My Resolutions For 2014 (You Can't Rush These Things)

I have made my list of resolutions for the year 2014, because, frankly, you can’t rush these things. How many times have I sat down and seriously considered what things I want to change, and then come up with a concrete plan on how I was going to accomplish these things?

Quite honestly? Never. I mostly think of things on the spot when someone asks me that “best-of-all small talk questions” for this time of year. I’ll say something like “I’m going to learn Japanese and Swahili simultaneously and try to get a little more exercise at the same time. In fact I have lessons for both languages on my iPod and I’m going to walk five miles each morning while reciting the Swahili and Japanese alphabets and in a few months I’ll have both languages down cold and be thin as a rake to boot!”

Last year I got up early and exercised on January 2nd and January 3rd, then something happened (I think I hurt my knee somehow) and then it was all over for the year. Two glorious days of exercise, days where I felt more alive and was more pleasant to be around, (grouchiness and winter go hand in hand for me) and then it was all over.

To be sure I got out and had a pretty active summer and have had a few early mornings since then, but I was out of the New Year’s resolution game in record time. So it’s easy to become discouraged and cynical about making life changes when there have been so many crashes and burns in the years before. And I know I’m not alone in this. I would hazard a guess that most Americans view New Year’s resolutions with a sort of winking eye philosophy; they’re fun to talk about, but come on, who really takes these things seriously. There mostly fodder for small talk (just like their Christmas cousin, “have you got your shopping done yet?”) and mostly a really good, really impractical idea.

There is also a growing wave of well intentioned propaganda that says “you are just fine the way you are. You should accept yourself and not worry about changing anything. You are just fine!”

But the reality is this dear reader; you have things that need to change. I have things that need to change. Miss Universe (isn’t she from Sri Lanka this year?) has things that she needs to change. If you think that you don’t have anything that needs to change or improve then go ask a close friend or a trusted relative (not an Elvis Presley like “yes man“) if there is anything about yourself that needs to change. Then listen to the answer.

If the answer makes you a little uncomfortable or a bit defensive then good. You are on to something.

But discouragement is easy. Hopelessness is not hard to come by. Despair or disbelief that change is possible is as common as a head cold. (I should know, I’ve had two in the last month).

So here is the secret code. Are you ready? Do you have a pen and paper handy? Good.

Plan big and shoot small. Plan big and shoot small. (Things sound more impressive if you repeat them twice.)

Plan big: If a change is warranted or desired then a plan on how to execute that change is as important as any ounce of will power or the most expensive home gym that you can find. Without a plan it all goes kabloowy.

But I always plan for too big a change. It’s mostly impossible to learn a language in a year without being immersed in the culture of that language and most of us can’t become Olympic level athlete in just a few months. It seems to me that any change that has happened successfully in my life happened by small degrees. Most of us think of making a life change as if we are jumping off a diving board, but it’s more like taking a hike. You do it by degrees, taking in the view every once in a while and stopping for water breaks often.

But at some point you look back at where you have come from and the view behind you is startling. You were wondering if you were getting anywhere at all and when you look back you see just how far you have come. But it came small step by small step, inch by inch.

So instead of trying to lose fifty pounds and run five miles a day shoot for fifteen pounds and walking a mile a day. It’s much more manageable and frankly, more likely to happen.

And don’t get discouraged with a few setbacks, just keep moving. Make a plan, write down a concrete schedule for yourself and carry it around with you. It’s only over the day you give up completely. Remember, plan big and shoot small. I’m no expert, and man o man do I have some things that I need to change, but we’re all in this thing together and I’m pulling for you.

Plan big and shoot small. Plan big and shoot small.

I really should have some t-shirts made up.

The Complete, Concise and Utterly Truthful History of the Motorcycle

The motorcycle is a ubiquitous presence on the highways and byways of the good old U.S.A. But few people know its incredible origin story, which dates all the way back to the shores of Kitty Hawk, North Carolina and the three fabulous Wright brothers.

Oh, you didn't know about the third Wright brother? Let me fill you in on a little fantastic bit of history.

The famous Wright brothers, Orville and Wilbur (whose parents were surely out to lunch with giving the brother those names) of course are credited with the invention of the airplane (and the phrase "It'll never fly Orville"). But not as well known was their little brother Michael (Mike or "Mikey") Wright.

