Weekend Missions

Winter’s back, which means chocolate Santas and everyone singing Jingle Bells like we didn’t just hear it a million times already. But I’ve got this feeling I should do something with the weekend. Make it count. Here’s what’s been bouncing around my head.

Buy Lena Meyer-Landrut’s first album finally—”My Cassette Player.” Everyone knows it, I don’t, which is embarrassing. Then take one of those aggressive sunbaths where you’re out long enough to develop actual frostbite that needs surgery. The contradiction appeals to me.

Throw a completely unhinged party. Elephants, magic dust, torn wallpaper everywhere. The kind of night you tell stories about for decades, or maybe you never speak of it again. Maybe just shut up instead. Don’t say a word all weekend. See what that’s like.

Run off to Vegas and marry some model—Filippa Smednes, why not—with an Indian Elvis impersonator doing the ceremony. Pure impulse, zero justification.

Saturday morning: raid every free comic book giveaway I can find. Load up. Then buy the good chocolate cereal with real chunks instead of the Aldi paste. Small things.

Sing a duet with Hannah. Just show up and ask her.

Only friend redheads on Facebook from now on. No other criteria. Just hair color. Makes no sense, which is the point.

Climb a tree in a full monkey suit and throw wooden barrels—genuinely heavy ones—at whatever plumber happens to walk by.

Some of this is real. Most of it is just what my brain generates when I’m home on a Friday looking at the weekend ahead and feeling like I should be doing something.