Columns that write themselves |

Columns that write themselves

Barry Smith

Dammit, here it is mid-January already and I totally forgot to write the wacky &quotNew Year’s resolution&quot column. I hate missing a seasonal opportunity like that, cause the wacky resolution column is one of those that practically writes itself. For instance:&quotWell, this year things are gonna be different. This is the year that I’m resolving to quit openly worshiping Satan.&quotSee? I didn’t write that. It wrote itself. Practically.The reason I missed this chance is that I have only now gotten around to mapping out my column year. Yes, as each new year begins I like to plan out my column topics, ideas and concepts for the coming year. Then I like to print that outline as an actual column, just like I’m doing today.And yes, this is one of those columns that practically wrote itself. But I had to type it.JANUARY: Write that &quotI plan my columns out well in advance&quot column.Again. Hope that no one ever discovers that I actually start writing about 20 minutes before my deadline.FEBRUARY: Do a clever series of columns written from the standpoint of my &quotpets,&quot only since I don’t have any pets, use various intestinal parasites instead. Hilarious! I can just see the little tapeworm mug shot now.MARCH: Spring. A VERY funny time of year. Springy things to be written about everywhere I look. No point in thinking about it too much just yet I’ll just know those funny, spring-related ideas when the time comes, and those spring columns will practically write themselves.APRIL: It’s muddy in the mountains, so I am likely to read and finish a book. Write about this exciting and unique experience.MAY: With any luck we’ll have invaded some new country by now, and I REALLY hope it works out so that I get to use my &quotNO BLOOD FOR OIL OF OLAY!&quot joke.JUNE: Summer. Yep. Plenty of funny things about summer. Maybe a solstice joke. Or two. Or maybe something that’s actually funny. About summer.JULY: OK, a whole series of columns where I make up meanings for words that I invent by adding prefixes to the word &quotpornography.&quot Like &quotpostnography,&quot &quotprenography,&quot &quotperionography,&quot &quotprotonography,&quot and so on. The actual meanings should write themselves.AUGUST: Take a road trip, then write about it. Or, as a fallback plan don’t take road trip, then write about NOT taking one. OR don’t take a road trip, but write about having taken one. So many possible combinations, but keep in mind that the &quottake a road trip but DON’T write about it&quot combo doesn’t really do me much good.SEPTEMBER: Hmmmm … nope. I got nothing. Something had seriously better write itself, or I’m screwed.OCTOBER: Autumn. Now we’re talkin’! Write about autumn. Write something really funny about autumn. Like, is it &quotautumn,&quot or &quotfall?&quot What the…? Seriously, why can’t it make up its mind? OK … don’t force it … just think autumn. Funny, funny autumn.NOVEMBER: Election time drawing near. Thank God! Take candidate’s names and rearrange the letters to form funny and &quotrevealing&quot new words. A promising idea, as the letters in &quotGeorge W. Bush&quot also spell &quotHe grew bogus&quot and &quotOw, he buggers!&quot Man, I should really do more hard-hitting political commentary.DECEMBER: Time to poke some light-hearted, good-natured, not-at-all-sacrilegious fun at the deep and meaningful beliefs held by others. Write a wacky &quotLast Minute Gift Guide.&quot Also, do an updated version of that &quotTwas the night before Christmas&quot poem like everyone else does. Those things practically write themselves.Barry Smith, an Aspen-based freelance writer, moves his lips while writing this column, and hopes you do the same while reading it. E-mail him at or visit his Web page at

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