Like most mere mortals, I have the unfortunate habit of grousing about things for which I should by all rights be abjectly grateful. This has been a stressful and exhausting year, far too much of which I’ve had to spend in departure lounges and window seats, and there were a few times along the way when I wondered whether I’d bitten off more than I could chew. Yet I knew perfectly well that anyone who gets to publish his latest book, have his first opera premiered, and celebrate his second wedding anniversary–all in the space of twelve fast-moving months–has no business complaining about anything whatsoever. Today I’m as thankful as it’s possible to be, and I hope I have the good sense to remain so for some time to come.
I love the opening lines of My Favorite Year, Richard Benjamin’s movie about a young writer for a weekly TV series not unlike Your Show of Shows: “Nineteen fifty-four. You don’t get years like that anymore. It was my favorite year.”
I hope I will always feel that way about 2009.
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The last scene of My Favorite Year: