New Year's Resolutions: Sing a Joyful Song!

Lord. Check out that poor clueless bastard. His only goals were getting a hit in that night's game and striking a pose that says "Mom, can't you stop embarrassing me ever?" without getting in trouble for talking back. (No, really, the majority of the time I got in trouble it was for talking back or being sarcastic. True story. Ironic that my parents were hell-bent on stopping me from developing my one and only marketable skill in life).

But we all have to move on in life. Now, longtime readers will know just how much I like New Year's resolutions. Nonetheless, like one of my life inspirations Gail Stoats (John Goodman's character in Raising Arizona), I never go anywhere without a reason. As a consequence, some times a man needs to take stock in his life and decide if he likes where he's going. We all have to grow, you know. Seems like the arrival of the second decade of the 21st Century is just as good a time as any. I was planning on doing this on Opening Day, but this is just as good a time to make some goals as when Roy Oswalt is serving up gopher balls in Minute Maid Park.

In my case though, its a bit of a challenge. I've basically long-since fulfilled all my real goals in life. To wit, I have:
1. Worked at a job with air conditioning;
2. Not had to wear a name tag every day at work;
3. Dated a lot of hot chicks;
4. Owned a totally cool car; and
5. Made it to the point where some people call me Mr. Reeder.

So basically, everything from here on out is just gravy. Except for my one unfulfilled major life goal-have a family with kids who will do chores around the house and take care of me when I'm old to get their inheritance. As it stands now, as the oldest of three brothers, I'm pretty much looking to one of my two younger brothers to take care of me. I'm picturing a retirement spent in one of their attics with a cot, portable fan, a styrofoam cooler full of diet coke, and a shelf full of ready to eat tuna. I see myself becoming like the first Mrs. Rochester (but without the fire). So I may still need to work on some things

By one important measure, I've become a success. Michael Scott on the Office has explained that a man is a success in life if:
1. He's well loved (check);
2. He's expressed himself and let his light shine through (check);
3. An attractive woman will cry at his funeral (check); and
4. He achieved success and owned real estate (check).
I've done all those things. I think.

But as there's always room for improvement, I've reflected long and hard on what I need to do to become good enough, strong enough, good looking enough, and doggone it have people like me enough to every day and in every way become the best Chris Reeder I can be. (Translation, I jotted some things down on the flight to New Orleans the other day). Now, understand, I have little expectation of actually doing any of these things. But the best way to measure a person's worth is by their goals. Not so much whether they achieve those goals, but the goals themselves. What's achievement? Who do you admire more, someone who doesn't succeed in their lifelong goal of curing cancer, or someone who does manage to hang on to their job as WalMart greeter? Exactly.

So let's think about these:

1. Clean my house. Frankly, my house is a disaster. Its not quite an archaeological site just yet, but like the digs outside Rome, Athens, or Cairo, you can chart the development of Chris Reeder civilization by digging deeper through the debris. Not the best way to live.

2. Throwing out the old. After about 25 years, pretty much everything needs to go. That would include my law school textbooks, cards from people who won't speak to me anymore, pre-1985 clothes (this is hard-that stuff is bound to come back in style and it all still fits, cause I'm still under my college playing weight), and bad memories. Let's face it, what's killing America isn't the economy, lack of personal responsibility, moral decay, or pollution. Its the accumulation of stuff.

3. Get an indoor plant. One heartbeat is enough for my place for now, but another living, growing thing inside might help. Mildew, bacteria, and mold doesn't count.

4. Convert my yard from dandelion and clover into something resembling grass. The soil in Austin is largely clay and rock, so its hard to keep grass growing, particularly under the shade of my two live oaks and my hanging on for dear life despite the drought pecan tree. My yard is great for goats and foraging mockingbirds, but I can't stand it.

5. Learn some spanish (or italian). I need to go somewhere on a vacation not populated primarily by english speakers. Like Spain or Italy or Florida. The Argentina trip taught me that not everyone throughout the world is fluent in english. Damn foreigners. I don't have to become fluent. Just need to know how to ask to be served vegetables with my steak, the men's room location, what's on the special of the day, can I get a hot tea to go, where's the American Embassy, and tell kidnappers that my family won't pay a ransom.

6. Read a book. Practically any book. The last book I read for real was Catcher in the Rye. I never really read it in college like I was supposed to. When I read it a couple of years ago, it seemed kind of trivial and shallow. I guess in 1951 it was shocking. In 2007, it was boring. And it has to be a real book, not something you get free with your Sports Illustrated subscription. Actually, a close friend of mine wrote a book about her experience with an incurable bladder disease and there's a section in it about me. I need to read it, although I have grave apprehensions about how I'm portrayed. Suffice to say it involves a long walk on the grounds of a rehab center and about a dozen Ghiradelli chocolate bars. I'm terrified.

7. Wipe the sticky stuff off the plastic mat in my office. I spilled some long-forgotten drink on the mat several months ago, but was too tied up to bother with cleaning it. It solidified into some sap-like residue that squeaks when I walk on it. I assumed the cleaning people might eventually come in and take care of it, but no such luck.

8. Repot the plants in my office. They grow pretty fast and have gotten to the point where they're living on water and occasional plant food. The dirt has long since given up any minerals or nutrients. So they have droopy yellow leaves, not unlike my eyes.

9. While we're on the subject of my office, excavate and remove all papers relating to settled cases. That are two years old. At some point, everything dies. When that happens, it needs to be disposed of properly.

