Column 13

After a long break full of monotony, idleness, and hardcore sittin' around, I emerged from my cocoon of empty yogurt containers (warmly insulated in only the most mediocre of syndicated television reruns) to find my world profoundly changed. The day, the month, the very year itself had shifted from what once could only be deemed as "this year" to what those false prophets of perpetuity called "next year." 2007 roared its mighty roar, and though I begged for five more minutes, Androgynous-Parental-Unit Time's repo men had "stuffs to get done thattaways" so "youse guy [meaning mese guy] betta scram, fast and alls." My fate was sealed.

Like many people, I view every New Year as a New Beginning. A Fresh Start. A Get-Out-Of-Past-Free-Card that grandly proclaims, "That thing with the Russian transvestite, the industrial strength glue, and the chinchilla farm? Forgettaboutit!" So forget about my thirty-to-life jail sentence I did, and it was off to a Better Tomorrow and an even Betterer Dylan!

But self-improvement is no easy task. News Years resolutions and I have a long standing relationship that is, to put it in the most aptly eloquent of phrasings, "crap." It all began when, as an aspiring young toddler, I solemnly resolved that I would "be purrfec." One slap on the wrist and a trip to "The Spelling Barrel" later, I learned not only of the dangerous, fickle wiles of Our Lady Language, but also that self-improvement is not for children.

One year later, I aimed lower, devoutly resolving to "be good." Yet even then my intentions were in vain, as my nickname "Dylan 'The Booger Baron' Meggs" somewhat indicates (Fun fact: I later joined with "The Snot Tot" and "Runny Nose It All" to form the early nineties Moldystump Elementary recess kiddy-rock sensation "Tissues with Issues").

The years passed and, along with them, new chances at renewal. Resolutions fell from "Don't Do Cocaine" to "Don't Do As Much Cocaine" to "Don't Do As Much Cocaine While Pregnant," all resulting in failure (and the destruction of a great deal of predominant medical theory of the time). Even "Limit Amputations to One Appendage per Hobo" was met with regret and all too much blood loss.

What on earth was wrong? Why would none of my plans work? Were these New Years Resolutions or UN Resolutions? I mean, for God's sake, you'd think I could at least uphold one tiny little attempt making me a better person. Every year, another failure! I couldn't handle much more! It was hard enough having to wait an entire 365 days before I could make another attempt at self-improvement, not to mention the massive amounts of property damage and human right's violations that occurred in the meantime from such failed resolutions as "Don't Distribute Label Cups of Antifreeze as Koolaid" and "Don't Douse Kittens in Gasoline at Campgrounds." Something had to be done.

So, being the English Major I am, I went about it all scientific-like. I developed a hypothesis, ran some tests, confirmed some biases, drew some charts and graphs with only partially falsified information (some of those random numbers had to at least share some digits with the real things, right?), and broke that whole "cocaine" resolution series a few more times.

Operator error was eliminated early because, well, that would make it my fault, wouldn't it? Resolution difficulty was a forerunner, but lost out when I realized that that would probably make it my fault too. The only thing my failed resolutions all had in common was that every single one was made at New Years. Therefore, I made a new, surefire resolution that simply cannot fail: "Make More Resolutions." Which I will do. Later. (See: Cocaine)