The New Year’s Resolution fails not because it’s a goal that’s set too high, but because it is a goal that is an expression of our collective guilt. It is conscience attempting to return to some kind of balance after we relinquish ourselves to the madness of the tribal orgy of the holidays. Of course, after six solid weeks of seven deadly sins, it’s no wonder why we get all bent out of shape about being all bent out of shape.

Now, this should be where I go into a rant belaboring the lack of proper ritual in our society, the evils of irresponsible consumerism under the guise of national holidays, and maybe even the tasteless horror that is the Broad Breasted White turkey. But I won’t. In fact, I won’t even write the footnote references that are begging to get on the page. (Ok, I may eventually revisit the turkey thing, but just because there are things that need to be said.)

Instead, I’m going to say something vague and completely off topic about one of you being the hotness, and leave it at that.