What a hell of a year.

It wasn’t the best of times, nor the worst of times. That was 2014, and this is neither the time nor place for the stories of that year – they belong in a chapter of their own in my memoirs and the biographies about me. But it was great times and terrible times.

This is the year I started working for Wisecrack. I applied on Christmas day, had an interview two days later with one of the celebrities I’ve most admired for years, Jared Bauer – now my boss and a friend – and was told to write a sample script to prove my chops. By January 9^th that throwaway script had become a real video, the fastest turnaround between being hired and producing content for the company. Since then I’ve been given the opportunity to reach hundreds of thousands of people with critiques of some of my most beloved creators in human history, including Alan Moore, Grant Morrison, and J.R.R. Tolkien. I’ve become a recurring guest on one of my favorite podcasts, Show Me the Meaning, where I’ve given my analysis of The Dark Knight, Batman v Superman, and Infinity War. I’ve consulted with a Marvel Comics writer for a script about what went wrong with the Justice League movie. And best of all, there’s so much more to come in 2019, including hopefully a panel at New York Comic Con!

I started January off right with an intimate celebration of the Feast Day of St. Matthew of Brunswick down in DC with six of my closest friends. Then I followed that up with perhaps the biggest mistake of the year. After hitting it off with truly one of the most beautiful and interesting women I’d ever met (and a ballerina no less!), I walked away because of invitations to the private party of a sorority at Rutgers. Chasing college co-eds instead of the real thing certainly set the tone for the year to come. It was far and away my most successful year romantically. Hell, I came damn close to finally winning the belt. Even when I was unsuccessful, there seems to have been some providential purpose behind it all. After I got super sick right before my biggest date of the year, she called to postpone for the full two weeks it took for me to recover, and when we finally did go out, I brought everything I had, so that I can look back at the pain of our parting knowing there was truly nothing I could have done otherwise. And I finally got closure on some past paramours so that I’ll never wonder what might have been. But God in His mysterious ways has also blessed me with some truly fear-for-my-life crazy chicks, between whom and my satiating success with the sane ones has allowed me to finally call a close to these past four years of hedonistic pursuits of the flesh. With the New Year comes a new me, finally ready to settle down. I won’t be making the same mistake as last January.

It was also the year I lost my favorite cowboy hat. And my apartment keys. And my car keys. And the shirt I was wearing. And several hours. All in one night, which was far from the only evening I regret having drank too much. It was the year I was attacked on election night. And hopefully not New Years night as well, though I’ve been warned that certain misinformed individuals aren’t exactly happy with the Cowboy and might try to get a bit rough and rowdy. But given the year that 2018 has been, that almost be an appropriate note to end on.

2018 has been a year of ambition and failure and of coming so close I could almost taste success. It’s the year an investor was nearly ready to put down $1.3 million for the rooftop bar I’d long envisioned owning. It’s the year my “stupid fingers” couldn’t learn the chords to a guitar that I was so sure would make the perfect accoutrement to my signature cowboy hat. Which would’ve been perfect. I’ve been legitimately mistaken for Tim McGraw literally dozens of times this year, including by Craig Robinson (Daryl from the Office) when he got plastered around town after performing stand-up at the stress Factory. It’s the year I never did write the book that was my one and only resolution going into it. It’s the year my knees just stopped working for months on end and I lost my abs for a long while. It’s the year that – against my physician’s express instructions – I performed invasive surgery on myself with no more medical training than a few YouTube videos and nothing for anesthetic save a wide-mouth bottle of whiskey. Don’t ask. It’s the year I went a little bit crazy.

2018 has been nearly the best of times and nearly the worst of times, and I’m nearly ready for it to be over. But it deserves a proper send off. So I’m going big tonight, and will hopefully see you all around town, ready to ring in 2019 right!