When Orville and his big brother Wilbur (again, love those names) set up shop on the shores of the Atlantic there in Kitty Hawk their parents sent their teenage brother Mikey to spend some time with them during summer vacation. Young Mikey tagged along with his older brothers when they went out to the sand dunes to test their flying contraptions. He was much lighter than his portly, middle-aged brothers and they would often call upon him to strap in to their early attempts at flying machines. Young Mikey was generally a pretty good sport being the guinea pig in their experiments at flight, and as a thank you the older brothers would give their brother unlimited access to their scrap pile of mechanical pieces they kept on the premises.

One summer day when his brothers were out of town, young Mikey started tinkering with a small airplane engine bolted onto his bicycle. The experiment was successful beyond his wildest dreams and he went motoring about the shore of the North Carolina coast. Though it had yet to be written, the song "Born To Be Wild" was playing in the background as young Mikey tooled up one sand dune and down the next. He also, inexplicably, felt the need to take off his shirt and put on a pair of sunglasses, though those had yet to be invented either.

When Wilbur and Orville (I'll never get tired of typing those names) got back from their business trip young Mikey showed them his prototype for the motorcycle. They both were impressed with it and promised to give it their full attention and support once they had conquered the air.

What follows is well known history. The Wright brothers finally got one of their flying contraptions to stay aloft for a few minutes (with the younger and much lighter Mikey at the throttle and controls) and set the young century on its way to scientific discovery and invention.

Because of the hubbub of the airplane (the ticker-tape parades, the visit to the White House) the development of the motorcycle was delayed a bit, and when the time came to pay attention to it young Mikey wasn't so young any more. With a new family to care for Mikey sold the patent to his "motorized bicycle" to two sausage makers named John Harley and Steve Davidson. (Incidentally, this is why the term "hog" became synonymous with the motorcycle.) Mikey Wright went on to invent the mini-van and the Cuisinart in his later life.

Harley and Davidson made some critical improvements to the prototype (such as those streamers that you sometimes see coming from the handlebars and the loud tailpipe.)

Actually, the tailpipe was the critical defining moment of motorcycle development. On its first forays out into moving traffic the motorcycle was much too small and quiet to be noticed (despite Harley and Davidson's constant use of the "Motorcycles Are Everywhere" bumper stickers on the bumpers of their Model T's) and were constantly being knocked around by other vehicles.

It was a young intern at their shop in who tinkered with the exhaust system to get it to be ear-splittingly loud. He was rewarded with the chance to design his own cycle, and he promptly invented the "Chopper" which is, for you who are not up on such things, the motorcycle with the ridiculously long front tire set up and the high handlebars that require a seven foot arm span to operate.

The motorcycle is now firmly etched into the American myth (it helps to have a whole continent to drive across) and this year the Smithsonian Museum is dedicating an exhibit to Mikey Wright and his first "motorized bike' design.

Please make sure to park your motorcycle in appropriate marked spot in the museum's parking lot and be as quiet as you can when entering the exhibit.

And please, make sure to wear a shirt.

Lou The Election Referee

"All right you fifty states! Gather round me, I have a few instructions for all of you before we kick this thing off. D.C., Puerto Rico and Guam, I want you to come over here too, I want everybody to hear these instructions (even if there is no chance that you will ever get off the bench and into the game). I want there to be no excuses, no 'I didn't here you say that sir!' Once this election gets going it's very hard to hear over the crowd noise so let's get a few things established.

California! Take off those sun glasses, I want to be able to see your eyes. Nebraska! Put down that corn dog, this is no time for eating.

All right. My name is Louis, but you can call me 'Lou' or 'Sir'. I'm tasked with making this a nice clean, fair, well run election. There are fifty of you and you each do your own thing when it comes to casting ballots, so I want your complete focus here. We do this once every four years (or two years if you count those minor league Congressional elections) so you can give me your full attention for 24 hours.

Can everyone hear me? Good.

Okay, to you role players out there, Texas, Alabama, Vermont and Massachusetts, I'm looking at you. We all know which way you guys are heading, so I want to see some solid cheering from the sidelines tomorrow. Let's see some positive vocal support for your side and not any trash talk. It's easy to say lots of things from the sidelines, it's much harder when you are out there. When poor New Hampshire and Colorado are playing the game of their lives and getting beaten up on all sides by political adds and robo phone calls I want to see solid support, no cheap shots from the sidelines. Got it!

