One New Year, Slightly Used

Today’s Track: Auld Lang Syne--Jimi Hendrix

Yes, I know. Some anal-retentive souls would insist that January 15th is a preposterous time to pass on wishes for a happy New Year. But then, these same individuals would, no doubt, assert that lightning cannot be used to remove the paint from an automobile, or that the transformers from HO-scale model train sets are unsuitable for use in cooking, thus casting quite a pall on their credibility, I think.
In any case, I do want, belated though it may be, to wish you all the happiest year you deserve.
Moving on...
Every year, as December draws to a close, Americans everywhere, giddy with the warm nostalgia of holidays past, set themselves seriously about carrying out one of our eldest rituals: namely, getting into knife fights over which NFL teams are going to be in the Super Bowl.
What’s that you say? You think that that’s an insane and, more to the point, utterly pointless and stupid thing to do? True, probably, but such activities appear to take on the blinding radiance of genius when compared to that other January tradition.
That’s right, friends. You know what I’m talking about. Each January, we drag our bloated bulks away from our holiday leftovers, take pen in hand and draft yet another of those hateful--and often masochistic and always comical--works of most sublime fiction that we refer to as our New Year’s resolutions. We resolve therein that we will do many things noble, great and wise. We will give up vice, improve our health, give selflessly to charity, and help to raise up our fellow man. We swear to these goals, we who are far more likely, generally speaking, to take our daily exercise as we step over the prostrate form of our fellow man to steal his newspaper. Obviously, any sane and rational human would immediately give over such an exercise. It is no surprise that this practice continues to be almost as popular as the purchase of lottery tickets.
I must admit that even I, noted rationalist and self-proclaimed champion of logic and reason, have participated in this foolish activity on occasion. It’s true. They say the first step to being cured is to admit that you have a problem, so I don’t feel to badly about telling you this. But, in recent times, I have tried to break the accursed habit. In 2001, I went cold turkey. I didn’t make a single resolution. I was therefore pestered incessantly for the rest of the year by some warped fragment of my conscience which insisted that I was a dispicable and utterly backward creature for this lapse. So, when 2002 came around, I hit upon a stroke of minor genius. I resolved not to make any resolutions. Unfortunately, reflecting on the logistics of this proposition resulted in a minor psychotic episode. And here we now find ourselves, inching cautiously into 2003. I’ve wracked my brain again and again, and I just can’t see a way out of my conundrum. Even though I’ve put off doing so up to this point, I fear that I may have to *cringe* make some resolutions. But, as my one last stubborn concession to sanity, I will acknowledge the futility of my effort by resolving to do things that could not possibly, under any circumstances, actually occur. This way, I have already made my peace with my inevitable failure.
Without further ado, here is my list of:

New Year’s Resolutions

• I will see Elvis Presley in concert...with Patty Hearst.
  
• I will make at least one meal from a member of an endangered species.
  
• I will tunnel to Ireland, where I will dance naked in the first pub I see.
  
• I will construct an operable nuclear power station using only items found in my sofa.
  
• I will write an epic poem using only words found in the lyrics of Lee Dorsey songs.
  
• I will become a multi-billionaire, only to lose my entire fortune to a one-eyed Brazilian rancher in a game of checkers.
  
• I will campaign for president on a strict platform of “incomprehensible names for the rich and oxygen in every household before the year 2010.”
  
• I will rollerskate in a buffalo herd.
  
• Using only lawn clippings and stuff from the refrigerator, I will create intelligent life in my bathroom sink, whereupon I will teach it to speak Klingon.
  
• I will try to be nicer to people.
  

Oh, and, by the way... Don’t you think “Anal-retentive Souls” would be a great name for a rock band?