Well, folks, the week's made it to a close, and my plan — Did I mention my plan to post a daily entry about some product that I'd be reporting on during CES, or were you able to discern what I meant to do without my having to say it? — failed. Yeah, that plan, like so many other 2006 plans, came to an abrupt end soon after it began. I'm beginning to think that some people just aren't made to make plans. And I might be one of those people. Though a plan can be symbolic of so many wonderful things, and I think it's those things that I'm really attracted to — the act of making a plan, to my mind, holds no special charm — the things which have brought the most joy to my life came with no clever plan. They were big, beautiful surprises.
Like love, you know? And how can you plan for that? Like meeting a certain someone at a small dive bar — The Charleston — in a neighborhood neither of you spend much time in at all — Williamsburg (Brooklyn, not Virginia) — whose ceilings (the bar's, I mean, not the neighborhood's) are scattered with pink and purple balloons and whose jukebox glows with 1980s classics, where the old owner puts on a lightshow while the bands play against an exposed-brick wall with a cardboard cutout of a white-winged Elvis strumming happily along. Who could plan for that?
Not me, not anyone.
Of course, some things you can plan for. I, for instance, plan on staying away from work for about a week or so. These types of things never happened before I fell in love. So it goes.
Happy holidays.
