Any year that begins with a dream where Karl Rove hands you toilet paper underneath the bathroom stall !in the women's room! and, as you proceed to take care of business, the Rove toilet paper turns to gummy worms in your hands which you must then force down the crapper because "for chrissake's woman it's evidence!" is a year when you bet your sweet bippy you better be upping your game. Likewise, any year where, in the same dream, Bill Murray appears on a glittering gold space ship which he deftly lands and then that very space ship - razzle dazzle! - transforms into a bar where Bill is your personal mixologist who proceeds to offer you martinis and sing lounge songs as you sit on a barstool looking smashing in your red cocktail dress is a year where the world is going to be on your string. You bet. Go 2008!
So what will I do with it? Stay Tuned.