New Goat Day
What follows is, in a word, ridiculous. But it's also kind of telling.
The New Goat Day 'series' was piloted in April of 2015, thanks to twelve photographs of goats climbing Argan trees in Morocco. Some genius (even I'm not sure if I'm being facetious here) organized these twelve photos into a wall calendar, making the first day of each month just that much brighter for a goob like myself. Goats are funny animals. Doubly so among the treetops. I couldn't help myself, I had to share. And I had to be bombastic in how I did so. So things grew increasingly ridiculous right off the bat.
But within a month, I had started to develop an idea, whether or not I really wanted to acknowledge it (I did not). I was going to give legitimacy to the absurd monthly display by tying the goat photos to whatever we were all collectively experiencing at that time, be it here in the Dallas area, or nation-wide. Backed by pictures of tree'd goats and face-palmingly inflated language, I could actually try to make a few points without coming across as being too preachy. Splendidly passive-aggressive, right?
The problem was that I kind of outpaced my own ante within just a few months. I don't necessarily mean that as self-praise or an undeserved sense of accomplishment, but rather to admit that I wasn't sure where to go next. One month, I'm making fun of Kevin Costner and telling you to go mow the grass, the next month I'm dismissing anti-patriotic counter-culturalists or encouraging self-education by espousing the virtues of tikka masala.
The problem was that I kind of outpaced my own ante within just a few months. I don't necessarily mean that as self-praise or an undeserved sense of accomplishment, but rather to admit that I wasn't sure where to go next. One month, I'm making fun of Kevin Costner and telling you to go mow the grass, the next month I'm dismissing anti-patriotic counter-culturalists or encouraging self-education by espousing the virtues of tikka masala.
Regardless of whether many people cared or noticed, I suddenly felt obligated to keep up the pace. I set reminder alerts on my digital calendar so that I wouldn't let New Goat Day pass by without rightful tribute. I made a short-list of goativational topics, as wells as rants ranging from the hysteria of Jade Helm conspiratorialists, to how ridiculous you people looked when you lost your minds over a lion you'd never heard of being shot dead in a country you would never read a book about, much less visit. I hadn't intended to assign myself homework back when I made the original goat-post on April 1st. But here I'd turned a joke into an obligation.
This likely boils down to the vanity which is inherent in writing (a topic I hope to explore further in future posts, but if you're more immediately curious, go read the first third of George Orwell's "Why I Write, because it's stellar). Nonetheless, it exhausted me to think of new and (hopefully) creative ways to tie goat pictures to greater points about life, the Universe, and everything. When I paired this with the self-defeating certitude that I was the only person thinking about New Goat Day (<--hilarious sentence fragment), I shrugged and moved on -- for now.
The short-lived New Goat Day series...
...Behold.
04.01.2015
Late last year, my brother gave me a calendar featuring pictures of goats in trees. As the first quarter of 2015 has hurried by, I have found myself eagerly anticipating the first day of each month -- which I've come to know as 'New Goat Day' -- upon which I will reveal the heroically treed goat of said month.
Late last year, my brother gave me a calendar featuring pictures of goats in trees. As the first quarter of 2015 has hurried by, I have found myself eagerly anticipating the first day of each month -- which I've come to know as 'New Goat Day' -- upon which I will reveal the heroically treed goat of said month.
Going forward, I will be sharing New Goat Day with you, People of Facebook, whether or not you want me to.
Why am I doing this? First of all: goats are in trees and we have photographic evidence (I feel like this should be reason enough). Secondly: we can pretend they're motivating (they're not) and add cheesy poster-sayings like "Hang in There!" But perhaps most importantly, I'm doing this because it's the internet, and at the core of our being, we know that this is what the internet is for. I'm sorry for ending that last sentence with a preposition.
Without further ado, New Goat Day, April 2015.
Behold.
05.01.2015
Good morning, People of BookedFaces.
Today we embark upon a thirty-one day journey unto the Memorial (U.S.) month of May.
