Tiger In the Rough

In case you haven’t heard, the big news today is that Tiger Woods is making his first public appearance since his life fell apart faster than Lindsey Lohan’s movie career. It’s been several months since anybody has even seen him; for all we know he was going to walk out to the press conference white and announce he was opening a ranch for children. I didn’t actually watch the press conference, because it happened before I woke up. But that’s okay! Because ESPN went into Beast Mode, when they talk about nothing but Tiger Woods all the time (if this sounds familiar, they do it every offseason with Brett Favre).

Anyway, even if he didn’t crash and burn quite as bad as Michael Jackson (after all, the guy died, and there isn’t really a lower low than that), Tiger sure did give it the old college try (by that I mean he tried to sleep with everyone he met). It all started when Woods crashed his SUV into a fire hydrant about five feet from his house, which was the first warning sign. Men don’t crash into things five feet from their own house. Women do. The other suspicious sign was that this occurred at about two in the morning. Now, with the exception of Lassie reruns on Animal Planet, almost nothing good happens after two in the morning, especially for married fathers.

Slowly the details finally came out that Tiger’s wife had apparently gotten mad at him for something and turned his head into a driving range, giving him a concussion and causing him to crash. This just proves that every single car accident in the world is caused in some way or form by women. Anyway, it then came out that the reason was that his wife Elin had found out that Tiger Woods was having an affair. Of course, we would later find out that by “affair,” he meant “I slept with enough women to repopulate an entire country.” This especially puzzling when you consider that Tiger’s wife looks like this. But maybe Tiger was simply trying to break Wilt Chamberlain’s record of 20,000 women.

Now, all of this news was devastating to his career. I mean, finding out you’ve slept with dozens of women behind your family’s back would ruin most people’s reputations (unless it’s Jude Law, in which case everybody would just pass it off as a juvenile attempt to convince the world he wasn’t gay). But it was especially damaging to Tiger, whose entire image was that of a person who never got into trouble and was as clean as a whistle. (By the way, I never got that saying. I mean, whistle’s go into everybody’s mouths, so I don’t know how clean they are).

There was a while where Tiger Woods pretty much sponsored everything, including (but not limited to): razors, cars, power drills, dating websites, condoms, tampons, birth control, etc. But apparently a healthy sex drive is not something that companies like to have associated with their product which is confusing if you watch commercials today, which appear to want to convey one message, which is: SEX SEX SEX SEX SEX.

So to solve this problem, Tiger has gone to sex rehab to treat his apparent sex addiction. Now I personally do not think there is such a thing as “sex addiction.” There are people who are having lots of sex, and those who wish they were having lots of sex. Technically, by Darwinian standards, Tiger is what we call a success. People like T.S. Eliot on the other hand who never have kids and just write a whole bunch of jibberish poems are what we refer to as “failures.”

Lost in all of this is what will happen to golf. That’s because nobody cares what happens to golf. But those who do care have to admit that most people couldn’t name a golfer other than Tiger Woods anyway. So golf might have to find a new temporary star. I propose Phil Mickelson who, while Tiger was sleeping with hookers, was helping his wife and mother deal with breast cancer. The only way he could be more wholesome and family friendly is if he crapped fruit loops.

Personally, if I were Tiger I would retire from golf and try to mend my family. Not because I care about family, but if his wife leaves him, she’ll take half his money and his kids. That is a lot of money, and since Tiger was dropped by a bunch of his sponsors, he doesn’t just get free stuff anymore. So keep Tiger in your prayers. He’s got a reputation that is falling apart and he’s married to an angry woman with access to plenty of golf clubs. I don’t care how much money he has, that is a scary thought.

Love Is In the Air, and It's Starting To Set Off My Allergies

So this past weekend was Valentine’s Day. For being a very short month, February is filled with a lot of random holidays (by the way, does anyone else think it’s a little suspicious we made the shortest month of the year Black History Month?). Luckily Valentine’s Day only comes once every four years and compensates for the rotation of the Earth. Wait a minute… dammit wrong February Holiday.

Nobody really knows how Valentine’s Day began (okay so by that I mean me). I’m pretty sure it is a holiday conceived by women in order to get flowers and candy. And like many cherished female traditions, this one started with an innocent man suffering. Saint Valentine was some poor soul who lived a long time ago and was killed by somebody. I don’t really know how he died, the Wikipedia article started to get really boring and it began involving French people so I stopped reading and decided to make up the rest of the facts. Besides, if you read this to learn things, you have bigger issues.