Virginia and North Carolina. You're new to this 'swing state' thing, having switched teams last election. Don't let the bright lights get to you. I want to see a well contested election down there. And no grumbling about 'city folk' changing the demographic of your state. We all have to play the hand we are dealt. Your votes count as much as theirs do, you just have to get all your people out to the polls.

New York and New Jersey, I know you are playing hurt. We all feel for you and respect you for even being out here today. If you need to cast paper ballots or vote a little longer we all understand. Both sides are rooting for you. You are an inspirational story.

Florida, Florida, Florida. I hear there is already some drama before you even stepped onto the field today. I recommend turning over the running of your elections to Disney World. Those folks know how to manage lines. Some nice '45 minutes till you'll be voting' signs would be great. And no more polling place bomb threats! That's how Pakistan plays. We don't do that in our league! Lets see a good game down there Florida. Don't make us go into overtime needlessly.

Okay Ohio. All eyes are on you. You are the focus of both sides and I see you even made it onto the cover of Sports Illustrated this week. Don't let all this attention go to your head. It's easy to get distracted by those bright lights and cable news crews. Just breathe and focus and play fair and we'll see how you do on Wednesday.

To you West Coast and East Coast states. I know there are huge differences in time zones, and the networks are eager to be the first to call this thing, but let's make sure we count every vote. I don't want to get any angry texts from folks in Seattle saying that it's no use voting if they live there. We all need to play our part. That goes for you too Hawaii and Alaska. I want to see you suit up and give it your best effort. You are citizens too, even if we are stretching the definition geographically speaking.

All right, that's about it. I just need to take Illinois aside here and talk about Chicago and all of the dead folks who seem to vote there every time. Come on Chicago, just because you have the blues doesn't excuse you from playing fair like everybody else out here.

Louisiana! Put that gumbo down and get your head in the game!

All right America, let's do this. A nice fair, well run, timely election can be done. Let's show the world the meaning of democracy!

Tweet! Play ball!"

The Candy Corn Conspiracy

Let's be honest. Not all candy is created equal.

Trick-or-treaters know this. And at the end of the night what is left in the candy bowl when all the goblins, Jedi's, princesses and superhero's have gone?

That's right. Candy Corn.

According to some in depth research, done just now, there is 20 million pounds of candy corn sold annually in the United States. That is enough candy corn to circle the globe 4.25 times if it was laid end to end. A single serving of candy corn is nineteen individual pieces and has 120 calories and the shelf life of a bag of candy corn is roughly 100 years, enabling the confection to stay on store shelves indefinitely. (That last fact was mine.)

Candy corn is shaped like those orange road construction cones, and coincidentally, if you were to shrink a road construction cone down to candy corn size, they would taste the same.

There has got to be some sort of government/big business conspiracy going on here to keep the candy corn manufactures in business, because I cannot conceive that this candy is making anyone any money.

If you walk the discount candy aisle the day after Halloween, it's all bushel bags of candy corn. They might as well call this the candy corn aisle.

So how are these candy makers still in business?

Kids are the ultimate demographic for taste testing candy, and they have no qualms about taking the candy they want out of the bowl and leaving the rest for the unfortunate souls who would follow.

And what would that left-over candy be?

Candy corn of course.

You remember what it was like to trick or treat don't you?

If you were like me you planned your costume right after you finished your back to school shopping. (Thanks for all those pencil boxes and corduroy pants mom - and for that killer Transformers Trapper Keeper.) You had your costume picked out by late September and your trick or treating route planned out a few weeks before October 31st. (And of course adjusting for ambient air temperature and maximum moonlight exposure on those back woods paths).

I grew up in the greatest small town for Halloween activities, because it was spooky even in bright sunlight.

If the town you live in had it's hay day about one hundred years before you were born, then it probably was like mine, filled with beautiful old falling down houses and those creepy wrought iron fences and gargoyles that were en vogue at the turn of the last century. And on your map you would mark out all those spooky houses that had the best candy, and plan your route accordingly. You knew the houses that gave you apples and pencils and that wonderful old lady on your street that gave out nickels and bags of candy corn and who could not tell Darth Vader from Tinkerbell.