For some of us, such as my friends and family back in Florida, May is merely the calm before the summer-tourist storm, when your home town is set upon by countless 30-A-sticker-sporting SUVs full of the yuppiest masses Tennessee, Georgia, Mississippi, and Louisiana can assemble, as well as those things that crawl out of Alabama. For others, it is but the final breaths of a relatively wet, cool spring here in Dallas, before our fiery descent into the burning pit of despair known as "Set the AC to 'Pluto' and Hang on Tight" (or "summer," to the layperson).
What we find is that while we're sure May is a lovely month, we know that we've entered a holding pattern. We know that just on the other side of Memorial Day, Hell awaits -- or more torturously, tourists.
But when did this happen? May used to be a month of happy childhood anticipation. Summer vacation, water balloon fights, and Slip'n'Slide-induced concussions were just beyond our grasp and edging closer by the hour. The near future was full of sunburnt promise.
But some day, we turn a corner. Perhaps after college, perhaps after 30, I'm not sure which, we begin to long only for Spring and Fall. Cynicism, laziness, & melanoma turn summer into a mixed bag of discomfort and flip flops, which have never before been used in the same sentence. Anticipation blends with anxiety and we pause. We know that beaches abound in summer, but we also know that beach sand finds crevasses and doesn't let go. Fear sullies our joy. Heat dampens our excitement. The sunscreen spray runs out, but our right arm has yet to be coated.
Well not this summer, BookFacers. This summer, we embrace our brutal, sunny overlord. This summer, we awkwardly toss frisbees into strangers' picnics. This summer, we sit in traffic on Highway 98 and we like it, dammit. This summer, we buy that extra spray can of sunscreen that our right arm deserves.
And this summer, we climb trees with our hooves.
I give you, New Goat Day, May 2015.
Behold.
06.01.2015
Good morning, Libro de Caras. June is upon you.
After spending the entire month of May in what felt like a real-life prequel to Kevin Costner’s 1995 epic (failure) Waterworld, the sun has escaped its cumulonimbus captivity, and those of us here in Texas are descending from higher ground, ready to squeegee onward. At first, it was easy to joke about what was happening, and how we needed a bigger boat, maybe even an ark. Or how we should at least buy some floaties. But the rain kept coming, and everything everywhere overflowed. Commuters were left stranded, homes were destroyed, and, tragically, people lost their lives. No, this wasn’t Katrina’s New Orleans or Sandy’s New York, but things indeed grew very dark around here. And wet. Like, really freaking wet.
But we’re beyond it now, and while it won’t put lives back together or bring back those who were lost, the 10-day forecast shows nothing but sunshine. It seems many if not most of us were nominally affected by Texas’ First Annual Monsoon Season, and are now just thankful for the warm, sunny days before us. So let’s try to look forward with some positivity. I mean, sure, I could go all mainstream-fear-mongering-
We’re looking at what I believe are cooler-than-normal temperatures for this time of the year, and the lakes are full – if not overflowing – for the first time in years. And everything is green -- everything. Yes, we normally have lovely spring and fall seasons here in Dallas, but there is no shortage of brown or yellow scenery during our typically hot, dry summers. But this is looking like one of those notable summers where plant life is in abundance, and everything looks comparatively green and bright. The trees are full and thriving, the shrubbery is robust, and … look, dude, someone needs to get out there and mow the lawn. It’s getting out of hand. I mean, this is how we get snakes, chief. Is that what you want? Snakes?
It’s time to come down from higher ground, fire up the grass-chomper, and get back to work. After all, it’s about to get hot and scalp-scorchingly sunny, so you’re probably better off under the tree, rather than on top.
New Goat Day, June 2015.
Behold.
07.01.2015
It's July 1st, kids.
Which means we've made the turn and are ready to play the back nine of 2015. I mean, maybe July 1st isn't really beyond the halfway mark of a full calendar year, what with February being so adorably diminutive. Then again, we did experience a "leap second" on June 30th. I guess that makes up for the truncated 2nd month. But hey, I graduated high school -- and even college -- quite some time ago, and am thereby excused from doing math ever again.
