New Year’s Resolutions for the Best New Yorkers

Recently, we were watching John Waters’s 1998 movie Pecker, which starred all kinds of great people like Martha Plimpton and Lily Taylor and Edward Furlong, before he got weird and started getting arrested and dating his manager. Anyway, as in all John Waters movies, there were about five really brilliantly funny parts in it, one of which was a game the characters played called “Shopping for Others,” in which they’d go to the supermarket and sneak things into the shopping carts of fellow shoppers when they weren’t looking. (Like a long phallic gourd in the cart of a mousy single woman or a stack of Depends for a smarmy dude in tight jeans, etc.) Anyway, we got to thinking: How about if, this year, we make New Year’s resolutions for others? We’ve never made New Year’s resolutions ourselves — it’s weird, every year New Year’s Eve rolls around, and we realize we’re still kind of perfect! — but we’ve always felt we were missing out on that great American tradition. Not to mention, frankly, there are people that could use our assistance. So. To celebrate the great New Yorkers who make this blog possible and to help them continue their gloriousness into 2008, we’ve generously ginned up some resolutions for their benefit.

The Olsen Twins: Keep dating older (or at least grotesquely larger) men. We still need things to write about.
Lance Armstrong: Find someone new and hilarious to make out with in public. We hear Abigail Breslin is single.
Nello Balan: This year, you lashed out at artist Jerome Lucani for talking back when you tried to take credit for his work and model Le Call for stealing your umbrella. Next year, set your sights on bigger, awesomer targets. Like Spike Lee. Or Brooke Shields.
Anderson Cooper: Work out another body part. Sure, it’s great to have huge biceps, but what news anchor has great pecs and abs? Oh, right, Thomas Roberts. Maybe you can work out with him? And maybe air that on CNN, so we can watch it?
Hillary Clinton: Get some sleep.
Bill Clinton: See above. And don’t try to split it into two sentences.
Alan Cumming: Actually, like us, you’re kind of perfect. Keep talking to us about your sex life.
Jimmy Cayne: Do not let those bastards push you out of your job. You’re a 73-year-old cigar-chomping, pot-smoking, possible naked dancer, and Wall Street needs you. We need you.
Julian Schnabel: Last night we woke up in a cold sweat, thinking, What would New York would be like without Julian Schnabel? The answer was: It would be thin and clean and cold and artless. Which is why it’s time, Julian, to really cement your legacy. The Diving Bell was a fantastic film, but we need something with a little more you in it. Do you know where we’re going with this? That’s right, we’re talking, again, about Schneighbors. I know that a reality show is not the sort of trip you usually go on, but a show following the foibles of the aging residents of Palazzo Chupi could be your next masterpiece of the human condition. Or even better: the next Hills.
Lydia Hearst: Since it didn’t work out with pointlessly famous Cisco Adler, we’re thinking maybe you should start dating Zach Braff.
Zach Braff: Since it didn’t work out with Arden Wohl, we’re thinking maybe you should start dating Lydia Hearst. That way, when Scrubs ends and everybody forgets about you, you’ll still have a career as the new Cash Warren!
Rudy Giuliani: In 2008, get a flu shot. You’re never going to get the hang of this “setting an example” thing, are you?
Eliot Spitzer: It’s hard to say this, because we do love you, but it’s time for that really, really short haircut.
Michael Bloomberg: Shit, or get off the pot.
Jared Kushner: Stop embarrassingly and publicly horning all over Donald Trump.
Ivanka Trump: See above resolution.
Vikram Pandit: Don’t let them tell you you’re not good enough! You’re the man now! Fire some people! Daddy loves you.
Tory Burch: You’ve dated Lance Armstrong, Brad Grey, and Katie Couric’s ex-boyfriend, proving that fortysomething blonde socialites are the new twentysomething blonde socialites. Which means, in 2008, we have two words for you: Sex. Tape.
Kevin Sheekey: Stop fucking with us.
Gossip Girl: See above resolution, and do the opposite.
A-Rod: Stop fiddling around with different people and finally settle down with the one you were meant to be with: your wife, Cynthia. We mean settle down with her as your manager, of course. You’re a ballplayer; you can sleep with whomever you want.
James Dolan: Get over Isiah Thomas. He’s just not that into you.
Isiah Thomas: Run for your life.
Anucha Brown Sanders: Chase.
Graydon Carter: Write one Vanity Fair editor’s letter, just one, that isn’t a boringly hysterical screed against George W. Bush. Also, shut up about Christopher Hitchens’s balls.
Christopher Hitchens: Just shut up.
Brooke Astor: For the love of God, un-die and slap your bitch of a son into shape!

That’s all for now. See you next year, queers!