10. Be smarter. Not like think harder or something. I mean literally be smarter. Is that possible? Maybe I could eat the right sushi or magnesium or something. What about deep breathing, meditation, ritalin, or sleeping more? Anyone, anyone?

11. Pay closer attention. I really only catch about a third of what's going on around me. Some of that is attributable to poor hearing, but mostly its because I'm not paying attention. Usually nodding my head knowingly and raising my eyebrows as if to say "I totally understand what you said and am now reflecting on it to formulate a meaningful answer" will cover, but that's working less and less as people pay attention to me. Dammit. The thought has occurred that maybe my brain does on some level connect to the other two-thirds but in a primordial self-preservation reflex keeps me from comprehending it for my own protection. Sort of like that Star Trek episode with the flying pizza suckers that stick to your back and turn the human host into a zombie. And when they got after Spock he had to go into some light booth to get rid of them only he forgot his safety goggles and went blind. Only it was temporarily blindness because, we learned after about 15 minutes of dramatic interlude centering on Spock's blindness teaching the audience that they should care for disabled people, Spock had the same hidden inner eyelid that all other Vulcans do, thereby protecting him from permanent blindness. He just forgot to tell us about it, cause he's not so in to talking about himself. Where was I?

12. Have a better attitude when dealing with stupid people. They seem to be multiplying and spreading everywhere. Like haze over the Houston skyline. Or liberals. Or Mormons. Like when I was the one American in the crowd of Japanese tango dancers in Buenos Aires two summers ago, I need to understand there's more of them than me, so I need to adapt to them. Of course, many times, I'm the stupid one. Like lots of times at work. Or when I was in college. Maybe I need to explain myself more clearly.

13. Appreciate what I have. I've got tons of great stuff, have had lots of fun times, a house in a cool part of town, friends who mostly can spell my name right, and I still don't need glasses. Of course, I also can't sleep most nights, 95% of my mail is junk mail or bills, and for years I've had this weird skin tag on my left calf that bleeds once every five years or so. So its a mixed bag. Oh, and I survived my heart problems, so that's pretty cool. Speaking of which, today marks exactly four years since the surgery, which basically allowed me to keep living the active life I've had most of my life. Keep on rockin' in the free world. Next year, at the fifth anniversary, I'll write more about this.

14. Drink more water. Its something to fuel the sweat glands. Which I use. A lot. Basically, between March and November, my body produces gallons and gallons of sweat. I know, its awesome. Something has to keep that river flowing. Diet coke is more tasty, but its a little chemically. Some dude on Facebook once chastised me because some pointy eared professors claim diet coke actually makes you fatter. I can't see it, but in an abundance of caution I've started drinking more iced tea. With cancer-causing sweet and low, because, after all, I'm not a rat so I'm probably safe.

15. To that end, find a better way to deal with the heat and humidity. The last couple of years, I've been crashing and burning pretty bad come July. I've tried everything, and some of it has had some positive effect. Electrolyte solution, power bars, more sleep, but I still keep seizing up like a Volkswagen that never had an oil change. I'm not exactly sure how to go about this. My friend Suzanne Bertin (Placid Athlete) thinks I have heat sensitivity. I think I may have to move to Santa Fe and have my skin turn into an old saddle. Or run inside between May and October.

16. Appreciate the love in my life. There's just no way to talk about this one without it turning into an Air Supply song. Or The View. So I'll move on.

17. See more movies. I used to go to the movies all the time, but what with my busy social and work schedule, which is to say, what with my busy work schedule, its dwindled to about three movies a year. Usually one of those is the summer comedy geared to slacker twenty-somethings (think Wedding Crashers or 40 Year Old Virgin). I need to watch more meaningful movies, like something directed by Clint Eastwood. The problem is I wind up sticking to the floor, getting upset at people with their ringing cell phones and having conversations, the inability to hit "pause" or "rewind," incredibly loud volume, and $5 32 oz. cokes. But it is a way to sit in a darkened chilled room for two hours during the summer on someone else's AC bill. Something about the magic of contrived situations, impossible action scenes, recycled plots, and soundtracks substituting for actual story has made me less interested in going to the movies. But the Alamo does have outstanding popcorn. And they have cool trailers.

18. Sleep more. I generally get about six hours each night. This is because I get to bed way too late, like around 1 a.m. That doesn't allow enough time for workout recovery. This has caused my eyes to begin sinking back into my skull and thereby disappearing like the beach at Galveston. The bags under my eyes are growing and growing, my skin is taking on a Casper the Friendly Ghost pallor and most days I look like I just wandered out of Romania. Or a Jonas Brothers concert. I'm not exactly sure what keeps me up so late. Is it winding down from exercise, or some combination of guilt, dread and soreness? Or my 1993 vintage mattress? Tough to say.

19. See my family more. A no brainer, given the retirement issue noted above. They're all moving on in life, while I stay the same. Steve's girls are growing up and even have boyfriends. Its time to let them know I've got a .45 and a shovel and those punks won't be missed. Steve and Lesley are always jetting off on some fun adventure. Ron has a one-man show, a girlfriend, and a new home in Metairie. Dad is adjusting to his new life. Me? I billed a lot of hours last year. Like the year before, and the year before, and the year before....Another couple of years and I'm going to need a place to stay and a diaper change, and I've got to get in good with these people before too long.

So, there it is. A little long perhaps, but better than two years ago. We'll see what actually happens. But its not so much whether these happen. It matters what goals I have.

Next-the man-hugging has got to stop. Now.