Now, my taxes are pretty routine, but as I was walking into my accountant’s office, I thought, “Boy!  This envelope feels like it weighs a ton!”

Just between you and me, it was only a few ounces.

But what is it about the looming date of April 15, 2012?  Tax day…

Taxes have gotten a bad rap/rep through the years.  Deservedly so?  Maybe.  I don’t know.  I don’t get too political about these things.  I would have drank the tea at the Boston Tea Party.

Whatever.

People waste so much time standing in front of microphones talking about taxes. Complaining about taxes.  Telling me what the “American people” think of taxes.  Usually the people yammering on like that are rich people who don’t know anything about what regular Americans want, especially when it comes to taxes.

All I know is I pay what I have to pay and then drive on the roads and walk on the sidewalks paved with my tax dollars.  Hey, there’s an idea!  Why don’t these suits (who wear jeans when they “meet” us in our home states) get out a bit more and enjoy the parks, sidewalks, and playgrounds in the cool, fresh air and spend less time blabbering and releasing more hot air into the atmosphere.

Dontcha just love an election year?

Anyway, I’m not sure how long it’ll take my guy to finish my taxes.  I’m sure I’ll end up owing.  Maybe I’ll get something back.

Who knows?  I’m just nobody paying my dues, much like you and your friends and family.  We work, we pay, and we move on.  Hmmm….that sounds like what I want.  Do any of the candidates understand that?

All I know is, when I get to wherever the heck it is we go after we leave this place, I’ll hopefully have more to say to whoever is meeting/judging/weighing than, “Hey!  Guess what?  I ran for public office with the special, unique lifetime you gave me and spent it standing on the (Republican/Democratic/Independent) platform that I knew what the American people wanted and ended up spinning wheels!  Thanks for the chance to yell, scream, argue, and smear.  It really was time well spent!  Now, why don’t you open those pearly gates and let me spend eternity with the few thousand bucks I saved.  It’s here, isn’t it?  I was told it would be waiting for me.  I fought so hard for it.”

I’ll hopefully say that I spent my time worrying less (note: I didn’t say I DON’T worry about it…just that I hope to worry less!) about what I paid and more time considering that maybe after all the taxes cleared, and life came to and end (as it will), that it was about what we all paid forward.

Just a thought for every Democrat, Republican, Independent, and…well…whoever else knows what this American wants.

When suddenly, a pair of work boots appear outside the window!

Then, a second pair.

Then, a line of rope swings into view.

What the…?  Am I working at the summit of Everest?  Did I suddenly fall into a Buster Keaton movie?  (Or, rather, was a Buster Keaton movie falling into me?)

Before I knew it, the whole office was looking out the window.

Suddenly, the sound of a squeegee raked across our collective and curious ears.  It was two window washers!  Yes!  Another on my top list of things I could never do for a living because it would just freak me out.  Of course, just when I thought window washing was dangerous, one of my coworkers forwarded me this YouTube video of a dangerous job that I just really don’t think I can watch more than once!  Click if you dare.  It’s a guy with the incredibly dangerous job of free-climbing cell towers.

Anyway, back to those window washers.  They had no platform under them.  Nothing but line and clips.  They were quick, efficient, and brave.

They hang in there every day.

Now, I’m nobody special.  I don’t bring people back to life during the day or clean the windows on Shrek’s highest room in the tallest tower.  Nope.  I’m just a humble editor and writer, doing my part.

But when I saw those feet dangling, it got my Nobody antennae up and going.  Hanging in there.  Hanging in there.

That phrase usually means to be patient and wait.  Or, for those window washers (or the guy in that unbelievable video), it means to do what you gotta do to survive no matter the risk to life and limb.  Those are complimentary, don’t you think?  Consider those you know who do that.  Wait for the right opportunity.  Make a tough decision.  Do what they have to do to support themselves and others.

Think of Jeremy Lin, the creator of Linsanity (is that trademarked yet?).  Lin waited patiently for his turn and when the opportunity came, he seized it.  Climbed the to the highest point at the top of his game.  I’m sure he had many nights lying awake thinking that he was gripping a career by his fingernails.  But he hung in there for his chance, and now he hangs on the rim.

