Accomplishments, if you can call them that, and a grand frustration.

So, I did some things in 2008.

I was Crispin Glover's photo elf.

I got to see Xanadu on Broadway.

I had a political theory proven right within thirty minutes of McCain's concession speech.

I've made a successful go of not having channels or the Internet in my home.

I finally lost the Christmas spirit completely.

I read all of the Dune books.

I designed curricula for three different possible Cinema Studies classes.

I had two of my photographs published in an international publication (Remix Magazine, December 2008 issue).

I invested locally in two start-up businesses.

I got my certification as a sexually healthy human being (which everyone should do).

I learned how to drive a stick shift.

I survived (barely) the scuttling of All The Rage.

I created this blog.

I saw Bette Midler in Las Vegas.

I had an amazing interview/ongoing adventure with Canadian filmmaker Guy Maddin.

I learned that Caesar's Pizza really is the best in Nashville.

I read all the Harry Potter books.

I soldiered on after my house flooded.

I went to the one local wedding I was invited to, but still bear some grumbly rage at the six or seven I was not invited to.

I added Naproxen and Flexeril to my pharmacopia because of freaky biofeedback in my arms.

I saw three hundred and eighty-nine films.

I bid farewell to Constacia, my 1996 Pontiac Grand Prix, and welcomed Brangwen, my 1990 Saab 900.

I lost my weight loss mojo.

I read all the Sookie Stackhouse books.

I never missed a scheduled work shift.

I'm apparently being added to a decently prestigious survey of critics (More on this as it develops).

And despite all this, I still haven't been able to finish the first Twilight book. I've been trying since the day I saw the movie, and I'm still a hundred and fifty or so pages from the end. I've never had this happen with a book before, and I'm utterly flummoxed. I'll say this, though, for Stephenie Meyer; she's the first author who made me think that her book could have its own drinking game, and here's how you do it: everytime Edward says "tell me what you're thinking," you take a drink. Though it's not my fault if you die of alcohol poisioning before anything happens in the book, which you will.