The Elusiveness of Good Sleep

I hate to exercise. The word in and of itself causes shudders and memories of aching muscles after early mornings at the gym. I’ve tried working with a personal trainer, buying club memberships, DVD workouts, treadmills. You name it. Hate it. Avoid it. Pretty much don’t do it.

Until now. And it’s all thanks to a wristband drill sergeant that’s created an obsessive trait in me getting around 7,500 steps a day while watching how many calories I pile into my body. Yes, I bought a fitbit Charge.

For those not familiar with this little wonder, it is the latest exercise fad to hit the market. You wear it on your wrist like a watch and it counts your steps, how active you are, how many flights of stairs you climb or descend, and even your sleep pattern. Being an exercise avoider, I figured the novelty would wear off after a week. Nope. I’m more psychotic about it now than ever.

And for good reason: I’ve lost almost 10 pounds in a month. No gonzo Pilates or Jillian Michael’s boot camp workouts. I walk anywhere from 2-3 miles almost every day with our dog, Madison. I watch how many calories I eat. I drink 64 oz. of water a day. And I’m getting fitter…or is that fitbitter?

But there’s one area of my new health regimen that sucks. My fitbit Charge tracks when I go to bed, how many times I wake up at night, how restless I am, and when I get up. After calculating all that, fitbit provides a Sleep Efficiency percentage. If getting 7-8 hours of sleep a night is optimal, then I’m failing Snooze 101.

I took a look at my last five nights’ sleep patterns and I either need to start heavily medicating myself or sound proof our room. My five-night Sleep Efficiency percentage was 69%. Broken down, I averaged about 8.7 hours of bed time, with about 5.5 hours of actual sleep. I woke up or was restless 77 times, or about 15 times a night.

So that begs the question: Why don’t I sleep? Answer: any number of things that have shortened the sleep time of most Americans. A 2013 Gallup poll showed 40% of respondents get six hours or less a night; the recommended amount of sleep is seven hours.

If that’s true, then I’m averaging 1.5 hours less than the recommendation. Injustice that must be righted!

I considered what might be rousing me 15-plus times a night, and discovered some interesting patterns:

• I have a teenage daughter who likes to cook macaroni and cheese at midnight…while playing with her dog…on the hardwood kitchen floors.
• I have a cat with typical feline nocturnal tendencies who likes to shed her dignity at 3 a.m. and race around the upstairs…usually after spending five minutes scraping and pushing the litter around inside her “potties” to hide her latest deposit.
• I drink 64 ozs. of water a day, in addition to a couple of beers, and have the bladder of a 48-year-old man.
• I have a dog who decides that blowing leaves at 4 a.m. are a national security threat and must be growled and barked at to ensure Communists aren’t going to steal the 68 sticks she’s strewn across our yard.
• I sleep in a not-so-pillowy valley on a mattress that’s more than 12 years old.

The experts say you should create a calm, soothing environment for good sleep. Start with cutting out any distractions – TVs, radios, other electronics – before turning in. Cloak the bedroom in darkness. Go to bed at a regular time. Ensure your mattress meets your sleep needs (think Sleep Number).

Doing all this would mean some big changes. First, I’d have to lock up both pets in areas where they couldn’t bother me…like Ohio. I’d have to stop my kid from eating on a schedule normally suited for vampires. Yeah, good luck with that one. You ever try telling a teenager what to do? My wife likes having windows open when it’s warm to listen to the sounds of the night: crickets, the gurgling stream in the backyard, cars roaring down Highland Drive after the traffic cops have turned in.

That leaves two things in my control: drinking less fluids and getting a new mattress. Easy peasy, right? The latter is the most promising since it only requires going shopping and plopping down on showroom models until we find the right one. The former, however, presents a problem. I can stop fluid intake at 8 p.m., but that doesn’t help when I get thirsty at 10 p.m. or later. And I’m convinced one of the perils of getting older is your bladder consciously reserves a set amount of urine just so it can maliciously get you up in the middle of the night.