Anyway, what better way to celebrate some guy’s life than by connecting with that special someone. And by “connecting” I mean “buying them a whole lot of s**t.” At least that’s the case if you are a guy on Valentine’s Day. You have to buy cards, jewelry, dinner, and lots of chocolates (which they never eat because they say it will go to their hips but still insist you buy). Let’s think for a second who Valentine’s Day truly benefits. Women in a relationship get a whole bunch of stuff, men in a relationship have to buy a whole bunch of stuff, single women are reminded how single they are (which is when they need all that chocolate), and single guys laugh the laugh of the carefree and then go to the store the day after Valentine’s to take advantage of all the cheap candy on sale.

Or at least that’s what I did on Monday night. I went to Safeway and ended up buying a box of Twinkies (which I have been subliminally craving since “Zombie Land”) and Ding-Dongs as part of my new diet, the “Have a Stroke Before You Can Gain More Weight” plan. As if that weren’t enough, there was a Girl Scout stand outside. And I just couldn’t turn down the chance to help out my community by supporting the scouts by stuffing my face with cookies (and for some reason, it took the retarded girl scout almost ten minutes to give me change, so they need all the help they can get).

Anyway, Valentine’s Day is not just about food (or so they say). It actually helps men out in their relationships, because while women are in touch with their emotions all the time and can talk about them any day of the year, men need some advance notice. So having a set day gives men time to prepare to have emotions and communicate and all that other mumbo jumbo. A great example occurred in my journalism class the other day. We were all asked to name our favorite Super Bowl commercial. The women all named the Google one about finding love in France as their favorite, whereas the men in the class had trouble even remembering the ad. We were a little too busy thinking about the Megan Fox ad, thumb doubles and all (which was stupid, because Megan Fox could have gills and antennae and she would still be one of the hottest women in the world).

Do you want to know what men think of true love? Just watch one of the fifty dating reality shows that are on TV at the moment. It always consists of about twenty very emotionally unstable women who think they are there to win the love of a celebrity and one celebrity who is there because the producers told him he could make out with twenty women in a mansion and then ditch all but one of them (and the last one too if he wants another season).

I bring this up because I recently watched the finale and reunion of “For the Love of Ray J 2,” (and for the record, both my roommate and I think he made the wrong choice). Now, Ray J would get mad at the girls for doubting his ability to settle down even though he 1. didn’t bother to learn their names but instead gave them stripper nicknames, 2. spent the entire show making out with twenty women at a time and 3. was on his second season. Yep… can’t see why they wouldn’t trust him.

I feel like I would do well on that type of show. It would be called “For the Love of Mitchell,” and the entire episode would show me trying to choose between a Twinkie and a Ding-Dong.

Got Luge?

The weather in Boulder (and pretty much everywhere else east of Las Vegas) has taken a turn for the worse, and many experts believe that at least half the country will die in the next week (by many experts, I mean me and the unstable guy who sits next to me in my media history class). Thankfully, this weekend is the start of a wonderful television event that will unite people from all different walks of life and countries to yell at each other in different languages. That’s right, it is time once again for the Winter Olympics; which along with presidential elections, leap year, and Jake Gyllenhaal movies, is one of those dreaded events that occurs every four years.

Now, allow me to explain why I don’t like the Winter Olympics. It somehow manages to combine so many things that I do not like: Canadians, snow, cold weather, Canadians, hockey, men in leotards, NBC, Canadians, extreme sports peoples, people with funny accents, and last but not least, beavers (I am going on the assumption that beavers are somehow involved in the Winter Olympics). Also, I don’t like sporting events that the US doesn’t dominate. I am a patriot. So you can imagine why I would not look highly upon an event in which miserable little snowbound countries like Norway get glory. The only reason these countries do well is because they have nothing else to do trapped in the snow all year but practice skiing and inbreeding.

I mean, just think about it for a second. At least three-quarters of the events in the Winter Olympics aren’t even sports (or if they are, they are very boring sports). Take curling for instance. If you want to go see people sweeping the floor, go into a kitchen and watch women (that horribly sexist remark was sponsored by “Valentine’s Day,” starring a whole bunch of people you can’t stand and five large fish). I mean, there are a bunch like the biathalon or the octathon or the geriatricthon that I’m pretty sure just randomly combine a bunch of stuff together like a winter sports hot dog. I’m not certain here, but I think there is even one that involves skiing and shooting a gun, which is not so much a sport as something a person might do in winter after consuming too much alcohol.

