Resolute

So everyone lately has been asking me what my New Year's Resolutions were.  I've always hated the idea of New year's Resolutions... not just because of the assertion in them that I'm not perfect (which we know not to be the case), but because the word resolution has such a grim, thickly final sound to it.  And by all rights, it should sound very final.  That's appropriate for a true resolution, after all.  The word resolution has its base in resolve.  One is resolved-- determined, staunchly firm in purpose, resolute-- to do something to make themselves a better person over the coming year. 

The problem is that no one takes their New Year's Resolutions that seriously.  No one ever plans for them, or takes steps to ensure that they accomplish them.   Hell, the only reason anyone even makes resolutions is because it's traditional, or because their friends are doing it and it's something to talk about over mocha lattes and finger food at the local coffee pub.  That's not a resolution.  On Facebook, we would be called a meme, and 90% of your acquaintances would ignore it if you posted it.  (And most likely, out of the other 10%, at least half of them agree to everything you say, anyway.)   Every year, I hear someone chuckle about how they're going to lose weight this year, or exercise more, or do something more often, or insert your clever riposte here... and you can look at them and tell that by February, they're going to forget they even said it.   That's not a resolution... that's a conversational gambit.

A resolution should have the weight of a set of proper bull's nards.   Resolutions were what were made in Parliament to remove absolute monarchy from England.  Resolutions were what were made in the Continental Congress to disengage from being British subjects.  Almost no one in the modern age, especially with the attention-deficit-issues and instant gratification mindset of Joe Internet User, is qualified to make a true resolution.  

So I no longer make resolutions, per se.  I do, however, tend to make myself a nice list of goals that I call Hopeta's.   I make a large list of goals I'd really like to accomplish over the coming year-- this can include things I'd like to buy for myself, places I'd like to go, things I'd like to do, betterment of myself that I'd like to make, or anything of the like.  The list is intentionally big... and every year, I hope to (thus the name) hit about 50% of those goals.  My thought process is that anything more than 50% is a pretty damned good year, and it keeps me from the all-or-nothing mindset of having a single 'resolution'.

So without further ado, here is a few of my 2011 Hopeta's.

In 2011, I Hope To spend at least thirty minutes a day (preferably an hour), five days a week, occupied in some form of activity that can at least functionally be called exercise.   This does not include walking around at work or standing up to cook dinner.  As an aside, it would most likely make a huge difference in a lot of people's lives if they followed the suggestions for the NFL's Play 60 for kids.   One hour of honest-to-goodness healthy activity per day-- running,  walking, biking; doing anything besides just sitting around-- would be a good goal for anyone.

In 2011, I Hope To have our house built and not be crushed under the weight of a monthly mortgage.  (As another aside, thaaaaank you, economy, for deciding to f***ing make the housing market rebound four f***ing months before I'm eligible to lock in an interest rate.  So now, instead of a 4.25%, I get to hope like f*** that we can still manage to swing a 5% in April.  Or in other words, I get to hope like f*** that we only pay $50 a month more on our mortgage payment.  You know, $50 that we might have been able to use on... I dunno.... food, or utilities, or bailing me out of jail when I get arrested for vagrancy while holding up a "Need Money Please Help God Bless" sign at the highway off-ramp.)

In 2011, I Hope To move my Lovely Fiancee™ up from Florida to our new home in wonderful Indianapolis, Indiana, and do my best to make her forget that winters here are the primary reason why people generally choose to move to Florida in the first place.

In 2011, I Hope To learn that fatherhood-- at least step-fatherhood-- means a lot more than just saying, "Sweet Mother of God, DON'T--!!" and "What did your mother say?"  I'm sure it does.  I am just looking forward with both excitement and terror to learn what exactly it entails.

In 2011, I Hope To get  my gaming company-- the same one I've been trying to get started on and off for the past three years-- off the ground, if for no other reason than to justify the amount of money I will be paying next year to keep its website running.

In 2011, I Hope To be a lot more creative than I did last year.  I would love to add to that, but nothing is coming to mind over it.  That is probably A Bad Sign.

In 2011, I Hope To be less judgemental than I was last year.  You know, like when it throws me into a frothing rage because someone did something so absolutely, incontrovertibly Stupid, Self-Serving, Inept, Unthinking, Egocentric, Dimwitted, or Lazy and I call them Moronic/Insolent/Pea-brained/C****ucking/Assheaded/Reprobate/Retard/Choadsmoking/Irredeemable/Imbecilic/Douchebags/Dumbasses/Sh**-for-Brains/Any number of other insults.  Instead, I will take a few moments, count to ten, and try to see everything from their point of view.  And only then, if I cannot find a way to justify it, will I go into a frothing rage and let the profanities fly.

And finally, In 2011, I Hope To survive through to 2012.  That would be an important thing.  Cause God knows, I can't wait to do another one of these 'Resolution' blogs next year.

Oh, yeah.  And I Hopeta about that marrying thing, too.  Cause, dammit, I know what's good for me. XD

Giftwarped

It seems like this time of year is always hectic to the point of distraction.  There's always the last-minute gift-buying, the wrapping and decorating, the endless family celebrations, the prepwork for Christmas dinner, the bit where I become an overglorified chauffeur, and all those other memorable Christmas traditions that I might be forgetting in the glorious haze of the season.  Usually those things are enough to keep me in a wonderful frothy-mouthed furor over the week or so before Christmas, so when I lucked into the opportunity to take the week before Christmas off work, I was stoked.  The good news was that taking that week off allowed me to not-quite froth at the usual amount of Christmas cheer.  The bad was that I had five days  where it was in effect hopeless for me to try to get a whole lot of writing or other creativity done.  That's sort of sad in its own way, because one of the best Christmas gifts I could have ever gotten myself would have been to sit down and churn out a good thirty pages of prose. 

