Day 031: Here’s To You, Mr Zachole
Somewhere, not long ago, about 700 miles away from me, a man sat at his kitchen table. While his pale skin glistened in the sunset or under the fluorescent glow of the lights overhead, he tapped furiously into his laptop. He probably wiped some sweat off his freckled face. Maybe plucked some hairs out of his pube stache. His mind most likely reeled to the tall, cool Budweiser in the fridge. Inviting him. Mocking him. Wanting him to take it out of its misery. A refreshing mercy it would be. But his fingers still tapped. And when he was done, he would have accomplished something great and staggering.
That man is Zach Colston. And he just wrote once a day for a year.
Go ahead. Clap your ass off. I’m doing it, too. Most of us can’t commit to anything for a week, let alone a year. He’s done it with great wit and perseverance. A lot of his writing was mindful and thought-provoking while some of it was downright ridiculous. I assume it’s the equivalent of browsing Reddit on acid. Go ahead and check out some of his old stuff. I’ll wait.
You done? Cool.
As you already know, I’ve totally ripped off his idea. I’m always ripping off his ideas. He’s the older brother that I never asked for. I spent most of my childhood on my toes, trying to figure out ways to impress him. Always keeping my finger on the pulse of what’s hip, so we could be hip together. He introduced me to Mortal Kombat, so I taped Pulp Fiction off Starz. We were definitely too young for both. I just wanted to be cool in his eyes. And even at the time, I knew he was doing the same thing. That’s how a good friendship works. You just constantly try to inspire and influence each other. Or at least I think that’s how it works. It worked for us.
As the years wore on, we went down starkly different paths. While he craved nature and serenity, I needed concrete and chaos. And yet we always meet each other halfway. In the past year, he has excelled leaps and bounds. He spent a semester teaching in a remote village in Alaska and then went back to Michigan, bought a house and landed a full time Bonafide teaching gig. All while coming up with something to write every. Single. Day. Let that sink in. It’s completely and utterly ridiculous. We all spent the past year moping around the house. This dude took life by the neck and gave it a Stone Cold Stunner. Then he poured some Zachweisers all over it, flipped it the bird and cracked open more beers. The dude even caught Covid and didn’t get any symptoms. He’s a total badass and I’m proud to call him my brother.
Knob slobbing aside, I’m now faced with my own daunting task. I’ve made it one month replicating Zach’s experiment, do I have another 11 left in the tank? I feel like I do. I hope that I do. But I know some day is going to come where the blank page will laugh at me. It’s going to test me and drive me insane. But I know I can’t disappoint him. He would never let me live it down. Anytime I see him, he’ll be like “Hey, remember when you said you were going to write for 369 days but only made it to 137?!?” Then he’d kick me in the nuts and give me the Emerald Fusion, his Wrestlemania 2000 finisher move that he perfected on a body pillow. I can’t let that happen. I can’t let the Zachole win. Nay, I won’t!
Once again, congrats Zach. You’re a true American hero. This song and most likely a Bud is for you.