One of the more popular “sports” in the Winter Olympics is ice skating, even though I am still not exactly sure why any male would ever watch ice skating. Maybe you could say that it involves women in skimpy outfits, but most of them are five years old and are raised in the same cages used to stunt growth that house gymnasts. Ice skating just sort of involves going around in circles and then jumping and falling down (which, let’s be honest, is the only interesting part). And don’t even get me started on Johnny Weir.

Thankfully there has been a recent shift towards more extreme winter sports. This is good because US competitors tend to be better at these events. However, this is bad because nobody who isn't stoned knows what the hell is going on in extreme sports. Have you ever watched extreme sports with a stoner? This person can’t remember how to spell their last name, but they can watch some random flipping and instantly identify it as a “540 backflip over-under daisy chain cross-grab.” I’m almost certain that the announcers are just making things up as they go.

Announcer #1: “And he approaches the ramp… oh my god he just pulled a 645.8 double-pump tomahawk twisty-tie celery biscuit triple-bypass spiral notebook spleen toss! Dude that was rad!”

Announcer #2: Cough, cough. Gasp. “Man I’m hungry. We should order like fifty Sausage McMuffins.”

It doesn’t help that unlike the Summer Olympics, I have school during the Winter Olympics. That means I’m a little too busy pretending to be busy to watch bobsledding in the middle of the day. And apparently nobody else does either, because NBC anticipates they will lose $10 million dollars on the Winter Olympics. Now I am neither a business major nor a math major, but something about that doesn’t seem smart to me. I think they might be better off televising a large pile of money being burned. I actually might watch that, because it might make me feel a little warmer.

The one thing that is kind of cool about this year’s Games is that they are taking place in Whistler. I’ve been to Whistler two times and I liked it. Not because of the skiing or the snow, but they had this really good restaurant called Mongoli Grill. But while we were up there a few years ago we did see some of the sites where some of the events were to take place. The locals were pretty excited about the Games; you could hear it in the higher pitch of their “ehs!” And after walking around, I understood why. Unlike NBC, Vancouver was ready to cash in on this thing. You couldn’t walk five feet without seeing some sort of Olympics merchandise. They just take a $5 t-shirt, put that stupid Olympic multi-colored lego-Frankenstein logo on it and BAM: it costs you $50.

Of course, the only thing I want from there is poutine. Poutine is a Canadian dish made by topping fries with cheese curds and gravy and is my favorite food in the world. You know what’s fun? Eat an entire bowl of poutine while watching curling and see what kills you first: boredom or severe artery blockage.

I'd Like to Teach the World to Sing, Or At Least Miley Cyrus

Like many Americans I, for some reason still unknown to me, spent my Sunday night watching the Grammy’s (unlike most Americans I did it wearing a pink snuggie eating spam, which might actually be illegal in Singapore). Now, the Grammy’s are just another reason for celebrities to get together and drink and get free dresses, but unlike the Oscars, I actually watch them. That is because the people at the Grammy’s are at least talented (or in the case of Jenifer Lopez, jumped the fence). Thankfully, this means that the Grammy’s really consist of about five actual awards and a whole bunch of singing. Whereas the Oscars are a bunch of boring people like Nicole Kidman talking a lot and pretending that their jobs require skill and wasn’t just reading and looking good (trust me, if acting took skill Jessica Alba would be a waitress somewhere in Texas).

The only problem sometimes with the Grammy’s is that in their effort to produce “one-of-a-kind” performances, they pair the weirdest people together, which doesn’t so much produce awe-inspiring performance as much as awkward tension. For instance, take the first duet of the night between Elton John and Lady Gaga. One was sexually confused, dressed in strange alien outfits and sings songs about dancing. The other is Lady Gaga. But the awkward pairings weren’t limited to the performers. Ke$ha and Justin Bieber were paired as presenters, but came across looking like a ten-year-old boy and his recently grounded crack-whore sister who was trying to borrow his bike so she could ride down to the abortion clinic.

Now amidst all of that there were some good performances. Coincidentally, they were all from oldies bands, which is further proof that music today sucks. Fleetwood Mac, Jeff Beck, Andrea Boccelli and Bon Jovi actually sounded good, whereas T-Pain and Jamie Foxx sort of just jumped around while a recording of their song played in the background. Then there was Eminem and Lil Wayne, who I think were rapping. It was sort of hard to tell considering CBS cut all of the sound on entire sections until they looked like some sort of retarded charades game where the answer was always “black people!” I guess I can understand, since CBS was the channel that aired the infamous “wardrobe malfunction” at the Super Bowl (for those of you who don’t know what I am referring to, surprisingly it does not involve Lady Gaga). But this is hypocritical, considering they are the same station that willingly airs David Caruso uncensored on television.

