I few days ago I had reached my maximum filth point; that point where I can no longer cope with the unbelievably disgusting condition in which I typically keep my apartment. I gave the place a two day, hardcore, smack-down clean up. I mean a ‘move the furniture, scrub the walls/window frames/door jams, shampoo the carpets, get on your hands and knees and wash the floors because hand mops just do the job well enough’ sort of a clean. I’ve decided (we’ll see how long this lasts) to implement a no street shoes in the apartment policy, asian-style.

Last year, quite by mistake, I ended up actually fulfilling a new years resolution for the first time in my life. I had met up with a group of friends, on a day that I was reeling from a particularly heinous hangover, and one in the group was doing this stupid/lame/clever thing where she was forcing everyone to write out a new years resolution on a piece of paper, which she then photographed. I had long ago forgotten what I had written, and she recently showed me the picture. There I was, green and sickly, holding up a piece of paper that said “DRINK LESS SCOTCH.”

A month later, for reasons completely unrelated to resolutions nonsense, I did give up the hooch, and probably/hopefully for good. Blah blah blah, puppy dogs and hugs *BARF* I smoke crack now, and turn tricks in alleyways to pay for my new much cooler habit. No more hangovers, but boy are my knees bloody. On the positive side, I’m not miserable anymore, no longer feel persistently self poisoned, and have completely lost my gag reflex. I’m liking the new life of a hooch-free male alleyway crack whore, and did it without having to listen to a bunch of whiny, cult loving twelve steppers falsely blame their ‘powerlessness’ for their own poor decisions. “Yay me” and “screw them” with one big, self congratulatory “Rah.”

Anyway, I’m giving the whole ‘resolution’ thing a try this year. I will no longer live in filth. From this day forward, my living space will hopefully be as clean as an Amsterdam prostitute after a federally mandated medical examination. I will no longer track broken caps, street feces and syringe needles in on the bottom of my shoes. I will keep my floors clean enough that I would be willing to lick whipped cream and jelly off of them. God knows I’ve licked worse and less familiar things in my day (which, incidentally, is another far less formal resolution of mine. Never again will I lick a floor without knowing said floor’s last name, at least).

So far, I’m two days into my ‘no shoes in the house like I’m Korean or something’ experiment. When I got home last night, and was putting on house slippers, I had a startling revelation. I know it has been a few years since I’ve been able to claim to be even remotely punk rock, but somewhere along the way, my ‘not drinking and putting on slippers’ ass became Mister Rogers... well except for that whole ‘male alleyway crack whore’ thing.