Getting back to the point -- July 1st. It's the start of the second half. Or maybe we can call it the end of the first half, and consider July 4th to be the halftime show. Which is fun. Because with the holiday weekend looming, many of us are preparing to take a little breather. In most cases, said breather is bound to involve gathering with friends and/or family for some kind of recreational goodness. Maybe you're into camping, because you hate showers and air conditioning. Or maybe you'll fire up the income-absorbing wallet-violator you refer to as your "boat." The grill, the smoker, the oven... they're all ready and willing.
What I'm saying is that you've got options, bud.
And to what do we owe this lovely, get-together-laden party time? Well, you see kids, nearly two-and-a-half centuries ago, an eventual World Champion known as America (WOOO!) was entering its rookie season. And when you make your career debut by giving the middle finger to a veteran all-star like England during your home-run trot, your people are probably going to eat-meat-and-drink-beer about it on an annual basis.
But even World Champions suffer injuries sometimes, or go through unwieldy contract negotiations. Their good name is sullied by counter-culture naysayers, embarrassing nightlife antics, or accusations of performance-enhancing supplements. Maybe they stumble through some guerrilla warfare thing in a southeast Asia, or peep through a hole in the fence while France is sunbathing. Nobody's perfect, man. But when they step up to the plate in the bottom of the ninth with the score tied at whatever, all we're thinking about is how valuable they are in clutch situations, and how World Champion here is the only one we want coming to the plate at a time like this. I mean, they not only smoked those roid-raged central European bad guys back in the 40's -- they then turned right around and invented Van freaking Halen.
World Champion is your go-to guy, and above all the nitpicking, that's what July 4th is about -- winning the big ones, and inventing Van Halen.
And still, there's always that one guy. The one with an opinion. On everything. And really, that's not a big deal, we all have opinions, right? But I'm talking about Mr. WhoInvitedHim, spouting off his political dissension and cultural negativity even on the best of days (i.e. July 4th). The guy who can't just give World Champion a simple head-nod, but rather has to bring up that one thing. Or that other thing. Whatever, man. Burn that guy's burger. Dump the ice out of his cooler. 'Accidentally' knock his cell phone into the pool. But most importantly, make sure you're NOT that guy. No blabbering away about cultural, political, or foreign affair nastiness, generally showing your ass while everyone else stares awkwardly in different directions. If you DO find yourself doing this, immediately apologize, offer a free gut-punch to a group representative, and rightfully cork your facehole with a bratwurst. Then join the rest of us in general balls-to-the-wall patriotic positivity for a day or so. Up top, brah.
It's time to blow out the candles, America. You know, after you catch your breath from rounding the bases a billion times.
New Goat Day, July 2015
Behold.
Getting back to the point -- July 1st. It's the start of the second half. Or maybe we can call it the end of the first half, and consider July 4th to be the halftime show. Which is fun. Because with the holiday weekend looming, many of us are preparing to take a little breather. In most cases, said breather is bound to involve gathering with friends and/or family for some kind of recreational goodness. Maybe you're into camping, because you hate showers and air conditioning. Or maybe you'll fire up the income-absorbing wallet-violator you refer to as your "boat." The grill, the smoker, the oven... they're all ready and willing.
What I'm saying is that you've got options, bud.
And to what do we owe this lovely, get-together-laden party time? Well, you see kids, nearly two-and-a-half centuries ago, an eventual World Champion known as America (WOOO!) was entering its rookie season. And when you make your career debut by giving the middle finger to a veteran all-star like England during your home-run trot, your people are probably going to eat-meat-and-drink-beer about it on an annual basis.
But even World Champions suffer injuries sometimes, or go through unwieldy contract negotiations. Their good name is sullied by counter-culture naysayers, embarrassing nightlife antics, or accusations of performance-enhancing supplements. Maybe they stumble through some guerrilla warfare thing in a southeast Asia, or peep through a hole in the fence while France is sunbathing. Nobody's perfect, man. But when they step up to the plate in the bottom of the ninth with the score tied at whatever, all we're thinking about is how valuable they are in clutch situations, and how World Champion here is the only one we want coming to the plate at a time like this. I mean, they not only smoked those roid-raged central European bad guys back in the 40's -- they then turned right around and invented Van freaking Halen.