Think about yourself–facing every new day even when things aren’t going your way.  Putting your arm around a shoulder for someone else whose day isn’t so great. Liking yourself when your popularity wanes.  Being your own biggest fan when everyone else is a critic.  It’s all part of our common experience.

Look, folks…hanging in there isn’t just a cute phrase ripe for a cat on a tree branch (seen that poster?).  It’s a subtle reminder that life isn’t always about rose petals and sunshine.  Sometimes it’s dangling from a 12 story building in your work boots to get that paycheck with nothing below you but pavement and faith.

And sometimes, it’s about rising to the occasion like Jeremy Lin, even when you thought the occasion would never come.

When your alarm goes off 10 minutes too early for your liking tomorrow, do yourself a favor.  Resolve that no matter who is angry with you, no matter what comes your way, no matter how many projects they give you…you’ll hang in there.

Unlike those window washers, we don’t have a rope in life.  We just have to free-fall and trust that life will give us a comfortable ledge whenever we need to just hang in.

Loved it.  What a great shot!

No, they aren’t all-consumed with their phones.  They lead rich, full lives of joy and fulfillment and have plenty of things on their plate.

In the photo, they were waiting for a plane.

The point of this is this: we can be part of the new age of technology without being consumed by it.  Now, that’s certainly nothing new.  You know that!  But this thought is really for the younger generation.

Be patient with your parents and even with people in my age bracket (30s).  You don’t really care about this, but there was a time when technology was a TV remote a little smaller than a brick and phones with cords.  I used to dial the kitchen phone (egg cream yellow and as big as a little loaf of bread) and walk to the edge of the room and look through the door at the TV in the living room.  That’s how it used to be. MTV showed videos and a car with a tape deck was all the rage!

Today?  Well, today, every Nobody can look like a Somebody with a phone in their ear and a look of importance.  But back in the day?  Well…we had to work harder at it.

I still don’t do the Facebook thing, although that will probably change someday (soon?).  I blog.  I tweet (twit?).  I play on my iPhone.  I work in environments that are filled with computers and even require me to play around in HTML code sometimes.

But at the end of the day?  Well, let’s just say I look to make connections that aren’t just digital.

There is so much wonderful about smart phones, computers, and the like.  But there is also something wonderful about quiet meditation, a good book, or stimulating conversation.

But this picture I got today?  The one of my folks on their phones?  Well, I’m going to keep it as a great reminder of how the past, present, and future can all coexist quite nicely…as long as those ol’ smart phones are in the hands of smart users.

New England Patriots versus New York Giants!

Eli Manning versus Tom Brady!

The battle of the East!

The most anticipated sporting event of the season!

Super Bowl XLVI!

I only have ONE question for you: do you care?

I ask this because on at least two occasions in recent days, I’ve had friends say, “Really?  The Super Bowl is THIS WEEKEND?  I TOTALLY forgot!”  I didn’t forget, however instead of waiting around here, I’m meeting some people for lunch and then will probably go browse around some stores for a while and enjoy the emptiness that only a major sporting even can bring.  Sure, I may catch part of the game, but honestly?  I’m really having a hard time getting into Super Bowl XLVI.

Now, don’t get me wrong—I love football.  Love it.  It’s far and away one of my favorite sports to watch, and, as my long-time readers know, soon after I was born, football Voldemort hit me with a spell and I have a curse-mark on my forehead that says, “Cleveland Browns” in a squiggly, lightning bolt pattern.

So, I’ve paid my dues and earned my fandom.

It’s just, as with so many other sports, it’s exhausting seeing the same teams every year.  I mean, good for them for their prowess, but I think variety is what brings interest, and quite frankly, no one I know is very interested…except maybe the Eagles fan I know who is rooting for Tom Brady and crew.  Heck, I can’t even root against anyone this year, because my divisions got shut out of the dance.

But I digress…

Still, maybe there is more to this Super Bowl XLVI than meets the eye.  I read a fun and interesting article this morning by the New York Post’s Jennifer Gould Keil talking about the Giants and their penchant for yoga.  Again, long-time readers will know this gets our ears perked at Nobody’s View.  It turns out the Giants take yoga classes.  Since 2004, an instructor named Gwen Lawrence has been showing the Giants the ways of the other East.

