My computer just told me, "We're sorry we cannot accept this data."  Who the hell is "we" and how many of them are in my laptop?

Last day of the year, yo.  So here's the plan… I will imbue this entire day with deep meaning and symbolism, mixed with lofty goals and hopeful nostalgia. I shall then party late into the night to watch the ball drop in some distant city and at some point possibly write drunken poetry about the years going by and wrinkly skin, which I will plan to share with all of you convinced in my drunken haze that it will be the smash hit poem of the year.  (Because didn't you know about smash hit poetry?)  The next day I will wake up vaguely disappointed and depressed, not sure if it's because of all the damn symbolism or just the hangover talking.  I will decide it's a message from fate and I'll reread the drunken poem of the night before only to discover, dude, it's about wrinkles.  Then I will totally cop an attitude and mouth off platitudes such as, "age is only a state of mind" and "most successful people are jerks" and "I don't care anyway".

Or I'll just rock out to some good tunes and bee people.  Holla!