Where to go (no pun intended) from here? Accept the 5.5 hours of sleep a night or learn how to use a catheter and catch bag hanging on the side of the bed, plus a main-lined IV fluid drip. Wouldn’t work…the damn cat would haul butt into those plastic tubes, I just know it. And it’s bad enough having to clean up her nightly hairball “gifts” strategically placed where we’ll step on them.

I can tough this out. I mean, we can live on less sleep and still be able to…zzzzzzzzzz…

And That’s the Bottom Line…

I have a guilty pleasure that I’m not really guilty about having. I can stand up and say with pride:

I love professional wrestling.

I grew up watching guys like Jimmy “Superfly” Snuka, the Four Horsemen, and Rowdy Roddy Piper on TBS. Who can forget Andre the Giant, Ultimate Warrior, the Fabulous Freebirds, and the Road Warriors? They were the superheroes I followed and idolized.

But they were not my favorite, not by a long shot. That place was – and still is – occupied by a man who wasn’t a great technical wrestler, but one who saved the then World Wrestling Federation (now World Wrestling Entertainment) from ruin in the 1990s by doing three things: kicking people’s asses, drinking beer, and swearing up a storm.

I’m talking about Stone Cold Steve Austin.

No other pro wrestler could enthrall an audience like Stone Cold. He admittedly was a redneck from Texas who didn’t give a damn about authority or how others viewed him. He lived by a couple of simple rules: DTA (don’t trust anybody) and the iconic Austin 3:16, which says “I just whipped your ass!”

He drove trucks into arenas and doused WWE owner Vince McMahon and cronies with beer baths. He piloted a Zamboni into one venue, slammed into the ring, jumped from the machine, and clotheslined McMahon to the mat. In one of the funniest segments, Stone Cold ambushed Booker T in a grocery store and proceeded to whoop him with frozen pizzas, flour, milk, and even Grey Poupon.

Since retiring in 2003 after a final match with The Rock at Wrestlemania XIX, there’s been no other wrestler like Stone Cold. Not The Rock. Not Triple H. Not Randy Orton. Not John Cena. Not CM Punk. There will never be another Stone Cold Steve Austin. Thank goodness.

And that’s why I still watch his matches and laugh at his mic skills. I still feel a pulse of adrenaline when he hits the Stone Cold Stunner. Steve Austin embodies what I believe most of us wish we could be: a free spirit who makes their own rules and flips the bird at authority. He is the blue-collar worker and middle-class homemaker who is tired of getting screwed by the 1%.

Yes, Stone Cold was a persona created to sell tickets and merchandise. But take a look at any out-of-the-ring interview with Steve Williams (his real name). He’s a redneck Texas boy who owns the huge Broken Skull Ranch, wears sleeveless shirts, and STILL impacts the wrestling world more than a decade after last lacing on his trademark black boots and knee braces.

I know pro wrestling is scripted. And there is no way that any human being could take the punishment World Wrestling Entertainment wrestlers “inflict” on each other every week. I mean, who can be hit in the face 43 times and still be standing? The superstars may be lousy actors, but they can pull a punch. And I challenge anyone to debate that the men and women of the WWE aren’t athletes. Can you lift a 250-pound person over your head and drop them to a slightly padded mat without breaking their back? Thought so…

But Stone Cold was never about perfecting intricate moves or being the beefiest stud in the ring. He stayed true to what made him probably the greatest professional wrestler ever: He stayed Stone Cold Steve Austin through it all and beyond.

It’s a lesson we can all absorb as we climb corporate ladders, buy more and more stuff we don’t need, and kill ourselves by working in jobs we hate. I watched an interview Stone Cold did in 2014 and realized that there was a man who truly loved what he did. No pretension or phoniness. He embraced a career that allowed him to be himself.

Most of us only wish for that, but wishes won’t make dreams come true. I’ve learned the hard way that work and dedication do – all while being true to yourself. It’s a journey I’m on and one worth taking. Just ask Stone Cold and he’ll tell you the same thing in no uncertain terms:

“That’s the bottom line, cause Stone Cold said so!”

