I’ve mentioned before that I simply don’t approve of the whole “New Year’s resolution” concept. In my opinion, it’s unnecessarily cruel. It’s freezing cold; we get, like, 45 minutes of sun exposure per day; I just blew all my money on the month-long bacchanalia American culture tries to pass off as a religious holiday, and now you want me to give up drinking for a month? The effrontery.
Besides, it doesn’t even work. Only 8 percent of Americans report being successful in their New Year’s resolutions. The pull-out method works better than that (and trust me, it doesn’t work very well). Chances are, when 2022 ends, you’ll be making exactly as much money as you are now, and you won’t be any thinner, happier or more likely to find a record label willing to produce your shoegaze album. (Sorry, Ricky. I didn’t know how else to tell you. It’s just not good.)
That said, I know some of you are going to go ahead and try it anyway, because your heart isn’t a shriveled-up piece of coal and you can still experience the sensation of hope. How adorable. And since I love you guys, and I don’t want to see you get hurt, might I suggest a few … more achievable ideas?
Get rid of your gym membership. Seriously, when was the last time you took your fat ass to Planet Fitness on any day that they were not serving pizza? Just get rid of it and find something else to spend your 10 bucks a month on. Remember to set aside at least a month for this task, because they make you perform the 12 trials of Hercules before they let you out of your contract. Then, after you’ve safely delivered them the head of Medusa, find a less soul-sucking way of getting exercise. I just bought myself a pair of roller skates.
Lower your literary standards. You haven’t finished a book since your sophomore year of college. What makes you think you’re going to read Anna Karenina by next month’s book club meeting? Take a baby step and read a trashy romance novel instead; something really, really filthy, with a picture of Fabio dressed as a pirate on the cover. If you’re honest with yourself, the only reason you wanted to read great literature in the first place was to get laid.
Start showing up to work on time. Forget about your master plan to impress your boss with the best damn quarterly presentation he’s ever seen. That’s way above your pay grade. Punctuality will go farther than anything else to show your dedication to—
On second thought, never mind. You’re never going to do that.
This article was originally published in Little Village issue 302.