead, he seems to have recovered some measure of self-esteem with a seasonal job at a toy store. Meanwhile, Brad finally kissed Toni Daytona, can you believe it? And don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.)

“Hey blood, you can’t be callin’ my phone hella times. I got minutes.”
(No further comment necessary.)

“All the music biz talk these days is about Radiohead, how they’ve broken free of the industry by selling their new album without the help (or is it, now, burden?) of a record company.”
(I finally heard this album on a drive to Kona, and was underwhelmed. I wish Radiohead would do something really revolutionary and cheer the hell up.)

“As has happened so often lately, I will not be writing today (except for this paragraph, and maybe one or two more).”
(Almost two months in, the writers’ strike is really starting to hurt. No more The Office. No more 30 Rock. Oh, the humanity!)

“In our thirteenth day on the big island of Hawai’i, we seem to have fallen into a tropical stupor.”
(And let me take this opportunity to thank everybody who made this trip, this blog, and this year possible. The lovely Leila and family. Mom and Jim. Dad and Cindy. Jim and Colleen. Knox. Dan, Barbara, Susannah, and Sam. B and X. Aaron and Laura. Sergio and Tatia. Rod and Maya. Delano. Robert and Barbara. James and Dorothy. The TPA. The Warriors. And you, if I haven’t mentioned you already. Wishing you peace and love and a great 2008. End transmission.)