I shouldn’t start the 2010’s on a negative note, so let’s consider this 2009’s last gasp of cynicism.

I hate New Year’s.

The ever-growing popular disdain for the Christmas season still somewhat eludes me because I’ve always felt like there were millions of ways to celebrate. But one week later, if you’re not in a crowded pub or hall, clinking glasses and singing “Auld Lang Syne” at THE EXACT RIGHT MOMENT, then you’re doing it wrong. No thanks.

But among the more festive end-of-year trappings come hundreds of equally tiresome retrospective lists and unrealistic resolutions- shallow rituals that serve as poor stand-ins for a neatly inventoried past and well-planned futures. The problem is that this assumes life is a series of dominoes to knock down. As if there’s some master list of tasks- defined by society our our own private delusions- that will bring enlightenment or happiness or glory at the end of a wacky, winding to-do list. We all know life isn’t that simple, but we continue to torture ourselves, and that’s the real travesty of the holiday. That and the drunk driving.

Still, while it may technically be arbitrary, the passing of a year- let alone a decade- can’t really be ignored in modern society. The fact that I’m writing this at all probably proves that, so screw it, here’s my goal for 2010: no, large, sweeping, personal goals. My happiest moments in life so far were mostly accidental, and since I have to operate within schedules for the day-to-day minutiae of life, any kind of master plan seems wrong.

I also want to pay off my car.