Hey, Kids! It’s time for New Year’s Resolutions 2009.
In this time of change and new beginnings, it’s good to take stock, try to see ourselves as we really are, and commit to freeing up our higher angels. But why do it, you ask? Why make promises you’re never going to keep?
You’re probably thinking about my resolution last year to finally empty out my Camelbak and deal with the scum creatures living in that rubber bladder. Well, OK. It didn’t happen. I went all mountain-biking season (again) sucking from the same semi-stagnant pond.
But that is no reason for you not to trust me now. No reason any of us shouldn’t sit down alone on a snow bank somewhere and engage in some honest reflection.
I have recently done this. And I resolve in future to pay more attention to the particular snow bank I sit on. I should have known that one was actually a cornice overhanging nothing but air and that my added weight could very easily have been enough to trigger the avalanche. I’m just grateful no one was home in that Telluride mansion crushed by the slide debris.
I resolve to spend less time alone in the new year. I know, it’s what we writers do. That’s how we come up with so many insights into human folly and fame. But it does get a little lonely. I know deep down the cats love me. And there’s always the Internet. But I really should get out more. There were those Canadians I rode a chairlift with the other day down plundering our southern snow with their powerful Canadian dollar. I told them that, having at last elected a socialist, we might have a great national health care system like theirs some day. And they just smiled and skied away from me down The Plunge.
Which reminds me, I resolve that henceforth (a little late, but hey) I will not trust my broker when she tells me that the only investment, historically, to beat inflation is the stock market, and that is where my pennies should go. Why didn’t it register that all her charts and graphs started with the decade of the 1930s, in the depths of the Great Depression, when people were jumping out of buildings and markets had nowhere to go but up?
I resolve to remain chipper, even in a depression. Where’s our Spanky and Our Gang? Where’s our Will Rogers? They’ll show up, no doubt, along with songs like “We’re in the Money,” and impossibly plucky role models like Shirley Temple. We ought to do better than our parents in a depression, shouldn’t we? We’ve got Prozac. And Guitar Hero.
I resolve never to pee (discreetly, between large SUVs where nobody will see me) in the Carhenge lot again. What, you say? Gross! I know, but it’s a long drive up from Colona after coffee, and it’s a long walk to that bathroom across the snow in that condo building, and I need to get my boots on, and the powder’s a-wasting… You’re right. What if everybody did that? But I see it more like the yellow snow all around a World Cup start. It’s practically a mantra of courage. Or take the ritual of relieving oneself at the top of a scary couloir, where clearing the mind, and the bladder, is tantamount to survival. Yeah, just like that.
I resolve to play “Lazy Eye” by Silversun Pickups, on Medium difficulty, without getting booed off the stage. Or, failing that, play Jimi Hendrix’s “Little Wing” perfectly, 100 percent note-for-note, on Easy. I further resolve to do this on other people’s Guitar Hero setups, where I have to leave eventually and go home. If I were have the game in my own living room… Addiction-wise, let’s not even go there.
I resolve never to retire. Retirement is so, I don’t know, so 1990s. My goal is to stay busy. Stay alert and with-it in the AARP years. So as to not slide into the habits of the idle rich – you know: comfort, pleasure, security. I resolve to work ’til I don’t make no sense no more. It’s one resolution I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to keep.