And when you returned home after your wild adventures you would do that candy triage thing on your bedroom floor where you spread the candy out and arrange it in "most edible to least edible" order for consumption. And inevitably candy corn would be at the end of the row, right next to squirrel nut zippers. (If you have not had the pleasure of eating this rock hard, tooth shattering Depression era candy then stop what you are doing right now and fish the time machine out of the closet.)

Of course candy corn is not the only questionable candy on the block.

The runner up for awful Halloween candy would have to be Circus Peanuts, those inedible peanut shaped marshmallow lumps that though they look like peanuts, taste like a mutant banana and can also be used as a door stop or for insulating your house in the wintertime.

We must be a wildly nostalgic buying public, because we continue purchasing fruitcake at Christmas time, "Peeps" marshmallow chicks at Easter and candy corn and Circus Peanuts at Halloween even though no one actually eats any of these items.

So next year, when you find yourself in the candy aisle a few days before Halloween ask yourself this all important question: "Did anyone eat these when I bought them last year?"

And if the honest answer is "no" then put that bag down and slowly back away.

The Kit Kats are just a shelf away.

Local Man's Facebook Political Comment Changes Everything

A one sentence, poorly spelled political comment made by Manly, Iowa resident Gary Lufkin on his Facebook page has gone viral and changed the nature of the 2012 Presidential political race.

The comment, which overnight made its way onto t-shirts and bumper stickers, was so galvanizing and ground breaking that both major candidates for our nation's highest office, incumbent President Barak Obama and Republican challenger, former Massachusetts Governor Mitt Romney, have suspended their campaigns and agreed to form a coalition, "English Parliament" style unity government with both candidates agreeing to share power 50-50.

At a joint press conference held in the town of Antlers, Virginia (a spot chosen because of its swing-state status) President Obama and Mitt Romney appeared together to answer questions from the press core following the two candidates. When asked who would actually occupy the Oval Office Romney stated "Co-President Obama and I have decided to put our desks side by side in the office, that way communication will be ideal, and if we clear our desks we can play a killer game of table tennis when we can't agree on policy."

Added Co-president Obama, "Michele and I have also decided to give Co-president Romney and Ann the Lincoln Bedroom so that they can come over to the residence at night and play couples Scrabble and Monopoly, which of course Co-President Romney will win every time!"

This joke lightened the mood among the press core, who up until that point had been in total disbelief of the ongoing turn of events.

"It's a totally unprecedented historical event" says Princeton history professor Dr. Thomas Wells. "It is right up there with Lincoln's Gettysburg Address and Patrick Henry's 'Give me liberty or give me death' comments before the Revolutionary War." Wells went on to say "It's ironic that a comment, that from one angle could be seen as thoughtless and unbelievably insensitive, has actually served to bring our nation together in the way it was after the attack on Pearl Harbor."

Adds Iowa State History Chair, Dr. Sarah Chalmers, "we did a detailed analysis of Mr. Lufkin's 893 Facebook friends and found that they split roughly down the middle on political viewpoints, and that the comment had the amazing potential to offend and infuriate both sides with its inflammatory, knuckleheaded phrasing and completely thoughtless nature.

"It's pretty amazing" continued Dr. Chalmers, "that these eight words" might go down in history as the single most important words ever said this side of Moses' "let my people go." Because if you take away the historical nature of the comment and view the sentence in a vacuum, it's actually one of the dumbest, most simpleton comments I've ever read. That it did so much good is akin to those two hundred monkeys typing on keyboards and producing the full text of Hamlet."

When reached for comment at his residence in his parent's basement in Manly (a picturesque town overlooking the Mississippi River in Iowa), former short-order cook Lufkin (he has just today agreed to a 21 Million dollar book deal with Pendant Publishing) reflected on his role in American history.

"Well, the comment (which can't be reprinted for this story due to the ongoing copyright and branding process) just kind of came to me. I had just knocked off work at 11 PM and I was just logging in on my parent's computer to see pictures of my friend John's new ATV that he had posted, and for some reason that comment just came out. I think it had something to do with the political slogan on the t-shirt John was wearing in the photos."