To Dog – Not

Madison is staying an only dog. After long and careful consideration, we’ve decided to not add another pup to our household for now.

We looked at a lot of potential furry children, and had one that would likely have been a great addition. But it came down not to finding the right match for our family. It came down to one simple thing: I can’t do it.

Anyone who knows Madison understands she is a highly loyal, loving, attention-sucking dog. Reality is, I can’t take on another hairy shadow at this point in life. And it is the right thing to do since not having the emotional fortitude and patience to share is unfair to any new dog.

Madison seems OK with it. She’s had more pressing things to worry about, like the hunk of flesh cut out of her right side to remove an infected oil gland. She’s been in the Donut of Shame
for more than a week, and we’ve had to keep her playing to an extreme minimum. Once she’s free of the stitches (this Friday…you’ll hear me singing praises to the gods) and can go outside for an extended period, I’m sure Maddie will the right as rain.

And she’ll be looking to her Alpha for attention, playtime, belly rubs, treats, walks, and all that jazz. Yep, just me and my black hairy shadow.

To Dog or Not to Dog – Update

The search continues…but not for a lack of trying. In the two-plus weeks since my last post on our consideration of a second pooch, I’ve looked online at hundreds of dogs up for adoption, my daughter and I visited two shelters, and we’ve even taken Madison to meet a potential playmate. The pups were damn cute, but not a fit.

And therein lies the problem: what is the right “fit?” Breed-matching websites say we should only adopt a dog with the same or lesser energy level and is submissive to Madison, since’s she is the top dog in the house. Or is she?

Honestly, this is how I believe Madison sees me. I am a dog. Her playmate. Companion. Woof.

Any of the myriad pet sites out there will tell you a dog views his/her “people” as members of the pack. Each has a place in the hierarchy – Alpha, Beta, Omega. Since I’m the one who takes care of about 99% of Madison’s needs and she’d glue herself to my leg if I let her, I guess that makes me the Alpha. I’ll let my wife, daughter, and Madison hash out who’s Beta and who are the Omegas. A smart Alpha knows when to not get involved in pack politics.

Adding a dog to our familial mix could cause strife. If the new pooch turns out to be more dominant than Madison, then a battle will be fought for the Beta and Omega roles. And that whole energy level thing? I have a hard time believing there is ANY dog out there with more energy than our pup. Madison had surgery yesterday to remove an infected oil gland. Even after anesthesia and pain pills, she was amped up and ready to chase a toy for seven hours. A tad loopy…but ready.

Add to the dilemma that we can’t just adopt any dog. Madison is 83 pounds, so Chihuahuas and Teacup Poodles are out. We’ve looked at potential pack members with breed mixes of Australian Shepherd, Labrador Retriever, Blue Heeler, German Shepherd, Coonhound, etc. High energy? Check! Submissive personalities? Check (expect for the Germans)! Ability to jump fences and chase down the quail, doves, and various songbirds in our neighbor’s backyard? Check! Wait…that’s bad.

Most of the dogs we’ve considered were eliminated from contention due to a low spot on our fence near a hillside pergola. The local bird population has enough worries with the bully pigeons who flock to our neighbor’s feeders and the occasional Cooper’s Hawk that drops in from on high. Yeah, let’s add a drooling, avian-prone ground predator to the list. These particular neighbor’s give us homemade grape jelly every year. Doubt we’d see the gifts continue once bird blood was spilled.

So, the search for another pack member continues. I’ve gotten smarter in my research and am limiting our options to particular breeds, age levels, dogs currently with a family that can’t keep them, and a ton of questions fired at the current owners. And I’m staying objective enough to say no to even the most liquid of puppy eyes.

I’m still a believer that Madison would benefit greatly from a playmate. Know it would do me a world of good, too. This whole Alpha thing gets tiring, especially when I don’t have the fangs, claws, and convincing growl to keep Madison in line. Whine.

