Color me resolute...

The very idea of New Year's resolutions has always bothered me. At this point, American culture has romanticized the concept to such an extent that our whole stupid country makes and breaks their own set of resolutions on a strict yearly schedule. How have we come to this, America? It's one thing to find Aunt Edna taking tequila shots and chain-smoking in the kitchen some time in mid-July... quite another at 2 AM on January 1^st after she resolved to make this the Year of Healthy, Wholesome Aunthood.

The whole resolution tradition, as it has developed and currently exists in our culture, depends on an irresolute public. What's incredible to me is that we can be so strong-willed and decisive as a country - to our detriment, some might argue - and such utter failures on an individual basis. When the U.S. government makes a commitment to something (e.g. bringing freedom to the infidels insurgents in the Middle East, or bombing the bastard that quabbled with the president's father) they pursue that goal with a single-mindedness that has contributed to our country becoming the foremost international superpower. On the flipside, we as persons require a special occasion to make commitments to our own lives and goals, and then routinely fail to meet (or even really pursue) these trite life betterments. Sure, some people make inventive, important New Year's Resolutions, but the vast majority are stupid and formulaic.

This year, I'm falling into disfavor with myself thanks to an early-year move coupled with promises of more diligent career pursuits and cleaner, healthier living. Nevertheless, I am forced to admit that San Francisco Kolsky is played out - no longer the bright-eyed and bushy-tailed eager beaver who arrived in the Bay Area with designs on making it big in the sports world. A year and a half later there's nothing to show for it besides memories and a portable writing gig, which I'll pack up and tote back to the Windy City.

In truth, it is the Call of the Chi (rather than some ill-advised pledge to improve myself) that ultimately tipped the scales towards relocation; nevertheless, I am dangerously close to a calendar-inspired self-betterment campaign. To avoid the pitfalls of the average American Resolutionary (Resolutioner? Resolutionist?) I hereby make absolutely zero promises or guarantees (and certainly no resolutions) involving any of the following activities (which I may or may not currently participate in): smoking, alcohol consumption, caffeine consumption, food consumption, exercise, narcotics use, spending/borrowing money, learning, or helping others. Indeed, I commit to only one thing: neither my mouth nor my keyboard will write resolutions that my ass can't... (resolutionize? resolutionify?)... keep.

Now on to brass tacks: I ship out circa January 29, and hopefully hit the North Shore (via the southern route, methinks) on or before February 3 - just in time to take a nap before hopping back in the Saabster and high-tailing it to Detroit for the Super Bowl. I still need a copilot for both ventures. What I am offering you is a once-in-a-lifetime experience: a cross-country car-trip with a modern-day Dean Moriarty... a jocular jaunt from San Francisco to Chicago... a turbulent traversal of the Western United States. Seriously, I need a first mate - a Robin to my Batman, a Smee to my Cap'n Hook, a Ben Gordon to my Kirk Hinrich. My road trip references are myriad - if you have interest in being a part of this seminal event in my life, comment here or shoot me an email and we can talk specifics. That's all for now.