2004, FUCK YEAH!

It is for all those reasons and cosmic justice that I would like to, in advance, declare 2004 my bitch and defy it to prove me wrong. Apartment. Woman. Frightening amount of joy. Book it.--Me, one year ago

Finally, you've made more progress this year than you have since I've known you. You've done things too, y'know. Oh, sure, you didn't leave on a jet plane and don't know if you'll be back again, but you took (for you) some major steps. It may not seem like it at the moment, but come New Year's I predict you'll be writing about 04 as The Year Butch Moved Forward.--Matt Spaulding, October 18th

I'm blowing up like you thought I would/call the crib, same number, same hood, it's all good.--Biggie, In the Way Back When

Well, not all that's true: you could call the crib, get the same number and same hood, but I've evolved to a different number and the same number in the same hood is a lot less likely to get you to me.

Right before I started this I was walking down the hallway I'd been in a thousand times. The lights were out. But I knew my way, and didn't stumble. In a bit, my arm shot out, and flipped the switch to cue the light.

And there's the year in a forty-five second nutshell. After hitting a nadir, and starting to move forward last year, '04 will be in fact the year I made the Leap. Oh, sure, I may blow up in '05, get the Alba restraining order lifted in '10, presidency in '20. But this year started off with a shock, sprinkled in a few more, and ended (well, will end) with me throwing a New Year's Eve bash that this writer can only hope doesn't land him in the new year with a roomate named Bubba who wants to dance with him.

Despite no apartment and not nearly enough of the novel, this year got me out of my shell. It got me Cristal and a big-ass stupid grin on my face I thought the Jaws of Life would have to remove. It got me a cell phone only 19 years behind the rest of the nation, turing me quickly from the "Who cares?" to the "Oh, God, been two minutes...must ogle phone...and download more ringtones..." camp. (Imagine if I'd shelled out for the cameraphone!) It got me the Howard Dean role of bloggers running for president, the eternal love of Kitana Baker and the eternal enmity of Christy Hemme, a best friend back after 12 years, scars (one, at least) that'll never heal from eight hours straight of partying as Lil' Jon on Halloween Eve, blown away by Garden State, A Tribe Called Quest absolutely pimping me out on the corner for drug money, rejected, dejected, elated, and, of course, massive cockblockery.

I wouldn't've traded it for nuthin' short of 8 figures.

So, since I hit the note last year, what do I see for me in the Zero Cinco?

The point when you're falling is to stop. The point when you stop is not to regress. The point when you don't regress is to start moving forward.

The point when you move forward is to stop walking towards the prize and get runnin'.

Happy New Year, y'all.

Ambient music: Young Gunz - Friday Night