To be continued…

 

The Stories Between the Lines

Pat Bagley, The Salt Lake Tribune

I’ve been a loyal subscriber to our local paper, The Salt Lake Tribune, since 1987 when I worked there, starting as a copy clerk and moving up to reporter. My wife and I faithfully read it every morning; she starts with the Sudoku and I grab the Sports until she’s done so I can read what I really want: the Comics.

Anyone who takes a print newspaper has seen not-so-pleasant changes in the past few years. The comics are much smaller. There are fewer pages. The Classifieds are pretty much non-existent. The only section that seems to be growing by leaps and bounds is the Obituaries.

Now, it could be that more people are dying. But I know the truth: obits are big money and the Trib’s parent company — Digital First Media (Wiki ref. under “devil incarnate”) — knows it. Newspaper advertising is shrinking along with space historically reserved for actual news. The Trib’s staff is down more than half due to lagging revenue and a demonic rework of the joint operating agreement with the other, less-read daily, the Deseret News. Ain’t going there, so click the link if you want.

What’s worse is the hellish reduction in the number of reporters — and mighty fine ones at that — has resulted in less actual news in the newspaper. I can pick up the Trib any given day and know that the Local section will mainly contain stories about our “fine” lawmakers (note the quote marks), Tea Partiers pissed off about the feds wanting our land, and lots and lots of people dying in car crashes. Then there’s the two to three pages of Obits. Cha-ching!!!!

There’s still some really great reporting being done by the likes of Mike Gorrell, Nate Carlisle, Kathy Stephenson, Pamela Manson, and Brett Prettyman to name a few. But not enough. There’s just not enough of these great people to dig out meaningful, impactful stories when they’re required to wear 47 hats.

Personally, I’m sick of reading about ISIS beheadings, stupid legislators, dirtbag murderers, and right-wing psychos blaming everyone else for our woes. My solution: tell the stories contained in the bread-and-butter of newspaper revenue. Yes, the Obits.

Within the words of submissions by people grieving a lost loved one are stories of greatness, charity, hope, fortitude, and sometimes, pain. We tend to forget that our senior population lived during times of strife (World Wars, the Depression) and in eras where civil rights became relevant, a human walked on the Moon, and cultures changed through music, movies, integration, and peace.

For instance, consider Gordon (respectfully leaving last names out). He grew up in the Depression and at 19 was a foot soldier who helped liberate the Dachau concentration camp. What could he tell us about hardship and overcoming obstacles most would label impossible?

Or there’s Jack, who grew up in Park City when it was an actual mining town, not the plush resort community of today. He tied whisky barrel slats on his feet to plod through snow to school. What could he tell us about innovation and determination?

And what about Mary? She worked tirelessly for more than 50 years registering and educating voters on important issues during a time when caustic efforts were made to keep blacks from the polls. What could she tell us about racism, segregation, and the right of all people to have a voice?

Buried in the memorials for the deceased are the stories of our time, past and present. The young people who “died unexpectedly” could tell us about the darkness of addiction and depression, and how suicide doesn’t have to be the end of others if we paid more attention to mental health. The mother of four could share how breast cancer can strike anyone and that living a full life in the time we have left is the most important thing of all.

There’s not much space left for news in my good friend The Salt Lake Tribune, and I know editors will continue to print international, national, and local stories they believe readers need to see. I’ll keep reading the Comics and the Obits. One for any good laughs that may come from those imaginary characters and the other for the stories between the lines that tell the real history and potential of our world.

To Dog or Not to Dog

This is Madison, and what she does for most of any given day — when she’s not bugging the crap out of me to play, pet her, throw a toy, feed her, take her for a walk, go to the dog park, etc. She’s a mix of German Shepherd and Golden Retriever, which means wanting to be as close to you as possible (the loyalty part of a German) and playing at all costs (yeah, the Retriever).

Here’s the problem: I actually work. My days start about 7 a.m. and consist of pitching news stories, writing press releases and case studies, and cultivating new clients for my business, Move Public Relations. I left Corporate America almost two years ago, and am diligently striving to build up income to support my wife retiring sooner than later.

