I’ve been back from another lovely (but snowy) trip home and trying in vain to wrap my head around the concept that yet another year has already slouched its way into the history books.
2007 is officially in the house, but for me this will be the Year of Bond, where I try to live every day like 007 would. I’ve already quit smoking, I don’t drink, and I stopped inhaling / eating / injecting / licking illegal substances years ago, so the only self-destructive thing left for me is to strut around like I’m wearing an extra hairy man-vest, insist to random women I meet that I have the sexual prowess of an engorged leprechaun, and generally act like a completely masculine, bungee-jumping, machismo-sprewing man basket.
Ahem. That’s what happens when I write stream-of-consciousness after watching the preview for Casino Royale.
Actually, I’ve decided that this year will be the year I try to not screw shit up.