World Champion is your go-to guy, and above all the nitpicking, that's what July 4th is about -- winning the big ones, and inventing Van Halen.
And still, there's always that one guy. The one with an opinion. On everything. And really, that's not a big deal, we all have opinions, right? But I'm talking about Mr. WhoInvitedHim, spouting off his political dissension and cultural negativity even on the best of days (i.e. July 4th). The guy who can't just give World Champion a simple head-nod, but rather has to bring up that one thing. Or that other thing. Whatever, man. Burn that guy's burger. Dump the ice out of his cooler. 'Accidentally' knock his cell phone into the pool. But most importantly, make sure you're NOT that guy. No blabbering away about cultural, political, or foreign affair nastiness, generally showing your ass while everyone else stares awkwardly in different directions. If you DO find yourself doing this, immediately apologize, offer a free gut-punch to a group representative, and rightfully cork your facehole with a bratwurst. Then join the rest of us in general balls-to-the-wall patriotic positivity for a day or so. Up top, brah.
It's time to blow out the candles, America. You know, after you catch your breath from rounding the bases a billion times.
New Goat Day, July 2015
Behold.
08.03.2015
August’s New Goat Day slipped past us this weekend with exactly zero fanfare. This has surprised no one at all, and has left everyone both unaware and uninterested. That being the case, I’m quite certain that the same number of people (zero) will be upset that I’ve gone full-Kurt-Russell, making the Executive Decision to ‘observe’ New Goat Day on Monday, August 3rd.
As New Goat Day’s lone carnival barker, I was concerned with how to manage the would-be holiday arriving on a weekend. The world’s most negligible case of megalomania left me feeling responsible for bringing arbor-bound bleaters to your virtual doorstep. Delusions of grandeur convinced me that the masses would notice a lapse in reporting and celebrating the event. Reality proved neither of these to be worthy of so much as a casual mention.
You would think admitting this would be embarrassing. And you would be right.
Over the weekend, I finally indulged my girlfriend’s not-insignificant affinity for Indian cuisine. For years now, I’ve declined her requests to visit various Indian restaurants in and around Dallas, typically claiming to be too hungry to take a chance on eating anything foreign. This was a very stupid excuse, as I later found myself waddling out of the restaurant, my hunger thoroughly bludgeoned by delicious foodstuffs I could not begin to pronounce. Rather than feeling that I’d simply earned myself a couple of weeks of food-adventure purgatory, I felt like I’d just been introduced to yet another room in the Funhouse of Nom. I had been thrust upon higher branches, finally able to recognize the broader horizon(s) before me.
You might think that this belated discovery and moment of personal growth would be embarrassing. And you would again be right.
That’s where the New Goat Day parallel materialized.
What I mean is that I should have figured this out sooner. I should have challenged my own picky-eater tendencies, my fear of the unknown, and perhaps my misunderstandings of basil, curry, and menus that read like collections of words that Dr. Seuss threw out. And that’s what’s embarrassing, I think – that I persisted in being hesitant and afraid, even when neither were warranted. I’m 33 years old and acting like I’ve surmounted Everest because I slammed previously-unknown-yet-
But part of me is not really embarrassed, because part of me that remembers we should always be looking to grow a little bit, and to understand a little bit more -- even if we’re a little late in doing so. Though this is a relatively minor (and wildly overdue) moment of just such growth and self-education, it is indeed a microcosm of greater opportunities for both. It’s a metaphor for assuming that all we see is all that is, and that we’re bound to the dirt we currently hoof. I’m not making a vague motivational speech here, this isn’t about reaching for the stars – they’re really hot and probably painful to touch, anyway. It’s about not being afraid to occasionally check the strength of a higher branch, and to see what else is out there. It’s probably not just the leaves before us and the gravitational tug of the planet below, but rather a tasty, curry-laden horizon. Spread over a bed of basmati rice.
New Goat Day, August 2015.
Behold.
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