It’s that time of year again – the beginning.
The beginning of the year inspires people to make their own beginnings and I’m no exception. I mean, it’s just fun to begin something new at the beginning of the year. There’s a reason that nobody makes President’s Day resolutions, except, perhaps, someone kicking back on President’s Day and enjoying a couple martinis while admiring their car elevator, who decides that the only way to make President’s Day better would be to actually be President. I suppose it’s feasible that someone in that admittedly limited scenario might have made a President’s Day resolution. The rest of us just do this crap on New Year’s Day.
I’m not going to throw out a singular resolution, even if that is the custom. No, I’m going to throw out thirteen resolutions for 2013. I considered going with 2013 resolutions for 2013, but it just got ridiculous when I got down the list a ways and resolution #86 was to write a full-length screenplay for a movie titled Aliens vs. Predator vs. Pokemon vs. Barry Bonds.
So, with no further adieu, thirteen for thirteen. The resolutions that I intend to at least pretend to fulfill:
1. Do more healthy shit. This is a stand-in for the typical goal of “lose weight.” I think that the typical resolution is a bad resolution. Sometimes you eat better, exercise, and then don’t lose a pound. In that scenario if you’ve resolved to lose weight then you’ve failed and most people get discouraged and quit. However, eating better and exercising are good things in and of themselves. If you do that healthy shit then you’ll be healthier. Anyways, I’m going to try and do more healthy shit.
2. Taze people who use the phrase “Fiscal Cliff.” It may seem extreme, but I think it’s necessary. Fiscal Cliff is, without a doubt, the stupidest phrase of 2012 and it needs to stay there. And, yes, I realize that 2012 was the year of YOLO. I don’t care. Fiscal Cliff is dumber than YOLO. Stop using it. Thanks!
3. Find Bigfoot. It’s a long shot, especially since I never leave the city. But even if that’s the case I have exactly the same odds of finding Bigfoot in 2012 as the BFROdoes. So, screw it, I’m going for it. You’ll see me on the news when Bigfoot stumbles into my apartment complex.
4. Make sure my cat is alive and well for New Year’s 2014. Oscar’s got diabetes, no teeth, is half-blind, and he’s at least sixteen years old. Dude is, simply put, a badass. He’s the Chuck Norris of cats, except without the toxic right-wing politics and the disturbing man-crush on Mike Huckabee.
Oh, and he also likes to eat the dog’s food
5. Write more and get published more often. This is obviously an obvious resolution for a writer. What can I say, they can’t all be about Bigfoot. Speaking of Bigfoot, I expect that the memoir I write after finding my first Squatch is going to outsell Harry Potter. I think that’s reasonable.
6. Amass a robot army. Yeah, it’s a repeat from last year, but so what? A wise man, or perhaps a not so wise man, once said that if at first you don’t succeed then try, try again. I need more robots. You need more robots. If you disagree, then give me the robots you think you don’t need because I DO need those robots. Anyone who contributes to my robot army will be granted immunity from the actions of said robot army. Fair is fair.
7. Buy a house. It’s probably time, no, it’s definitely time to get the hell out of our apartment. I need more room for my robots. Also, the combination of a teenage daughter and a single bathroom is an untenable situation.
8. Prevent PSY from retiring Gangnam Style. Apparently PSY thinks he can just “end” Gangnam Style with the turning of the calendar into 2013. Sorry to break it to you, actually, no, I’m not sorry, I’m proud to break it to you: Not Going To Happen. You may be done with us, Mr. PSY (if that is your real name), but we’re not done with you. Opa Gangnam Style!
9. Win my ridiculously deep and competitive fantasy baseball league. I expect to put in roughly 100 hours of labor between researching before the draft, drafting the team, juggling my lineup, researching waiver picks and minor leaguers, and negotiating extraordinarily complicated deals involving the fourth starter on the Brewers, the left fielder on the Padres, some guy who has a 34% chance of taking over as the closer of the Astros, and a dude who might get called up to the Marlins. If I get a few breaks and win the league I’m in line to earn roughly minimum wage for all that effort. Not minimum wage in the States, minimum wage in Tanzania. But I don’t care. I want to beat those guys.
10. Finish stuff. Like my book and my degree and my robot army and the Skyrim expansions and all kinds of other things that I need to get done so I can move onto other stuff. This doesn’t mean completing unnecessary shit like a list composed of 2013 resolutions for 2013 or watching the entire 10 hour long Nyan Cat video.
11. Embarrass The Kid by wearing this in public as often as humanly possible:
12. Do more awesome stuff with The Kid (preferably while wearing the hat, but I predict she’ll burn the thing sometime around President’s Day, which is probably not Herman Cain’s favorite holiday since he has exactly as much chance of being President as I do) like going bowling or playing laser tag or bungee jumping or go to concerts for non-weird screamo bands or skydive or, worst case scenario, fighting off zombies like gangstas when one of the 1,785,243 apocalypses that have been predicted in the last couple years actually happens. I’m counting on her extensive knowledge of zombie flicks to carry the day since I’m woefully unprepared for the end of the world.
13. Write a full-length screenplay for a movie titled Aliens vs. Predator vs. Pokemon vs. Barry Bonds.