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Resolutions are writ in bourbon on New Year's Eve, but they're faced by the gray light of day!
rant
Ten-Point JProy
for
Some Other Year
by CHARLES HOGAN
BACK in the lost days when I still had full use of mental powers I made a New Year's resolution. I made a resolution not to make any more New Year's resolutions.
This dramatic decision was reached after it dawned that resolutions are very dull stuff. You make 'em; you break 'em! It's like looking down a well, there's no future in it!
But with the passing years the staunch and manly determination which upheld me in that stern resolve appears to have ravelled at the seams. For the first time since I was voted the "Boy Most Unlikely to Succeed" in the high school annual, I find myself back in the New Year's resolutions racket in a big way.
In fact, much to my amazement, I seem to have signed a list of stuff to do or not to do in 1947 that is as full of pious promises as the United Nations conference. I am awash with good intentions.
For instance, now that the party has been over for a day or so (Oh,
my aching over-indulgence!), it seems that I have sworn, throughout 1947, not to sing any more — any more — something or other, the writing is a little scrawly on the subject.
I must have made that vow while I was draped across the refrigerator demanding that somebody mix me another highball. But it is a fascinating resolution and at the moment I wonder what I have sworn not to sing.
Then there is an entry which says: "I resolve not to go in wading without hip boots." This is an intriguing item, and must have been slipped in when I went out on the back porch to sulk while somebody recited Gunga Din.
It seems that in 1947 I am committed to a course of not — let's, see, now — of not — (the writing is a little blurred) so I can skip that one. They can't put me in Alcatraz for an honest mistake!
But there is a definite resemblance to my handwriting and the cryptic