The finish line

I do it every year.

The resolution about losing weight.

And before the clock strikes midnight on New Year's, I also do something else every year.

I pack it away like Oprah in a cupcake factory.

I'm not proud. I'm not hungry either.

It's just that I know with the resolution made and the food deadline looming, I want to make sure and stuff my face while I still can.

Without the least bit of the restraint or will-power I've resolved to exhibit in the new year, the run up to midnight is filled with cramming down every last bit of sugar-filled, cholesterol-causing, artery-clogging, waist-growing, clothes-tightening, mirror-avoiding food I can possibly get my hands and mouth on.

I'm like a runaway train. Except my train is all dining cars.

I know what you're thinking - it can't possibly be that bad. The reason I know is because that's what I thought too. Right up until I got on the scale this morning.

Truth be told, it's not quite as dire and desperate as I've made it sound. And even if it were, it's a new year and I'm on it.

After all, I made a resolution. What could possibly go wrong?

11 is a lucky number

This won't come as a shock to anyone who knows me, but I'm not usually a cup-half-full kind of guy.

Yet as we approach 2011, I have a strange feeling about it. At first I thought it was gas. Turns out it's optimism.

I don't want to go into too much examination and analysis about it, because, you know, why kill the mood? Suffice it to say I think the coming year holds very good things for my family, my friends and myself.

So as all of us here at Rotation And Balance World Headquarters wrap up the first decade in the new millennium, I want to wish each and every one of you a Happy New Year.

Well, almost each and every one of you. You know who you are.

Nothing is something

I got nothing. And plenty of it. So here's the deal about this almost last-post-of-the-year post.

I wanted to publish one more before my New Year's Eve post (which I've already written). Problem is I don't have anything in particular I want to write about. Every time I hit this wall, an acquaintance of mine tells me to just open a new window, stare at the screen and eventually an idea will pop into my head.

I've been staring at this screen for a while now. You know what I got? I got nothing.

Then I started thinking - staring and waiting for something to write is pretty much what I do for a living. Sure, there's a strategy (such as it is) to start from. There's a subject in place. But when it comes time to actually sit down and write, there I am staring at the screen.

The difference is that when I'm being paid for it, there's always a deadline attached. And I don't get a choice. I have to come up with something. With this blog, there's no deadline. And there's definitely no money.

There's nothing but the challenge and fun of coming up with something.

In this case, that something is nothing.

Doodle Jump is so much like life

Rarely has 99¢ bought so much frustration.

Ever since I purchased Doodle Jump from the app store for my iPhone, not only have I become addicted to that little sucker jumping from rock to rock, I've also managed to squander a not insubstantial amount of time trying to get my high score past 17,326.

In meetings. In waiting rooms. In restaurants. Talking on the phone (when I'm not using free call-dropping from AT&T). I get close to that score, but have yet to tie or surpass it.

Occasionally the thought does cross my mind that maybe this maddening game is a metaphor for life. In particular, my life. I sure hope not. The fact that I only get to a certain level no matter what I do is embarrassing as well as disheartening. And the fact it's such a low score to start with is never going to have anyone accusing me of being an overachiever.

Then I think, well, okay you animated little bastard, let's take a look at how far I've gotten in my own life.

In so many ways, I'm in much better shape than a lot of my friends: financially, emotionally and psychologically (that should have them seriously concerned). I own lots of fun stuff, including my house. I have a wife and two kids who love me something fierce (love is blind, but still...). I make a lot of money doing a job that can occasionally be great fun, and isn't exactly breaking rocks. And even though I could lose a few pounds, overall I'm pretty healthy.

If I had to assign a point value to my life, I'd say it's a high score most people would have a tough time beating.

Eventually I hope to say the same about that freakin' little time waster.

Merry Christmas

Don't send me eCards for the holidays

Everyone's busy this time of year. I get it.

I also get how time consuming and tedious sending out Christmas and holiday cards can be. As an award-winning procrastinator, I usually wait until the last minute before I get mine done and out.

But I do eventually get it done.

And the last thing I'd ever do - using the clock running down as an excuse - is send an eCard for the holidays instead of a real one to someone I even remotely cared about.

At our house we have a breakfront in the entryway. You can see from the picture we put all the holiday cards we receive on it. Sometimes there are so many they overlap. They stick out. They fall off. But they also demand to be looked at, and they make the season feel special. They bring joy to each of us every time we walk in, out or by the front door.

eCard's are like the ice-queens of the greeting card world. They have no feelings and just leave you cold. Instead of giving joy, they rob you of it. And even though they usually say Happy Holidays or Merry Christmas or Happy New Year, what they're really saying is, "I couldn't be bothered."

How fast do I delete eCards? Canadian pharmacies and Nigerian lottery officials have a better chance of getting their emails read.

So if you want to send me a card, send me a real one. And if you don't, then don't.

But just know I'd have put yours right in the middle.

P.S. Unless all you have is my email address. Then you're good.

Estate planning (laughs) What estate?

It's the holidays again.

That joyful time of year when we count our blessings. Gather with our loved ones. Celebrate tradition. Exchange presents.

And plan for our own inevitable death.

Years ago my darling wife and I drew up wills and a living trust. But with the new estate tax laws coming into play the first of the year (a tax which should be abolished entirely for everyone. Don't get me started...), our estate lawyer said it might be a good time to review the paperwork.

Good thing we died. I mean did.

The thing I worry about most is who'll take care of the kids in the event of our untimely death should that occur. I actually worry about it a lot. Every time just the wife and I are driving anywhere, I can't help but think we could be taken out in a heartbeat by some driver who decides to get in a head on collision with us (not unlike Christopher Walken in Annie Hall).

Of course, it's easy (or easier anyway) to talk about in the abstract. When we really start discussing who'll take care of the kids when we're gone, there are a lot of things to consider. Not so much financially, because we've put that in place for them. But who would raise them similarly, if not exactly, the way we would? With the same values we share. Who are the ones who will offer them the kind of unconditional love they'll need after the tragedy of our passing?

Seriously, I just light up a room don't I?

The other thing is just because we've named someone to take them now doesn't mean they'll be able or want to when the time comes. That's why we have several nominees: if one declines, they move on to the next name on the list.

We're fortunate to have a lot of very good friends who would be excellent guardians of our children. Many of them with bigger houses and pools. Now that I'm thinking about it, the kids may not think we're the only ones who've died and gone to heaven.

The other part of this document is the Power Of Attorney for major health related decisions. My wife and I both hold it for each other. Which means basically we have to stay on good behavior, or the other one can choose to pull the plug if given the option.

At least that's how it was explained to me.

Believing it's best to be straight with the kids, we've told them who they could wind up with and in what order we'd like it to happen. They're good with it. A little too good. In fact I've asked them if they could act just a little more broken up at the thought we might be gone.

They said they'd think about it.

So for now, we're all up to date with our final wishes. I even got the part about dressing me in a black tee shirt and jeans, and having an iPod playing Thunder Road to take me into eternity written into the document.

In the most literal sense, we're good to go.