Therein lies the juxtaposition of Madison’s needs versus my responsibilities. And it also is the crux of our looking into getting a second dog as a companion for her. Shakespeare said it best in Hamlet: “To dog or not to dog, that is the question.” (Slight change to actual text…)

It makes a lot of sense. Get Madison a friend and she’ll have a pal to play with, snuggle up to on the couch, share (ha!) toys with, and occupy her time when I am actually trying to support our family.

My daughter loves the idea, as it would give her a second dog and make her a multi-pet owner. But let’s be serious. She can say all she wants that Madison is her dog, but I am the acting Alpha for our mutt. And getting another dog would mean twice the Alpha-ish duties: feeding, bathing, walking, taking to the vet, on and on and on. My kid’s only real responsibility for Madison is picking up her poop once a week…and even that’s spotty.

So it comes down to this: Am I willing to take on the added work to get another pup to commune with Madison?

There are days when the answer is an easy “YES!!!!” It breaks my heart to see Maddie snoozing on the couch all day or sitting by herself in our backyard with a ball at her feet. And it drives me absolutely bonkers when she creates mischief just to get attention. A pal would either fill her days with playful fun or give her an easy partner in crime.

Then there are the moments when “HELL NO!!!!” reverberates from both me and my wife. That usually happens on cleaning days when the vacuum is emptied about 63 times due to the massive amount of hair collected from floors, furniture, blankets, pillows, the cat, the ice tray. And let us not forget said poopage in the backyard. It would double with a second dog, making a stroll to our upper deck like trying to dodge IEDs in Iraq.

I honestly don’t know how to solve this little dilemma. In the best of worlds, my kid would step up and take more responsibility for Madison’s care and happiness. That would give me time to increase my client base while spending quality time with my wife, daughter and Madison. In reality, I am pretty sure that I’d be in a handicap match between two furry WWE tag-team wrestling partners who use illegal squeaky toys and pinch collars to kick my butt.

Maybe we should consider a turtle instead. Madison could play with it like a regular toy (when it’s cowering inside its shell) and freeze when it actually moved (our 80-pound dog is afraid of our 8-pound cat). The backyard poop level would not change and there’d be no additional barking at blowing leaves at 3 a.m.

Anyone know if Shakespeare actually wrote “To turtle or not to turtle?”

Because I’m Happy…

Charlie Brown got it right: it doesn’t take much to make a dad happy. I’m a dad. I should know.

Happiness is such a coy thing, especially in our convoluted, busy, scary, utterly confusing world. As a parent, the worries that directly conflict with happiness exponentially increase as I wonder whether my kid will have a successful, blissful life.

And those are the times when it’s important to remember what being a Happy Dad is all about. Below is a list of things that bring cheer to this father’s existence:

• Laughing at Ryan Higa / D-Trix / Smosh / other loony videos with my daughter once a week for her special hour with Dad and Mom
• Cuddling on the couch in front of a warm fire (on Green burn days only, of course) and watching a movie
• Listening to my daughter and wife chat about whatever’s happening in life in a way only they can share
• Watching my daughter’s dog relax on her bed — and not wanting to leave when I call
• Getting those occasional hugs and kisses from a 15-year-old who “tolerates” my existence
• Chatting in the car about any and everything, or just sitting in silence. Daddy / Daughter time is priceless
• Seeing my smart, creative, beautiful daughter grow into the person she wants to be

Yeah, I’m happy. Who wouldn’t be?

Life Learning Doesn’t Require a “School”

y = mx + b

You now know the slope-intercept formula for a straight line. Feel free to use it as you navigate the remaining days of your life.

What, pray tell, do you use said formula for? Hell if I know. It was one of the many irrelevant things my teen daughter was forced to learn to pass Math. She wants to be an author. Think she’ll be incorporating the formula into her first novel?

If you’re like the 99% of students – my kid included – who are required to learn and then regurgitate such formulas for a grade, you’ll promptly forget it and move on to something like exponential functions of linear equations impacting the rotational force of a marshmallow on the flight path of the common house fly (not a real subject…yet).