But for me the highlight of the evening was the tribute to Michael Jackson, which featured Carrie Underwood and four other not as good-looking people who we don’t really care about at this moment. The song was great, but the one thing that bothered me was that the tribute was in 3-D. Now I don’t know about you, but I don’t have a pair of those stupid 3-D glasses just lying around, especially since I started buying generic cereal in bags. So like many of you, the video looked to me like something I would see after I drank an entire bottle of rum and had been smashed over the head with a baseball bat. I blame Avatar for this. After that movie came out, everything has to be 3-D, including C-Span. President Obama tried to get his State of the Union address to be aired in 3-D to make his finger pointing more effective, but he was warned that a 3-D image of Hilary Clinton might cause nationwide panic. Of course, Obama also wanted to show up painted in blue a riding a giant flying lizard and rally the country to fight for Ewa, but that’s a whole other story.

Of course, eventually they had to give out the actual awards. By the way, does anybody think that Stephen Colbert’s daughter was way too big a part of the show? Anyway, the whole awards thing was sort of anticlimactic, since everyone knew that Taylor Swift and Beyonce were going to win everything. In fact, in the unaired segment of the ceremony Swift was named the Pro Bowl MVP. I mean, it was so unexciting that Beyonce wasn’t even there to accept her trophy because she was backstage trying to organize her army of RoboCops (which was apparently made up of the entire unemployed population of Michigan). Of course, Taylor Swift tried to show some mock surprise when she won, but her acting made even Jessica Alba cringe. She could afford to take her time to get up on stage, since at least this time she got to make her acceptance speech with Kanye West noticeably absent (probably because she hired one of the Jonas Brothers to assassinate him).

I’m sure there were other exciting moments that happened, but I have to admit I didn’t watch the entire ceremony. Independence Day was also on TV, so I was sort of switching back and forth. Which led to me mixing up the shows a bit. I mean, at one point I could have sworn I saw Will Smith trying to kill Fergie while the aliens sang with Will.I.Am. Oh wait, never mind that’s actually right.

State of the Union: Hungry

Like all concerned and involved citizens of this great country, I was holding my breath to hear Barack Obama’s State of the Union address. And then I passed out, because that’s what happens when you hold your breath for too long. Okay, so maybe that was an exaggeration. I had no idea Obama was giving his State of the Union address (I was sleeping though, so that part is true). To be completely honest, I’ve watched more Twilight movies (two) than State of the Union addresses (zero)in my lifetime, which I’m pretty sure means I will soon be deported to some desolate foreign country, like North Dakota (in my defense, I didn’t want to see either one).

It’s not that I’m not an informed citizen. Far from it, I consider myself a “connoisseur” (I think that’s French for snob) of information. For instance, I know who is playing in the Super Bowl (not my Jaguars that’s who). I bet I even know more about what is going on in this country than Obama. I mean, how “in-touch” can he be considering he lives in the Vatican City? Wait, sorry that’s the Pope. By the way, why can’t there be a cool presidential hat that all of the presidents have to wear like that thing the pope has to wear? In fact, I think we should make America more like the drinking game Presidents and Asshole, which means we have to give the president a hat and elect the Asshole of the United States of America, who has to do whatever anyone in the country says (I nominate Dane Cook, only because Justin Bieber isn’t old enough).

Anyway, for those of you who also missed the speech, I’m pretty sure you didn’t miss anything. All presidential speeches are the same: sweeping statements, lots of assertive pointing, and at least one football analogy. It was probably made up of the same key words you always hear in presidential speeches, like “hope,” “progress,” “Monica Lewinsky’s snatch,” etc. At least George W. Bush tried to make them interesting by mispronouncing words, garbling sentences, and occasionally reverting to a language that he and Jeb made up smoking weed one day in high school. But just in case you do need to know the state of the union, I will give you my own state of the union address, which I did not write in capital letters because I am humble (and I always thought pushing the shift button was a nuisance anyway).

Now I’m sure that one of the big issues that everybody is thinking about and trying to solve is health care reform. Or at least I hope it is, because I’m not and somebody needs to be working on it. “Health care reform” is one of those phrases that become really popular for people to say but people like me don’t quite understand, like “trickle-down effect.” Now I don’t really have a firm grip on the “facts” of this issue, but I do know whose fault it is: old people. If the baby-boomers had just kept using drugs and having unprotected sex like they were supposed to and died already, we wouldn’t be having this problem. I think. Or maybe I’m thinking of social security. Oh well, old people living too long is a problem in any situation.