As sort of a related theme, I do buy Christmas presents for myself, mostly because I am the only one who apparently really knows what I want.  I am always thankful for everything I get, and my family is generally more thoughtful and touching when it comes to gift-giving than almost anyone I know.  But every year I am henpecked by my mother into putting a list together of the things that I want for Christmas, and every year, I rack my brain from September to Early November thinking of things to write, and finally fail dismally and fall back on the old standards, clothes and DVD's.  Worse than that, they're usually items that A) I don't want enough to actually go out and get it for myself before Christmas, and preferably ones that B) are not too terribly technical in detail. 

I love my family dearly and desperately, but there is no way on God's Green Earth I would give free rein for every member of my family to buy me electronic gear for Christmas.  No effin' way.  See, there is a pretty frightening anti-technical bias in some portions of my family, and sure enough, they would be the ones who decide, "Oooo, he wants this sort of thing.  Family Dollar Electronics Counter, ho!"

That's mean, I realize.  And I know members of my family who would do just fine, if they were buying for me, but damned if I want to take the chance.  We all know people that just have no affinity for electronics... hell, I've had to install software and troubleshoot hardware, TV's, VCR's, digital cameras, mp3 players, CD players, stereo systems and light bulbs for some people before.  And my mother, who is niceness and sugary sweetness personified, actively hates the onslaught of technology.  I'm half-sure that she is terrified her DVD player is going to leap off the entertainment center and devour her.

If I told her that all I wanted an ATI Radeon video card with a gig of onboard memory and a TV-out for Christmas, she would very likely look at me with that sort of desperate "Oh God, please help me" look that cats get when you hold them over a sausage grinder and tell them to justify their existences or perish.  (Or, I guess, to put it another way, the sort of look I get on my face when my Lovely Fiancee™ asks me what she just said ten seconds ago, usually during the fourth quarter of a football game.) And really, that's okay.  Not everyone cares to know technical things like, say, what SD Card, or USB Hub, or Two-Disc Special Edition in Widescreen Format means.

I don't often like leaving my electronic decisions to other people, anyway.  A lot of that stems from the fact that-- given any choice in the matter-- people invariably do no research and will just buy either the biggest name or the cheapest alternative.  If you ask for an mp3 player, you will either get one of the Apple (our motto: Quality Comes At Only 4.75 Times Market Price) iPays or some knockoff brand that no one-- quite possibly including its creators-- has ever heard of.  You know the ones... the ones that look vaguely similar to a name brand, but have a brand name like Tanguay or Sansonic.  The ones with no software of their own and an instruction booklet in eight languages, one of which is More Or Less English.  The ones that you sometimes have to hold at an obscene angle to get it to work properly. 

Guess which ones I have more experience with.

And although I will be a lot more content to trust my Lovely Fiancee™ with that sort of thing-- after all, she is partially Lovely because she comprehends technical stuff  (Quick aside... she gave me just two gifts this year: a homemade plush retarded basilisk and a light-up 20-sided die.  Say it with me, now:  Best.  Fiancée.  Evar.)-- I really have no problem with buying my own electronics and technical things my own self.  So that means I usually end up putting the same things on those Christmas Lists-- DVD's and CD's that I haven't gotten around to buying, housewares in which brand name doesn't mean a whole lot, and clothes.

Sometimes I will couch one more thing in my list just to see if people are paying attention when they read it.  One year I asked for A Movie In Which Liam Neeson says "Motherfucker."  Other requests, from years past:

• 55 More Cubic Feet of Space in my Bedroom. 
• Amiable Companionship (Preferably Non-Inflatable)
• World Peace Everywhere Except Tanzania and Nepal
• A Getaway Car, Gassed Up and Running Outside
• Injectable Happiness

The unofficial running story is that Santa Claus had a brain hemorrhage and died after reading one of my requests... and the excuse I plan to give my own children when their gifts suck.

Thanksgiving

It's Thanksgiving.  

I'm fatter for it.

Really, there's not a shatload to write about beyond that at the moment.  Tune back in tomorrow.  And for the love of all that's holy, don't go out shopping tomorrow.  Life's too short to deal with the toxic levels of greed, base crass materialism, and overall gluttonous nonconcern for fellow men that you'll find in some of the hapless degenerates you'll find waiting in line at any store that goes "Look!  Rush in here at five AM and you might be one of the 15 people who get a special deal on one of these wonderful gifts (no rainchecks, first come first serve, not responsible for damage incurred by fights with other customers or the hours of productive time you lose by standing in line, nor are we responsible for the mental trauma you may incur by making the local newscasts and looking just like the morons that waited in their Star Wars jammies and Stormtrooper outfits for the most recent Lucas movies.  Oh, by the way, tell us how those dumpster fires turned out, kthxbye?)!!!"

By the way, I finished the vast majority of my shopping for my Lovely Fiancee™ and our Family-to-Be from my room.  While eating turkey.  Hot turkey.  I will contrast that later with having to endure a Wal-Mart the first Saturday of the Christmas Shopping season.  I'm just guessing here, but I'm thinking that sitting in front of my computer monitor and spending thirty minutes-- while eating some of my Thanksgiving meal, thank you-- will most likely stand up very well to getting elbowed by Gus and Wanda, the creme de la creme of Western Civilization (and devout NASCAR fans) who are in the midst of trying to find out why an X-Box Kinect doesn't come with this here game that little Bobby wants, and oh yeah, they need to make each of these things in their cart a separate purchase, too, even though there's a half-dozen people in their line, knowwhutImean?

Guh.  I have the cold sweats just imagining that.   Let alone enduring it.