It’s an unfortunate reality that much of what our kids are force-fed in the name of “education” means little to nothing for them in life. That’s why my wife and I took a huge leap and pulled our daughter from traditional school.

Read Grace Lllewellyn’s book The Teen Liberation Handbook and you’ll understand why the educational system we’ve developed in this country is killing our kids’ ability to learn and grow. Think about it: How much do you remember from your elementary, middle, and high school days? How about college? Where did you do your real learning? The world.

Llewellyn’s ideas are pure educational anarchy. No rote learning of useless facts for grades. No umpteen hours of homework. No pressure to perform against peers. No standardized tests forced down a student’s throat so a school district can look good to state legislators (high scores = more tax dollars).

Disclaimer: I am not saying it’s not important to understand history or learn basic math functions or see how science impacts the way we live. Hardly! But why should our children be forced to sit at attention for six to eight hours, five days a week, for nine months at a time “learning” things most will never use in real life?

I’ll be honest. The thought of taking my kid out of school terrified me. What will she do with her time? How do I encourage and foster “life learning” in her? It’s only been a couple of days, but my worries seem unfounded. My daughter expressed interest in learning computer programming. We found a great site – www.codecademy.com – where she can learn Javascript, C++, and other languages for free. She spent eight hours in one day learning the basics of Java. On her own. No goading. No cajoling.

What will such life learning get her? She’ll understand the language of the Internet and have a foundation upon which to build a possible career in computer animation (another interest of hers),  creating digital worlds for games and movies. Think y = mx + b would get her the same experience?

I did the school thing for 17 years and, for the most part, did it well. I graduated high school with a 3.8 GPA, got an out-of-state scholarship to the University of Utah, studied journalism for four years so I could have the piece of paper (diploma) that employers demand before giving you a job that pays $18,000 a year (that was in 1989). What do I recall from any of that vital education? Nada.

What I learned I learned by doing. I became a good writer by penning hundreds of stories for The Salt Lake Tribune. I developed a love for media relations by pitching stories to editors and reporters. I learned to cook by grabbing a knife and following recipes. I learned about the world by being in the world.

I fully expect some people to chastise us for forsaking traditional education for our daughter. It was good enough for them, so it should be good enough for her. I don’t want “good enough” for my kid. I want “endless” opportunities driven by her desires and  curiosity, not laws that demand she learn what others think is right.

We’ve learned there are two things in life that determine success: happiness and independence. You can get both outside school walls. It just takes opening your mind and believing in the lessons life has to teach. To our daughter: we believe in you. Go forth and learn!

One Year Later…

I last posted to this blog on Jan. 1, 2014. It was a list of resolutions for the New Year. As I step back into sporadic musings on Dave in the Life, I thought it appropriate to see if any of my promises for 2014 held up. This should be interesting…

Resolution #1 — ACHIEVED
Accept that my daughter will need to be taught – and therefore I’ll have to learn – the difference between a gerund and infinitive in order for her to move from the 8th grade into high school.
I did indeed learn the difference between a gerund and infinitive – for about one minute before we moved on to the next quiz question.

Resolution #2 — DEBATABLE
Drink a bit less (with “bit” to be determined at a later date – probably some time in December). Make goal despite Resolution #1.
I was sick over New Year’s, so no gruesome stories of calling Ralph on the big white phone. The beer level in the garage fridge ebbed and flowed, but I was introduced to Moscow Mules by my wife. I weigh pretty much the same as I did last January, so I’ll judge this one a wash.

Resolution #3 — ACHIEVED
Leave at least four squares of toilet paper on the roll for my wife.
I can honestly say with almost complete certainty that I replaced the roll out of respect for mi amore. She was unavailable to comment on this at the time of writing.

Resolution #4 — FAILED
Stop using the words “Whatever,” “Dude,” and “Really?” except in appropriate sentences. Learn swear words in other languages instead.
Really? Like that was ever going to happen, dude. Does that make me dumberer? Whatever. You don’t like it, you can kiss my осел. Zasraný čurák!

