By Dixon Bledsoe
It is customary to make resolutions each New Year’s, and even more common the resolutions evolve around food and exercise.
In my thirst to be unique, unpredictable, yet clever and witty, here is what 2012 holds for me.
I am vetoing “reality TV” shows.
Not that they consume me like some people I know, but really, how much “Snookie” can reasonable people take? The “Jersey Shore” dimwit earns a lot of money to be trashy, and like most people, she embellishes her bad behavior when the camera is rolling.
Maybe it is time to stop rewarding pseudo-stars with their own reality show?
Maybe the horrendous “Toddlers and Tiara’s” needs to be yanked off the air? Here’s hoping young women are not out there thinking about the bright lights of Hollywood because it is in vogue (and lucrative) to be an unwed teen mom on TV?
Hate it, hate it, hate it …
I am going to learn to say “no” more often.
It is tough being a “yes man” when it comes to all the opportunities one is presented, especially those that involve attending meetings, spending money and eating desserts.
My wife caught on some time ago that another of my meetings meant not getting to the leaky gutter or cleaning the garage where live bait from my 2010 trip to Diamond Lake with son Trevor is hiding in odious silence.
2012 is an election year.
This revelation should not come as a surprise, since people started running for president years ago and this is the first time in memory that debates started taking place in the year before the election.
I am not going to discuss politics much this year. OK, really try not to because they bore me because of their absolute predictability.
Here is one simple fact that would be on my course final if I were a teacher – The minute someone is elected, regardless of party, the other side will do everything they can to make the new incumbent look like a blithering idiot.
It is a tragic flaw in our two-party system.
They can’t let the other person succeed or they have no prayer in winning the next election.
Buck the party line and you are taken to the woodshed.
The worse part of the ensuing tsunami of diatribe?
Watch as the candidates try to appeal to their base in order to win the primary by being as far left or as far right as they dare.
Then, if they are successful, the magic happens at midnight when Cinderella turns into a moderate and her pumpkin coach morphs into either a hybrid Prius or a John Deere tractor.
I am going to buy local every chance I get, and do my homework before taking capital to the capitol. If someone has the guts to open or remain in business during 2012, I am going to give them a shot. “Choose Silverton” is my choice.
But I also resolve to give the proprietors feedback on how they did, for two reasons – It is the fair thing to do, and they need to know what customers expect of them. I want them to succeed.
I promise to let my daughter Briana use me as an IV test dummy when she takes on Linfield’s nursing program this year. “Hey, it’s just a flesh wound. Third time’s a charm, honey.”
I am committed to not standing up in a crowded gym and grabbing the microphone from St. Elmo to yell, “That’s my son” when Trevor gets his first breakaway dunk during a varsity boys’ basketball game for Silverton High School.
I resolve to take my wife, Lisa, somewhere romantic and exotic for our 30th anniversary.
If the Powerball check arrives on time as expected even though I played for “amusement” rather than “investment purposes,” it will be a whirlwind tour of Europe. If it is lost in the mail, which never happens here because we have really cool Postal pros, it might be an evening at home with an $8 bottle of Pinot and “Sleepless in Seattle.” I might spring for Vitis Ridge’s Marechal Foch if she catches another whiff of that “dead live bait” in the garage.
I resolve to write a book in 2012.
Bound to be a New York Time’s best seller.
“The Dixon Diet – How To Lose Weight and Keep It Off.” Here is an excerpt. Actually, it is the whole book but still riveting – “Don’t eat so much junky stuff and get off the couch. Grab an apple, not a Twinkie. Walk to the neighbor’s barbecue instead of driving. The 40-yard jaunt is not going to kill you. Taking out the trash is not aerobic unless your curb is a mile or more down the road. Walking downstairs is half the journey. You gotta come up for the full effect. Gravy is nowhere near the top of the food pyramid.”
I intend to lose 40 pounds this year. If I fail, ice cream’s on me. Yes, that’s on the record. And unlike politicians, I keep my word.
