In Which The Author Was About To List All The Things He Had Hoped For When He Realized That He Was Much Better Off Getting His Readers A New Year Resolution Instead

So.

May your twenty o eight be filled with mystical magic and delicious dreams and monkey madness. I hope you read some really fine books and smooch someone who thinks you’re wonderful, and don’t forget to make some art. Write or draw or build or photograph or sing or live as only you can. And I hope, somewhere in twenty o eight, you surprise yourself.