Resolution #5 — FAILED
Get used to chewing the Utah air every winter.
Drove downtown today and swear I could taste the breeze. At least the brown haze across the sun was pretty…

Resolution #6 — ACHIEVED
Fall off fewer than 50 times during three laps on Mario Kart’s Rainbow Road.
My daughter and I haven’t played much since May, but I became a commendable driver. Now, let’s not talk about the Ghost Valley track…

Resolution #7 — IN PROCESS
Secure Metallica, Shinedown, Stone Sour, Dream Theater, and Iron Maiden as PR clients. Had to throw that one in…you never know!
I’m sure my messages got lost…really, dude. Whatever…

Resolution #8 — ACHIEVED
Make a choice: Either cut my hair short or grow it out, but end the terror of comb overs and widow’s peaks.
Buzz cut it is! And I’ve grown a beard. Just think short-haired Brad Pitt with just a tad less money.

Resolution #9 — ACHIEVED
Learn to accept that despite all the combing, sweeping, and vacuuming, we will have pet hair carpeted floors that roll like amber waves of grain when the heat comes on.
Madison still sheds, and I’m OK with it. It’s my own hair wafting across the floor that I have a problem with.

Resolution #10 — ACHIEVED, BUT NEVER ENDING
Love myself for who I am. Love my wife for being the most beautiful, caring, tolerant person in the world. Love my daughter for being the most beautiful, smart, sassy kid on the planet.
Probably don’t love myself as much as I should, but I’m getting there. As for my wife and daughter? They are the suns in my sky. We’ve had our issues and troubles, but somehow find our way out of the dark and into the light. We’re not perfect, and I’m sure tough times will return. But I know in my heart that we’ll always find our way with love.

No resolutions for 2015. I am going to continue building on the last one above. Achieved.

Resolving 2014 Resolutions Resolutely

When I started this blog, I promised myself I would only post something when I was inspired. Since it’s been nearly a month between posts, one can assume there hasn’t been much inspiration floating around. In a certain sense, it’s true. I haven’t really gotten into the holiday spirit, and the weather has been crap. Call it Seasonal Affective Disorder or just a case of not wanting to face another cold, dark, smoggy winter.

Now that 2014 is upon us, I decided it is time for an attitude adjustment. What better way than to make some resolutions for the year? My resolutions for 2013 were easy: I didn’t make any. Why promise to make a bunch of changes that will never happen? It’s like voting Democrat in Utah. Your intentions are in the right place, but you’d be better off writing in Howard Stern for governor.

In the spirit of change, I decided this year to jump on the bandwagon and make some resolutions that I am confident I can keep. We’re not talking grand endeavors that I’ll regret not reaching by December 31. No pledges to get six-pack abs or win the Nobel Peace Prize. These are real, meaningful resolutions I aim to keep in the coming year.

Resolution #1
Accept that my daughter will need to be taught – and therefore I’ll have to learn – the difference between a gerund and infinitive in order for her to move from the 8th grade into high school.

Resolution #2
Drink a bit less (with “bit” to be determined at a later date – probably some time in December). Make goal despite Resolution #1.

Resolution #3
Leave at least four squares of toilet paper on the roll for my wife.

Resolution #4
Stop using the words “Whatever,” “Dude,” and “Really?” except in appropriate sentences. Learn swear words in other languages instead.

Resolution #5
Get used to chewing the Utah air every winter.

Resolution #6
Fall off fewer than 50 times during three laps on Mario Kart’s Rainbow Road.

Resolution #7
Secure Metallica, Shinedown, Stone Sour, Dream Theater, and Iron Maiden as PR clients. Had to throw that one in…you never know!

Resolution #8
Make a choice: Either cut my hair short or grow it out, but end the terror of comb overs and widow’s peaks.

Resolution #9
Learn to accept that despite all the combing, sweeping, and vacuuming, we will have pet hair carpeted floors that roll like amber waves of grain when the heat comes on.

Resolution #10
Love myself for who I am. Love my wife for being the most beautiful, caring, tolerant person in the world. Love my daughter for being the most beautiful, smart, sassy kid on the planet.

I’ll be keeping that last one.