I fear this last post of 2008 will finally reveal the chasms of bizarrity in my soul, but I must confess this about myself: for the past six years, I have been the first person in EST to say the word "goulash" in the New Year. Meaning, instead of saying "Happy New Years!" joyously and kissing the nearest reasonably attractive person and trying to avoid the stroke slurs of a makeup-crusted Dick Clark on T.V. and searching the T.V. guide for the Charles Manson documentary that's supposed to come on at 1 a.m., I have said "goulash" instead. It's not much, but it makes me feel special. It also makes me feel closer to Raskolnikov, whom I've had a crush on since 7th grade when I started this tradition. I would go so far as to say my 7th grade love of Raskolnikov is akin to a community college pothead's love of Holden Caulfield.
A strong, inexplicable bond to a literary antihero is like nothing else, really.