2002-08-06 - 12:38 a.m.

Here's to all the little great ideas that got squashed somehow.

Here's to all the excellent tangents that got pushed aside to make way for the overrated point and its red carpet.

Here's to all those little riffs that could have become songs, had you the time, or talent, or determination to develop them.

Here's to all those times when you had a choice, and you chose just one, or none.

Here's to that CD you didn't buy three years ago.

Here's to the time you could have gotten arrested for doing something, so you didn't.

Here's to the almost friend who tallied up one too many unanswered calls.

Here's to those two invitations to different parties, different friends, different parts of the city, same goddamn night.

Here's to the really cool discarded chair you walked by, that you never saw again.

Here's to the six months you spent without having once taken a picture.

Here's to the mix CD you gave your friend, that he wore out, that he misses, that you can't remake 'cause you were too much of an elitist jackass to write down the song names for him.

Here's for the time you were too shy to sing at the karaoke bar.

Here's to the extracurricular from high school that you never joined.

Here's to the band you never got into 'cause you were above the trend.

Here's to the junk you threw away, that every now and then you wish you hadn't.

Here's to that sudden twinge of Monday guilt.

Here's to taking off from the bar 'cause you didn't have the money to blow.

Here's to spending time with someone 'cause you feel obligated to.

Here's to saving $20 dollars by getting the second best thing.

Here's to constantly forgetting to lend your friend the book she wants.

Here's to your two favorite television programs being on at the same time.

Here's to the time that drunk hanging outside of Store 24 asked not for spare change, or a cigarette, but for a light for his cigarette, and you kept on walking.

Here's to missing your train.

Here's to all the here's fors that I forgot to slip in.

Here's to that guy that bet his house on the Patriots, and lost.

Here's to that guy that you were always mean to at work, or in your social circle, that you always got away with being mean to.

Here's to all of the concerts you could have gone to, had you read the Phoenix in time.

And you know what?

Here's to all the kickass concerts you have been to.

Here's to the day you realized that you were being mean to that dude because his annoying character traits perfectly matched your own.

Here's to the dude that quietly won millions on the last superbowl, driving to the house he had so foolishly wagered, explaining to his wife that he would never make another frivolous decision again�that he wouldn�t need to anymore, what with the money and all.

Here's for all of the things I never say here. Considering the amount of trouble this diary gets me into, sometimes I'm better off that way.

Here's to missing your train because you were having too much fun with your buddies to remember the schedule. Here's to the pretty girl, who missed hers, you could meet, and the edited-for-kids story twenty years from now, that you might possibly be telling.

Here's to having enough street smarts to ignore the shirtless, mulleted trash that want something from you, for nothing in return. Here�s to not being some idiotic, flighty belle of the ball that wants to talk to everyone.

Here�s to coming home after a long night, and not wanting to have to think for a goddamn hour and a half, and lucking out with the perfect TV lineup to digest.

Here's to holding on to a book you love, that you know will never be returned.

Here's to getting the second best thing, as opposed to the fourth best thing.

Here's to loving someone enough to feel obligated to spend time with them. And here�s to not regretting a single moment spent with that person.

Here's to having enough money to buy a couple of rounds for your buddies.

Here's to blowing a weekend once in a while watching the Red Sox and drinking beer, and maybe doing some laundry.

Here's to ridding your life of nostalgic clutter. Here's to those moments when you discard a bunch of dead objects that remind you of people you'll never see again� mooring that you've been carrying on your back instead, that you never again need.

Here's to being true enough to yourself to not get into some shitty band or style of music because everyone else is doing it.

Here's to hanging out with your buddies behind a Star Market, smoking butts and spitting for no reason, while some Little Lord Fontleroy furrows his brow over some goddamn equation at the Junior Einstein's Young Achiever�s Club, for no reason.

Here's to the time you had the fortitude to say NO! to Karaoke, as tempting as the intriguing notion might be.

Here's to making your friend a mix CD and forgetting about it, and randomly discussing mix CDs a year later, and finding out that he listened to your CD so much, he wore it out.

Here's to not being so hell-bent on documenting every precious minute of your life that you make your own life a documentary. Here's to letting your friends be themselves.

Here's to taking a beautiful walk around the city, and even getting the chance to see a beautiful chair. Or a girl. Or a store you hadn't before seen. Or even a slight left turn on the subway between Hynes and Kenmore, that you had never noticed before.

Here's to getting to decide between two parties, and then the next day learning that you had chosen the right one. Here�s to choosing the right one, and knowing it the minute you get there.

Here's to not allowing yourself to get sucked into friendships and alignments that you never really wanted to be a part of in the first place.

Here's to the night you never had to spend in jail.

Here's to the box of CDs your friend found, and then sorted through by album cover. Here's to the two or three she kept, and brought to your house. Here's to the one you tried out, that you immediately liked, and she didn't, that you took the hell out of your CD player. And two hours later, asked if you could have. Here's for the summer it spent as your shower CD.

Here's to all of the wrong decisions you never made. That you almost made.

Here's for all the little riffs that became real songs all of a sudden, out of nowhere.

Here's for all the times you were able to friggin' get your point across and move forward with a conversation. Especially in the free-for-all realm of multi-person conversation poop.

And here's to each and every idea you have ever had, good or bad, positive or destructive, orphanage-saving or homicidal, etc.

�Cause it�s a good feeling. A very good feeling. And you know what?

I�ll be back when the day is new.

And I�ll have more ideas for you.

And you�ll have things you�ll want to talk about.

I will too.

Here�s to living an incomplete life. Here�s to, by living an incomplete life, living a full one.