Now I don’t really have a horse in this race, since in five years I will either be living in Sweden with a supermodel or in jail for attempting to kidnap a supermodel, but either way I won’t have to worry much about health care. What I do know is we shouldn’t go to universal health care. Oh sure, it sounds like a really good idea that would benefit everyone but rich health insurance people (who we hate anyway). But there is one big disadvantage: the Canadians use it. Nothing good ever comes from adopting something the Canadians do (hockey, listening to Celine Dion, having intimate relations with moose) and we shouldn’t start now.

The other big issue is the financial crisis. Again, this is one of those things that I am vaguely aware of, but I don’t know how or why it happened. Sort of like Lady Gaga becoming popular. As far as I can understand, someone did something that resulted in something bad which led to more stuff and POOF! Everybody is broke. Or something like that. The guy who explained it to me used a lot of hand gestures, and at the time it made sense. But regardless of how it happened, I think we can all agree that we are in dire financial trouble. By “all,” I mean “not rich people.” Rich people somehow are always the people that get more money from the government, as if rich people are on some sort of endangered species list that must be protected by the government at all costs. They never give money to the people that need it, like students paying out of state tuition to go to the University of Colorado who are stuck in the snow because they have to drop down one grand every time they want to go back to Hawaii.

So yeah, in other words the state of the union is bleak. All of our celebrities are dying, there are still two Twilight movies left, an earthquake knocked over Haiti’s last two standing huts, and global warming has yet to make it stop snowing in Colorado. But then again, there are some signs of hope. For instance, The Who will be playing at the Super Bowl halftime show and Paula Abdul isn’t on American Idol anymore. Besides, as Barack Obama so eloquently said in his closing statement to make us Americans appreciate what we have: “Hey, you could be Tiger Woods.”

It's All Jibberish To Me

As you all know by now, school has started (if this has still not occurred to you then I apologize and you should just go back to sleep). This means school work, buying $500 worth of books that I will never use (mainly because I don’t know how to read) and those stupid introductions you have to go through on the first day where you have to name some interesting thing about yourself so your idiot teacher can try to remember your name. Seriously, some of these kids come up with the stupidest things to say about themselves. This semester we had one girl who admitted over the summer she had nothing to do, so she remembered every number 27 in the NFL. Another guy’s interesting fact was that he is from Colorado. Now, just to be clear, this class was taking place at the University of Colorado. Which is in Colorado. Where there are a lot of people from Colorado. This is like saying you like to drink beer at an AA meeting.

Anyway, my semester is already off to an interesting start thanks to one class in particular. The class - which consists of me, six girls, and some guy who sits there playing with a pocket knife - is a journalism class that meets once a week. Which is easy enough. But then we were told that we had to participate in a community service program on campus that tried to teach English to the foreign workers on campus.

Now, I have no problem with community service. I do my community a service every other day by not leaving my house. As long as the community service is something I can do, like mindlessly picking up trash, I’m fine with it. But teaching English to non-English speaking people is a little outside my skill set. Which is an understatement to say the least. It’s like saying calculus is a little outside the skill set of a gerbil. I mean, many people I know think I need English lessons of my own.

Never-the-less, there I was, sitting in a training session so I could be certified to permanently destroy some innocent workers chances of every learning English. Now, there were two groups of people in the room. There were the people who were in there because they know multiple languages and are majoring in Spanish and want to practice and genuinely feel for these workers and want to make the world a better place and cure AIDS and rescue Haitians from the rubble. Then there were the eight of us who were there because we were being forced to. And trust me; it was pretty evident who belonged to which group.

Now I’ve only had one experience with trying to learn a foreign language. I took Japanese for three years in high school, and left after those three years knowing less Japanese than a newborn horse. I blame this mostly on my Japanese teacher, Ms. Takizawa. Her teaching strategy was to never actually speak Japanese and just yell “Shut up Mitchell” every five seconds. And when she did teach us Japanese, it was always useless phrases, like “I love purple jackets.” As a straight man, I would never have a reason to inform a Japanese person that I enjoy wearing purple jackets. You never learn useful phrases in language classes, like “Where is your hospital? I think it’s infected” or “No officer, that is definitely not my cocaine.”

