Out with the Old and Take the New with You

Feb 18th, 2013 | By | Category: Columns

With every New Year comes a new promise that we make to ourselves to get better. We vow that we’re going to finally get in shape, that we’ll take the time to show our loved ones we care, that we’ll start seeing the world or spend less time at work, and all that self-improvement hogwash you tell yourself year in and year out. These resolutions aren’t even things that border on awesome, like a lion tamer, or streaking every political debate, but the same tired ol’ stand-bys that folks who lack any sort of imagination or courage pull out just so they can tell everyone (who doesn’t ask) that they have a resolution this year.

Let’s not beat around the bush here, we are a nation of fatties; I myself could stand to drop a couple of pounds (which equates to a small farm animal), but we shouldn’t need a New Year’s resolution to commit to, we do. Every year it starts out the same way: join a gym on January 1st, go every day after work and twice on weekends, then eat food that’s barely fit for a rabbit.  This vicious cycle goes on for about a month until you step on the scale to see that your dedication and hard work has rewarded you with the net loss of (drum roll please): 2 ½ lbs. You think to yourself, “I literally ate grass for four weeks. I sweat my ass off next to smelly guys wearing sunglasses and jeans in the gym. I fucking ate rice cakes during the Super Bowl…and 2 ½ lbs is all I have to show for it?!” You angrily throw on your coat, peel out of your parking spot, speed to the local market, and load your cart up with nothing but carbs of the sugary and salty variety, a couple of liters of carbonated beverages, and reacquaint yourself with two old friends named Ben and Jerry. In an effort to better yourself physically, you wind up making it worse and you wallow in a self-shame spiral as you sit in front of the TV and jealously exclaim, with dried pizza sauce staining your third chin, that “Jabba the Hutt has a better body” than you.

Now, after our moment of vanity of wanting to look outstanding in a bathing suit, we move right into greed. We all want to be a multi-billionaire, but in order to do so  you need either an amazing idea, or incredible luck. Few of us are blessed enough to have either, and an even smaller number with both. Our great ideas all take the form of “How can I use a part of my body to get the remote from the far side of the table without getting up?” Basically, we all have a desire to be successful in our careers and evolve to the point of making serious – in the words of the experts – “chedda.”  So, to accomplish this, we wind up taking on hard projects for extended periods of time, working late nights and weekends, showing that initiative that bosses love to see in their workers. You push yourself, you sacrifice, you lose sleep, gain stress, you’re on a first name basis with the delivery driver of Papa John’s, you become the “Go-to Guy” at the office, and eventually, you get that nice cushy job, in a corner office with a view and a secretary who types 15 wpm. Congrats big guy, your time as come, and now that you’ve reached the top of the mountain, you can now look down the slopes at everything you left behind or missed as you struggled to reach the top. Oh, there’s a divorce! There? That’s the resentment your children have for you as you were too busy to attend their school recitals, concerts, and games as you had another deadline! Regardless, you made it! Obviously, this job that you sacrificed everything for will be there for you to wipe the drool from your elderly chin with your eyes glazing over as you watch The Weather Channel…right?

How about matters of love? Everyone has their own idea of what their perfect mate his; so they play the dating game and wait…and wait…and wait. Eventually, they’re 76 years old, and their neighbors had to have them committed to a nursing home because they continually fall down in the street and then shit themselves. Those folks in loving, committed relationships have, in some way, simply settled. Now, I’m not saying the two aren’t madly in love, because they are, but, each of them is the personification of a silver or bronze medal. If the person were a gold, there’d be no arguments; you wouldn’t get sick of the way they breathe while they’re brushing their teeth, and all those other little things about them that drive you up the fucking wall, wouldn’t exist if they were your initial idea of perfection. So, we come to a hard truth; you either hold out and die alone, or, you settle, and at least capture moments of happiness. If I were to hold out, I would need Christina Hendricks to first get a divorce, and then be labeled clinically insane just so I could even have a shot. So, you settle. That doesn’t mean you mosey on down to the local insane asylum and pick yourself out a winner, but petty things you held onto in your youth, you start to remove from your list.

Let’s say, for the sake of argument, that you succeed…what comes next? You either dedicate yourself to a new goal, or you regress; you gain the weight back, get fired, or wind up smothering your better half in their sleep. It’s human nature: we strive to better ourselves physically, emotionally, socially, or financially are willing to sacrifice our own happiness in the process; however, the start of a new year is not the time to make that decision. That’s great, really it is, but life changing decisions require thought and planning; not made on a night where you’re drunkenly blowing into party favors. It just sets you up for failure as it’s damn near impossible to keep a promise that you made to yourself while wearing a hat with a four-digit number on it.


Chris hates anyone or anything which goes against how he feels a sentient being with more than three brain cells should act. He hopes to use his “Encyclopedia Douchebag…ica” as a springboard into becoming a full-fledged, tax exempt religion complete with holidays and greeting cards, mainly so he can steal from its coffers. His hopes are…not that high, knowing that those who needs his guidance most, are unable to read his words… what with the extra flesh from their sloped, ape-like foreheads blinding their eyes from the truth.

When not acting like a complete bastard (which is not very often), Chris writes about all things video game related on his blog iNOOBriated, and his Twitter. He also offers his services as a freelancer for Beckett’s Massive Online Gamer. Yep, he’s a neeeeeerd.

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