Our resolutions
Well, that’s it then. The clock has struck, the big ball dropped, the illegal firecrackers have been … definitely not purchased online and unequivocally did not burn down a tent or two, and put the fear of pyrotechnics in a few caravaners, at a campsite of undisclosed location. And if they did, which they didn’t, we certainly weren’t there to see it. Pulse, that stringently law-abiding citizen, took a sip of milk and was tucked into bed by 10pm, we’ll have you know. But, between contemplating timely tax returns and other law-abiding activities of sobriety, we considered it might be time to dust off the list of resolutions for the New Year. It’s that time of year, January 8, when we are all starting to realise we aren’t really going to make it to those stellar resolutions that sounded so good after a few holiday-sized swigs of smooth things that start with ‘B’ and end with ‘aily-ow-myhead-turnoutthedanglights-stopyelling-shhh!’.
Subscribe now for unlimited access.
$0/
(min cost $0)
or signup to continue reading
Now that we think of it, it seems kind of odd to start making resolutions only at the start of the year. Seems to Pulse, that quick-witted observer of the human condition, that the stress of making a good one somewhere between December 31 and January 1 is probably going to be a little unreasonable from the get-go. Why not have weekly resolutions? Or hourly ones. Little milestones that make life easy … and don’t require a couple glasses of giggle juice to conjure up.
Pulse’s New Year’s resolution? In the next hour, we would like another coffee. And who knows, maybe we’ll have another one after that. We’re sure there’ll be wagons to fall on and off and under, tents to burn, and various acts of law-abiding, news-making mayhem in the coming months, so Pulse’s resolution is to make the best of all of it. Take in all the best parts of 2016 and think of the other parts as character building.
The art of writing
On the Pulse read a lot of media releases in 2015. Though none were so illuminating as the literary epistles from someone called ‘PJ’ and what we suspect were a bunch of out of work, politically motivated university students called The Arts Party.
No other blandly generic political messages of 2015, so often composed in degrees of hyperbole, captured the full arc of human experience and left On the Pulse in the throes of an identity crisis befitting a second year English student.
It started, like any good classic, in the best of times and the worst of times. PJ, along with his or her English degree-toting buddies who (we’re guessing) couldn’t hack it at law school, reckoned there was room to move in the 2015 budget. While “there [was] little to celebrate” (May 15) the party was looking for the bright side.
By July, P(Diddy)J was “fundamentally positive” about the future of the arts. We’re not exactly sure how anyone could be “fundamentally positive” about anything, but we’re guessing one of that team of literary prodigies found a few bucks in a pair of strategically ripped hipster jeans and shouted the crew a week’s worth of instant noodles.
By Christmas time though, things took a turn we can only guess was inspired by the darker works of Dickens.
PP’Please sir, can I have some more’-J lost hope. “We’ve tried our best over the last year to see the positives, but all up 2015 has turned out to be disastrous for the Arts in Australia,” They wrote in December. From hope to dejection, the Arts Party had seen it all.
Now, Pulse knows the holidays can be a tough time for everyone so, in the spirit of our shared industry, we’re sending P[Peter Pan]J and the band of lost boys the heart-warming words of a little ginger orphan: Chin up mate, the sun will come out tomorrow.
The funding probably won’t, though. Win some, lose some.