To be fair, I did spend most of those three years in class cheating, copying, sleeping, talking, eating, and doing everything but trying to learn any actual Japanese. This is because as an American, I feel it is not necessary to learn other languages. I think that is our right as the most powerful country in the world; other countries either learn to speak English or we nuke them off the face of the Earth. Besides, I personally don’t exactly like going to foreign countries, so why do I need to learn foreign language? In my experience, foreign countries are filled with, prepare yourself, foreign people. And I personally avoid any situation in which I might encounter French people. Besides, learning a foreign language is useless in the actual country. I’ve been to Japan three times, and never once have I been able to use my Japanese skills to know what they were saying. This is because people who actually speak the language speak it way too fast and make up their own words and never talk about their purple jackets.

So I think you can see why I’m a bit apprehensive about this whole tutor thing, and I haven’t even gotten into the part where I have to walk into campus for an hour tutoring session twice a week where I normally had the entire day off. All I know is that it is going to be an awkward hour of sitting there in silence while I point at the alphabet, which I will have inevitably written in the wrong order. So just a warning, if you encounter a worker on campus who seems to be speaking some form of broken English mixed with Japanese, give them a break. Maybe talk to them about their purple sweater.

Watching Our Weight in the New Year:.. And There It Goes

So the entire world is really obsessed with this whole earthquake in Haiti thing, but that is sort of depressing so I’m going to talk about a much funnier story of buildings falling down. This story is much funnier because it involves fat people. Everything is funnier with fat people. How else can you explain why people still watch Jay Leno?

Anyway, apparently a building in Sweden where a local weight watchers club regularly met collapsed during one of their meetings. For one thing, I had no idea that they had weight watchers in Europe (Sweden is in Europe right?). I always thought that obesity was one of those problems that only the U.S. had, like bad beer and “Jersey Shore.” Of course, it doesn’t help that I have no idea what weight watchers is. It sounds a little too similar to whale watching to me; like you just get on a bus and drive through Texas and take pictures of fat people dancing in the McDonalds’ dining room. In fact, it’s probably way better than whale watching because half the time you go whale watching you don’t see whales and they have to give you a refund. This is because whales, as it turns out, spend most of their time under the water, where you rarely see boats (or at least working boats).

Getting back to my point, to cure my ignorance about weight watchers, I decided to take my second nap of the day and think about it. When I woke up, I decided to go to their website. Apparently weight watchers is not a diet plan as much as it is “Fat People Anonymous.” The way it works is that you go to a meeting to talk to other fat people about being fat or where to find the best all-you-can-eat buffets in town. Maybe they do it while eating donuts. And just in case you were wondering, they do have a meeting location in Boulder, which is funny since most of the Boulder population is one tofu shortage away from starving to death.

Anyway, I thought this information would be helpful since it is just after New Years, when a lot of people are still pretending to stick to their New Year’s resolutions. Do you want to know why people always make these promises on New Years? Because a lot of people consume a lot of alcohol on New Year’s Eve, that’s why. Now, I’m not going to lie, I also made a New Year’s resolution. It was to stop setting unrealistic goals for myself, and so far I’ve really stuck to it well.

For instance, I have decided that going to school every day is expecting way too much of myself. Really, who goes to school five days a week? Which is why I’ve reversed the typical work week; I go to school two days a week and have five off (okay so I have one afternoon class on Wednesday, but the class is made up of me and six girls, so I don’t really count that one). This allows me to wake up at one in the afternoon almost every day. Which is good, because my other New Year’s resolution was to get more sleep.

Okay so there are some of you out there shaking your head at what a shame on society I am. The rest of you know me and have already gotten past this. I used to try and make New Year’s resolutions, but I would rarely keep to them. A year is a long time for a guy to stay in a commitment. I mean I’ve had classes for three days and I already had to be talked out of skipping some. So there is no way that some stupid promise at the beginning of the year is going to last until next week, much less December.

Do you know what we should do instead? New Day resolutions. All you do is make a resolution to keep to for the day. For instance, my resolution today was to not get hit by a bus (in order to fulfill this, I have not left my couch, where buses rarely go). Think about it, no long term commitments, so even if you pick a hard one, it’s not like you are really doing a lot of work. I mean if you make a New Day resolution to lose weight, just take a dump before you go to sleep and voila! (which means “poop!” in some foreign language). And of course if you fail, you don’t have to think about how big a failure you are for an entire depressing year. You simply make a new one the very next day!

Isn’t this fun?! Once again I’ve brought lowering standards to even lower depths. Speaking of which, my New Day resolution today is to not embarrass myself dancing. Of course, now that my roommate’s ringtone is “Love Machine,” this might be a harder task than I anticipated.