I’ve never really understood why we celebrate the start of a new year. Lincoln’s Birthday? Sure–a great man who saved a nation is worthy of remembrance. Labor Day? Of course–the working men and women who embody our American ethic of contribution and sacrifice are deserving of commemoration. But New Year’s Day? No one sacrificed anything for New Year’s Day, no momentous event or noteworthy toil ensured its occurrence. The earth revolved around the sun. That’s what it does. Big deal.
Of course, as is usually the case, mine is the minority view. Most people–particularly those who are far better than I at having a good time–not only view the annual transition from December 31 to January 1 as an occasion to party and cavort (especially to cavort), but also (and perhaps of more significance) as a time to reflect and adjust. Most people use the ending of one year and the beginning of another as a reason to assess their bad habits, and to establish, through a set of “resolutions,” a personal plan for self-betterment.
Well, in an effort to be less contrarian, and with the hope that my surrender to this ritual might result in an invitation to at least one New Year’s Eve party that involves something merrier than a contest to decipher Dick Clark, I’ve elected, for the first time ever, to create my own personal plan for self-betterment.
Herewith, conceived days ahead of schedule but with a start date of January 1, are my New Year’s Resolutions for 2012 (more or less):
To make less fun of Wolf Blitzer, and more fun of Diane Sawyer.
To drink less Coca-Cola, and more Cabernet.
To listen to less Jake Shimabukuro (enough already with the ukulele), and more Louis Armstrong.
To complain less about my back, and more about the sensitivity of my teeth to hot and cold.
To watch less of the National Football League, and more of “The League” on the FX Channel.
To eat less broccoli, and more of anything from an Entenmann’s box.
To use less of the word “rapacious” when describing current Republican politicians, and more of the phrase “greedy bloodsuckers.”
To use less of the word “timorous” when describing current Democratic politicians, and more of the phrase “spineless namby-pambies.”
To use less of the phrase, “The Donald,” when writing about Donald Trump, and more of the phrase, “The pitiable, self-deluding narcissist whose mother didn’t love him enough.”
To zig less, and zag more.
To spend less time on computer dating websites, and more time on people dating websites.
To be less of an incipient curmudgeon, and more of a fully matured curmudgeon.
To say “I’m just saying” less, and “You know, it’s not necessary to verbalize every thought that enters your brain” more.
To sleep less, and dream more.
To spend less time writing about this or that, and more time writing about the other thing.
To be less pedantically didactic, and more didactically pedantic.
To spend less time trying to figure out the success of Tilda Swinton, and more time trying to figure out the success of Adam Sandler.
To insist that friendship be less about Facebook, and more about face time.
And, finally, my most aspirational resolution for the coming year (although, as a professional, I’m duty bound to caution the amateurs among my readership not to try this at home):
To say “Excuse me” less, and “Kiss my ass” more.
So there you have it, my 2012 plan for self-improvement–listed, posted, and resolved. Now, send in those party invitations–my calendar’s open, and I’m ready to cavort!
