Over the last few years, I’ve become something that Jack Johnson sang about, Tony the Tiger promoted, and my friends hate – a flake. I agree to going to events, attending shows, training bears to dance, and grabbing bites to eat because I always want to do those things. I’m down for trying whatever, as long as the whatever doesn’t include babies – babies are gauche – but my initial reactions historically are not well thought out. I like doing too much and my eagerness to please has turned me into a constant cancellor, which is, unfortunately, not a step closer to my dream of being a chancellor of anything. I’m a poor planner and social hangout organizer, and I believe I have found the source of my scheduling inadequacies: calendars.
As a child, I was a big fan of Marvel Comics. Also, as I was a child, my parents were very astute at finding Christmas gifts that I thought were the shit that were merely colorful pieces of paper. Every year, I received Spider-Man posters, always awesome, always great poses, always artwork slightly cooler than the images on my Magic the Gathering creature cards. The other gift I received every year was a Marvel calendar. As a kid, easily the most important month was the month of your birthday, and I loved the location of my birthday. Black history month, shortest month of the year, a perfect distance between Christmas and the start of summer, and my birthday was only two days away from being on a leap year day (if I was born two years prior to or following the year I was actually born, so I was actually born on the second furthest day from a leap year, but as a kid, who gives a shit) – my month was to be respected! But every year, I’d rip the plastic off my calendar, with an excellently illustrated cover, and flip the one page to February, my month, the month of Harry, and find the worst pictures. Ice Man on a regular basis? That dude is just an icicle shaped like a human – I could look out my window and squint and see that if I really wanted to. It’s as if the calendar designers decided they hated February for its cold weather and ties to Valentine’s Day, and said, “If I’m miserable in the year’s second month, then any excited children born in February are going to be miserable too.” I could not accept this, so I boycotted. I’d receive my calendar, but never take it beyond the front cover.
To this day, I hate using calendars, and I’d like to place this blame on the calendar designers of my past, pissing on a child’s dream of a cool image to represent their cool month. And all the memories of these terrible images are taking up space in my head that could be containing more important information, like events I’ve already RSVP’d to, so I don’t continually agree to double-booking my evenings. All in all, I apologize to all of you who I’ve wronged and flaked on. I will get over my calendar issues, and I’ll start declining your invitations on the regular. When you send me a facebook invite, I will make a strong effort to select the Not Attending option so I don’t end up flaking out on you. I hope you keep my efforts in your prayers so that it may have a placibo effect on your perception of my effort and we can both be winners.