Cheers to a New Year
Michael A. Knipp | 1/18/2005 For the last century or so, power producer and icon Dick Clark has effortlessly ushered us into the New Year. From a perch high above Times Square, his Rockin’ Eve celebrations have become a staple of bundled bodies and chattering teeth awaiting the arrival of a proverbial clean slate. If there’s a person in this vast nation we call home who hasn’t seen the Waterford Crystal Ball drop from a cow-herded pen in Manhattan or their living room La-Z-Boy, I’d like to meet them. A New Year’s party just isn’t complete without a countdown from Mr. American Bandstand.
Another tradition in which we onerously partake is making resolutions. Every Dec. 31, we decide to alter our lives and the habits they harbor, hopefully for the better, to start the year off on the right foot. In most cases, those resolutions are obliterated within the first week, but a few strong individuals, whom I’ve yet to encounter, stick to their guns. I suppose they want it bad enough. They have the will, determination and patience to pull it off. Sadly, I’ve only been able to hang onto those traits until the third cork is popped. There’s always next year, right?
My most notorious resolution is to quit smoking. For the last six years I’ve told myself that this one will be it. I convince my inner demons that no longer will I be a slave to cigarettes. And for a few hours, they behave. I do well, riding by the convenient store and not looking back. I’ve also gotten pretty good about avoiding smokers. But as soon as I get a little J&B in me, they go crazy with the cravings. One year, I thought I physically saw my will, determination and patience pack their bags and walk out the door. Perhaps it was the J&B, but nevertheless they were out of sight and certainly out of mind.
This year, I’ve gotten a head start on my resolutions. I began my smoke-quitting regime in early December in hopes that by the time the clock strikes midnight in 2005, I will have kicked the habit. Besides the usual, I’ve added a few more to the list. Just in case the Marlboro mission fails, which it most likely will, I can have more achieveable goals to comfort my conscience.
We’re nearly halfway through the first decade of this new millennium and I don’t feel like I’ve accomplished much. Sure, I’ve done plenty for myself. I always have enough time and money for a new pair of Chugger Boot jeans from A&F. I can always squeeze in a moment for a Tazo Tea break at Starbucks. I somehow manage to waste an entire Saturday recovering from the night before, but what do I do for someone who can’t do for themself? Good question. While I tried to fabricate an answer and tell myself that it was the truth, I found that I didn’t offer a respectable amount of benevolence to be called a philanthropist. I donate to various charities as generously as my bank account will allow without impeding on my fashion sense, but I rarely give my time to a cause. Mostly because I’m a busy person, but let’s face it, I’m not that busy. There are many afternoons that I’m sitting in front of the TV, hysterically tuned in to Dave Chappelle, when I could be lending a helping a hand to someone in need. Not this year my friend. Oh no. For 2005, I’m vowing to give a little more of myself to my fellow man. Wherever my services are sought, I’ll be there. Perhaps I’ll spend a day at the Red Cross or maybe I’ll sign up for a local drive sponsored by the MDA. It’s the very least I can do.
My next resolution is one that I’ve already begun as well, so I’d like to continue the cycle until 2006. I’ve been working out diligently since July and it’s been a chore. I’m not an athletic man, so to motivate myself to run anywhere was as likely as becoming the eighth Goonie. A surprise to myself and my friends, I did it, and I’ve kept up the pace for the past six months. The next 12 will be the real hurdle. It’s extremely difficult to go to Gold’s during the cold mid-Atlantic winter months and pump iron in front of a mirror, surrounded by a dozen musclely meatheads. I don’t like the freezing weather and I certainly don’t like Johnny Biceps smirking at my pitiful attempt to bench-press 100 pounds. I’m a little guy, so it’s intimidating to say the least. Lucky for me, I grew a pair and said to hell with Steroid Steve; I’m doing this for myself. My abs are looking great; now I just have to find a way to turn my chest inside out.
If you think those goals are grandiose, then the next one is a doozy. As many of my cohorts know, and by now you have probably deduced, I’m a big fan of bottled toxicity-I’m quite a friend of the drink. Being Irish, I’m predisposed to a lifestyle of silly stupors and latenight dialing. In an effort to unalienate the many friends who’s Nokias I’ve blown up at 4 a.m., I’m going to curb my consumption. Before I dig too deep a whole with my intentions, please be advised that I’m only curbing it-not eliminating it totally; a boy’s gotta have some fun. At 23, I’ve realized that not everything revolves around Margaritas and Midori sours. Lots of things do revolve around them, but the outcomes of said things most likely aren’t the most beneficial for my career or my health. My plan is to limit my alcoholic intake to a Friday night here and there, probably more here than there, but at least I’m trying. Why would I decide to speak so ill against such an established and revered institution you ask? In a wiser-beyond-my-years epiphany, I saw my future. Those great abs were gone and I was sitting in front of the TV, hysterically tuned in to Dave Chappelle reruns, with a Miller in one hand and beef jerky on my pot belly. Resolutions were the least of my worries.
Whether you’re spending New Year’s Eve in New York City, (if you are, stay inside; in 2001, the sweat on my toes froze from standing in the street for six hours waiting for a 10 second climax), or Vegas (you know the motto: “Whatever happens in Vegas... gets posted on the Internet”), or your own back porch (jacuzzis are better in the winter; and also without clothing), remember that resolutions are made to be broken. Also keep in mind that breaking those resolutions a half-hour after you made them only feels worse with a hangover.
Do something good this year. Clean the chapter house. Help a brother score a date. Tell your mom that you love her. Whatever it is, resolve to be a better man.
As Kappa Alphas, it’s our duty.
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