A Dude's Guide. . . to everything

I Resolve. . . No More Resolutions

Really, the title says it all. Every year, folks start making lists of what they’re going to do differently this year. “I’m going to lose weight.” “I’m going to exercise more.” “I’m going to be nicer to other people.” ‘I’m going to increase the number of sacrifices of small, furry animals to the forces of darkness in an attempt to resurrect the great old ones sleeping in their underwater cities.” Well, all right, perhaps that last one isn’t all that common, but you get what I mean.

I’m pretty sure resolutions aren’t all that good for you, anyway. I mean, really, most people have blown most resolutions by April anyway. I know that’s when the workout facility at the YMCA finally thins out. For the first couple of months of the year, that place is packed with folks wearing brand-new workout outfits and more than a few brand-new pounds. It’s hard to find a parking space near the entrance and I sometimes have to walk as much as a minute just to reach the front door. I mean, the nerve of some people. Making me walk just so I can exercise.

Way back when, I used to take this resolution thing a bit more seriously. I’d make resolutions and try to stick to them. It never really worked out all that well and I always felt bad when I realized I’d blown another resolution. When I finally did lose weight, it was during the summer when I just decided to finally get it done. No resolutions needed.

So, that’s what I’m urging here on this first day of the new year. If you want to get something done, then just go ahead and do it. It doesn’t need some artificial calendar date for you to succeed. Heck, I told Barry we were going to have a blog post a day for this place and that wasn’t until February or March of last year and we’ve managed to stick to it. So far. And if Barry and I can actually stick to a resolution like that, well, anyone can do it.

– Richard

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Be Careful Out There

Tonight, Wednesday night, is New Year’s Eve. The night when all the amateurs go out and drink themselves into stupidity as a way of celebrating the fact that they made it through another year. All of which means, of course, that it’s going to be dangerous out on the streets tonight, so be careful. There are more idiots out there than normal, which is saying a lot.

Before the little dudes arrived, I used to go out with my wife, known to many back then as Wheeeeeeeeee Haaaaaa, to various parties and fun places. Some, admittedly, not so fun. When she was visiting me in Dallas during the winter break from the University of Florida, she accompanied me to a New Year’s Eve party with a friend of mine who I’ve known since fourth grade. I’ll call my friend, oh, just pulling a name from a hat here, John. John was also back in town and said he was going to a great party and wanted to invite us along.

We went. Turns out my friend John had become involved with a bit of a self-improvement cult. And, no, I’m not using the word cult inadvisedly. John drove us to the party and didn’t want to leave. So we spent the night getting harassed about how great the cult really was. I managed to grab a couple of drinks and then slink off to goof off with the host’s younger kids. I found their conversation much more intelligent. I can’t tell you how glad I was to reach midnight kiss she who was not yet my wife, known to me as Where’s The Ring, and then really start begging for a ride home.

There are, of course, far too many other stories of bad behavior on New Year’s Eve to get into here. I mean, does anyone really want to hear the story of missing a garbage bag and covering shoes with vomit and why I still won’t drink vodka 20 years later? I didn’t think so. I know I don’t want to hear it.

This year, we’re going to force our little dudes to dress up, go to a nice restaurant and enjoy ourselves until we watch a fireworks show in Uptown Charlotte. It’ll be different, but I can’t wait for it.

– Richard

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Low Man On The Totem Pole

My middle little dude has achieved one of his lifelong goals: He’s now officially taller than his dad. I was pretty sure I could keep him from guessing this, but, thanks to the arrival of my dad, the little dude has caught on.

I’m not sure why, but the middle little dude has always thought that when he gets to be taller than me, he’ll be able to do whatever he wants. I think he’s equating bigness with toughness. My standard response to him has always been: “You might be bigger than me, but I’ll always be meaner and sneaker.” Well, now it’s time to put up or shut up.

My dad, of course, thinks this is hilarious. The thing is, though, he’s never had to deal with anything like this. At six-feet-two-inches, he’s been taller than his father since he was 16. With two inches less than him, I’ve never been taller than my dad. Now that my oldest little dude is taller than my dad, he’s finally getting a taste for it. Of course, as a grandfather, he never actually has to look up and wag his finger at the tall kid while trying to scold him. He leaves that fun discipline stuff up to the poor parents. It’s an old, but true saying that parents are the common enemy of grandparents and children.

So, anyway, my middle little dude is strutting around the house acting like he’s the big man on campus now, as if he had anything to do with growing tall. I mean, who was it who gave him good food and made him eat the stuff so he could grow? Looking back, maybe I should have let him eat only candy like he wanted. Sure we would have had to pay for more dental work, but then I wouldn’t have had to deal with this attitude.

I’d write more now, but I have to skulk off to my dad cave and begin plotting. I mean, being meaner and sneakier is a lot of work. I’d better get started.

– Richard

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