When asked about the screenplay he is writing for the inevitable Hollywood movie that will be developed around the story, Lufkin commented "I just flew into LA last week and had an all day meeting with both Rush Limbaugh and Michael Moore at Dennys. Over cheesy waffle fries they agreed to co-produce and direct the film and we got both Charlton Heston and George Cloony to star." When informed that former NRA president Heston had passed away a few years ago Lufkin responded "yeah Rush brought that up, but he and Michael agreed to do one of those hologram things to work Heston into the film."

One group of people not yet on board with this newfound political good will is Congress. "It's one thing for two presidential candidates to get along so well" said Pennsylvania Senator Bill Winston, "it's quite another for the 535 members of the House and Senate to drop their differences. I mean, I just spent 10 million dollars in advertising for my campaign to get half of my state to despise the other half in an effort to win an extra 2% of the vote, and this guy's Facebook comment is changing all that?"

One House member, Rep. Paul Singer (Republican) from North Dakota has used the thawing of tensions in Congress to finally ask out Michigan Senator Cindy Lewis (Democrat) on a date. "I've had a crush on Senator Lewis for almost two years now, ever since they sent us on that fact finding mission to The Ukraine in the summer of 2010. But up until now my constituents back home would have set my downtown Bismark offices ablaze if I was seen eating out with the lovely Senator Lewis."

When informed of his status as a matchmaker in Congress, comment originator Lufkin got reflective.

"I'm sure glad I stopped for an energy drink on my way home from work that night. I think that started it all."

Gravel Smoothie

It's been estimated that Facebook is almost 90% cute pictures of people's children, 5% cute things that these children say, 4 % political diatribes and 1% "Farmville" requests. (Why don't all these folks plant actual gardens with all their spare time? Instead of poor posture and eyesight you get poor posture and tomatoes!)

As one of the 90% who post pictures of my wonderful daughters in comical situations or adorable moments around the town ("Look girls, a 'men working' sign; go pick up those shovels and pose for a picture!") I fully apologize to all those who don't understand the big deal.

The big deal is this: We are desperately trying to document something that has a limited shelf life. Like a National Geographic photographer who spots a rare jungle bird at sunset and has three minutes to get a good shot, the parents of our land are taking pictures like a paparazi following Brad Pitt around.

Because there is a clock ticking down.

In one way it's quite literal. My daughters are getting bigger every day, and "horsey rides" around the living room are rapidly descending into my lovely wife saying "let your father up girls, I think he's hurt his back. Help him to the couch and go fetch him the ice pack in the freezer."

There are also cute outfits that the girls wear that we want to get pictures of them in. But, occasionally they grow out of said outfit before we get a chance to get a photo. Sometimes we have held on to an outfit too long because we liked it so much, and the girls have to put a foot down. ("Mom, I can't breathe or raise my hands in this dress! Can we wear something else please!")

Sometimes I think that this also leads to our friends and family thinking that we are more financially hard off that we actually are. ("Son, your mom and I have noticed that the girls are wearing clothing that is three sizes too small for them. Here is $100 dollars. Why don't you guys go buy something nice and size appropriate for them to wear.")

With Halloween around the corner, brace yourself for another onslaught of cute children dressed as Captain America, a scarecrow or in the case of my girls, Batgirl and Spidergirl. (They share their dad's love of superheroes.)

And then there are the great things your children say.

For Christmas last year my parents gave me a notebook that was just for documenting the comic pearls that come out of my girls mouth on a daily basis.

For instance, this tidbit from my oldest daughter said in February of this year: "Dad, I really like Star Wars, especially that Tobacco (Chewbacca) character! He's so funny with his howls and growls."

I'll never be able to watch Star Wars again without thinking of Chewbacca as "Tobacco". I'm not sure how she mistook the immortal Chewbacca The Wookie as the material found in cigars (perhaps it's because they are the same color).

Or take for example my youngest daughter's favorite joke when she was three years old:

"Knock knock"

"Who's there?"

"Cheese!"

"Cheese who?"

"Cheese grape!"

Now the words "cheese" and "grape" are not in themselves funny at all, but said with conviction and enthusiasm my an adorable three-year-old in pigtails this joke is on par with anything Jay Leno or John Stewart can come up with on a nightly basis.

