It’s a new year and stuff. I took down my calendar and didn’t put up a new one. Numbers move around or whatever. We measure things. The Mayan calendar is being a total cooze. Persians are all like, ‘you call this a new year?’ Etc. 

The only calendars I care about are the broadcast calendar, the publishing calendar, the ‘cram all the good movies into two months before awards season’ calendar. New beginnings happen all year. In September when network television launches and relaunches beloved programs. That’s when people would check in on Sam and Diane’s hate/fuck situation. It’s important. Or when publishers bait literary awards and consumers with their most delicious treats, the kind that win cash prizes and sell more than a few hundred copies. In November when producers start pushing for their Clooneys to get trophies. In April or June when HBO tricks people into watching fantasy dramas with attractive naked people and that thing we call storytelling.

Sure. I’ll give January props. It brings the return of shows from a brief holiday hiatus (it’s more of a reunion marker), or shows relegated to mid-season and more of those awards bait movies. But, there are lots of ways to measure time or newness. That’s all I’m saying. Wear your sequins and your party hats to watch the season premier of Mad Men, because it signals that something excellent it coming. That’s a real new beginning. New stories! That’s all I ask for. Start me off with some new stories. And then I’ll get happy about a new something. And I’ll wish others the same.