Back in the Ooze

We’re nearly done with with the decade and we never decided what to call it. The oughts never took on. It makes us sound like Grandpa Simpson, you know. I myself will call them the 00s, pronounced “Ooze,” as in, “remember the ooze?” and “I spent most of the ooze in Minneapolis.”

So the end of a decade means two things. One, an increasing number of reflexive lists, enummerating the best of this and the most memorable of that. Two, an increasingly uninteresting debate about whether or not the 0 year is part of a new or the last decade. I’ve decided to resist doing either, but feel compelled to recap the last ten years.

It was a pretty good stretch for me, personally — houses bought, wives married, books published, cats adopted, and some 3653 days met head on and made through. It’s true that some of my auld acquaintances seas between us braid hae, but new ones have gies mine a hand to tak  a right gude-willy waught, as some drunk Scottish guy once shouted in my ear.

The world had it rough, so I keep my gloating to a minimum. The falling of the World Trade Center, the flood in New Orleans, the boxing day tsunami, various pandemics, and the global recession are likely to dominate the chapter on this period in history books. The first African American  U.S. president, the Harry Potter craze, and the rise of the LOL Cat added a silver lining of sorts, but it’s still a pretty gray cloud. Or a grayish ooze, if you will.

I’ll be my pint-stowp yet, in the wish that the next 10 years are as good to everyone as the last 10 were to me. And at least we don’t have to wonder what to call them.

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