Needless to say, my notebook is bursting at the seams. Just the other day I was playing ice cream shop (the Nirvana location of all children, Heaven is basically where God keeps all the ice cream and we get to eat it for eternity without getting cavities or lactose intolerant) with my daughter in her school's sandbox and she topped off a cup of dirt with a few rocks and offered it to me through the ice cream shop window that is set up on the playground.

"What is this" I said, "a banana split?"

"No Dad! It's a gravel smoothie!"

A "gravel smoothie." Brilliant.

I then did something memorable (both for myself and the other kids on the playground). I took a swig of the gravel smoothie.

Now, it's been over 30 years since I last tasted sand in this volume (a big "thank you" goes out to my older sister for introducing me to the taste the first time) and I'd quite forgotten how difficult it is to get all of the particles out of your mouth. I'm still finding small rocks when I floss.

But in a weird way it was worth it, because my daughter (or her friends) will never forget that afternoon of playing, and it's another memory preserved.

So forgive us crazy parents of the world. Please extend us patience and grace as we talk to you about our kids and show you pictures. We are just trying desperately to capture something. We will return to our normal selves soon.

In the meantime, can I offer you a gravel smoothie?

Tattoos and other kinds of regrets

 A cold, cloudy fall day is a good time to think about regrets.

In my illustrious career as a high powered advice columnist I have yet to cover the subject of regrets and how to best manage them, and hopefully stymie any further ones.

This I regret. So allow me to pontificate on the subject now.

There are many kinds of regrets, but I like to sand them down into three categories, based on their impact and length of duration.

The first kind my lovely wife Special Sauce helped me to identify. She calls it the "Burger Regret."

Burger regret is exactly what it sounds like. A few weeks ago I made the unwise choice to eat two double cheese burgers in a sitting and about 11 PM that night I knew there was trouble brewing. The fact that I even have a bottle of Tums around indicates what the slow, cruel hands of time are doing to my stomach. As I sat there in bed, groaning and trying not to cry like a newborn my wise wife looked over from where she was slumbering and said "I think you have the burger regret sweetheart."

I knew she was right. I am no longer and iron-stomached, 18 year old college freshman who could eat greasy food with impunity. I am a 35 year old who needs to avoid the double cheeseburger.

Thankfully "Burger Regret" is only short lived and can be avoided by getting a salad instead. That is unless all the burgers in your life have given you a heart attack. That kind of Burger Regret is a little more impactful. I suggest following the two "B's" when it comes to burgers - "barbecues and birthdays". Any other time get the tofu dog.

The second category of regret is the "Haircut Regret." This regret lasts a bit longer (about a month or more depending on how drastic the change is) and should be thought out before you sit down at that salon or barber shop. If you are a female, please reconsider the Basic Training head shave or the bright green permanent die. This will not be as cool in photographs ten years from now, I guarantee you. For men, please avoid the perm or hairplugs. Vice-President Joe Biden is not fooling anyone. Those plugs he has almost ran off his head and strangled the moderator at last week's debate.

The third kind of regret is the most long lasting, and unfortunately is on the upswing among the youth of today.

When I was younger the only kind of place you could find a tattoo parlor was down by the docks in Brooklyn or at the back of a seedy juke-joint in Baton Rouge. But now even my small, quaint, wholesome New Hampshire town has a respectable one and you can find one on the main street of any American town. Your local, heavily tattooed character is now a "tattoo artist" and enjoys a bit of celebrity as he walks about town.

Tattoos coming out of the dark is all well and good, but the same problem exists; a tattoo is more or less a permanent decision, often made by tipsy college students on the Jersey shore boardwalk.

Yes young person, that Kermit the Frog neck tattoo makes quite a story back in the dorm, but in three years when you want to be taken seriously at that job interview in D.C. you are going to have to wear a turtle neck sweater in July.

Also, the names of your High School sweetheart on your shoulder will not seem like a good decision when you ask someone else to marry you ten years down the road.

Thankfully I only have to contend with the first kind of regret. I have no hair to cut and my arms are way to hairy (we're talking werewolf levels of fur here) to ever have a tattoo be visible unless it were those new, three dimensional ones I know someone somewhere is working on.

Ironically, the only place a tattoo would find space on my body is right on top of my ample forehead. Perhaps the names of my children tattooed right there would let my girls know just how much I love them.

I think when It was time to drop them off at their Junior High a few years from now, they would be the ones with the "tattoo regret".

Let's make good decisions people.