Trouble '07

For some reason I'm always sick on New Year's Day. And no, it's not a hangover — not this year, anyway. I think it's just January's way of announcing itself: You're mine, Bender. For 31 days I got ya. I got ya.

Fine, whatever. There's no love lost between me and Janus, that two-faced bastard. I've got a bottle of bourbon and a stack of DVDs and I'm not coming out til Groundhog Dog, so there.

One thing January's good for, though, is the Resolution. Actually, the Resolution technically belongs to December 31, so never mind — January's useless. But, in the spirit of the whole man-in-the-mirror thing, I offer four:

• This year I will manage the Mariners to their very first Pennant. But we'll lose the Series to San Francisco when J.J. beans Bonds with the bases loaded — on my orders. Sorry, my bad.
  
  
• This year I will publish not one, but three novels: The Magnanimous Animus, Mauser Faustus, and Return of the Warbler — which will be adapted into a children's holiday special, a Sci-Fi Channel series, and a Russian opera, respectively.
  
  
• This year I will vanish in the Far East and master the ancient arts of infiltration and stealth, combat and defense, detection and analysis, honing my mind and body into a silent weapon of sudden and terrifying justice, and returning in the dark guise of a ghoulish alter-ego, a living shadow, I will combat evil in all its forms, preying on society's predators and turning fear against the vilest of criminals — especially Republicans.
  
  
• This year I will be a good father, and a devoted and supportive husband to the mother of my son.

And in the spirit of maintaining reasonable expectations, I will hold myself accountable for keeping... oh... one of these Resolutions. Maybe two.