I wonder how I’ll do this year. It’s 2026, just a couple days into it. My New Year’s Resolutions are still sporting the “WET PAINT” sign. Looking back, I haven’t had the best of luck with this antithetical roadblocks of Change Your Life & Be A Better Person. Example?

When a person turns 21, they’re supposed to drop the giggles and embrace, albeit reluctantly, this wet blanket annoyance entitled, “Adulthood.” My New Year’s Resolution in 1971 was to stand atop my sofa, in my gym shorts, and see if I could jump into my Levi’s before I hit the ground. Yes. I had been drinking and, do relax. I moved the coffee table out of the way. As I look at my watch, I’m 75 now, approaching middle age. I have trouble climbing into my jeans with the help of two fetching stewardesses, each soothingly encouraging, “There-there.” Not even if they were giant and roomy clown pants could I imagine today standing on divan’s highest elevation, launching myself into space and somehow getting both feet through the leg holes before I hit the ground.

Perhaps I need a taller sofa.

You know what other New Year’s Resolutions I’ve abjectly failed at over the decades? Listening. I’ve often vowed to be a better listener, although, in retrospect, why is that always brandished about as such a good quality? Unless someone is announcing, “Your burger is now ready, Mr. Boston,” or, “FIRE!” what good does listening to other people bring? It’s just a clock eater.

Weight loss is usually up there in the goal of the fresh unveiling of the January........

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