You know what I say?  Good for them!  Perhaps if Manning makes a big play he won’t be Tebowing, but pigeon posing (according to Keil, this is his favorite pose!).  I for one would love to see that.  Maybe I’ll watch just on the off chance that could happen.

Yoga keeps ‘em flexible and strong, and it will pay dividends long after short careers end.

Like I said, I’m going to come and go from Super Bowl XLVI today.  I’ll drift in and out as the rest of my February 5, 2012 unfolds in whatever way it will.  But there’s one thing the Giants and I have in common today: we’ll both do yoga.  That’s right.  We here at Nobody’s View pursue our own yogic practices.  And yes, it does pay some nice dividends that last long after big events and little traumas pass.

Maybe that in itself is enough of a reason for Nobody’s View to throw its support behind Eli Manning and the Giants…because for the life of me, I can’t come up with any other reason to care about the outcome!

You likely know all of these characters. Maybe you’ve even seen Fiddler on the Roof.  Perhaps the 1971 show with Topol as Tevye.  Or maybe you saw it open on Broadway in 1964—with Zero Mostel and Beatrice Arthur.

Famous musical.  Some famous people.

But what you probably haven’t seen is the performance I saw last night at a local high school.  That’s right.  Last night I had the unique opportunity to see a local showing of Fiddler on the Roof performed by a handful of students at a high school in a local city.  Topol wasn’t there, nor was Zero Mostel.  But the young man who played Tevye was just as  earnest and spirited as any other performer in the role.  He wanted to embody the spirit of Tevye’s old world as much as any other player before him.

He just doesn’t have the name recognition.

But sitting there last night—in full awareness that this was, indeed, a high school performance, there was the joy of Anatevka, the sorrow of lost tradition, the excitement of new ways, and the tragedy of losing a home.  Tevye desperately wanted the old ways, but then again, he wanted so much for his daughters to be happy.  Chava ate out his soul.  Motel the Tailor begged and pleaded for Tzeitel’s hand in the face of a much wealthier offer.  The Constable of Anatevka betrayed them all.  And a very impressive high school fiddler played from a rooftop, much to the delight of the audience (including her proud parents).

Then, after the show, these kids stormed out from behind the curtain against all theatrical decorum (good for them!) and hugged their parents and friends, including my friend who made a beeline right for his mother, sitting beside me.

There were pictures, laughing, beards being shed, and jokes being told…all in the glow of Fiddler and the humble story of Anatevka.

No, this wasn’t Broadway, but it was close in spirit.

Here at Nobody’s View, we take something away from an experience like that. Not just the well-known music or the memories of seeing the show when young.  It was something else.  The joy that comes while witnessing the hard work of others that may never get recognition outside the hometown.  Many of these kids’ bios say they are going on to this or that university to study something other than music.  Most of these kids will never be recognized for their musical talents or singing ability.  Glee will not come filming here.  Nevertheless, there was the joy of participation.  Of being part of something.  Of accomplishing the feat of performing a Broadway musical for the home crowd.  Of wearing the makeup and costumes to become someone else, even if just for a few minutes, to bring joy.

Tevye was just one man in one small town with a small family, making his way.  He wasn’t famous.  Just earnest.  He wanted to do his best and give the best life performance he could for his God.  Tradition and the realities of the new world mixed for Tevye in Anatevka, and in the end, life went on.

And you know?  For the kids in the that musical last night there was a hint of good ol’ Tevye.  In places the performance was a bit unpolished.  In certain parts, the music was the best it could be in the sight of the universe.  The kids brought some of the new to the musical, while honoring the traditions of the stage.  And in the end, when we all got into our cars (instead of wagons) and turned on our iPods to listen to rock music (instead of fiddlers), life went on.  There will be no bright lights.  No New York Times review.  No recognition outside of a small local town.

But that’s the spirit of Fiddler.  Of Tevye.  Of life in Anatevka.

So to that small cast in that town last night, thank you for yet another performance of a classic.  But one that was intimate and touching for reasons that go well beyond the story and the stage.

I’m not a “car guy” exactly, but I love watching this on the Speed Network.  I really find it quite fascinating, seeing all these cars (and other assorted things on wheels) going across the auction block.  It’s exciting when a bidding war takes place and two or more people are fighting to reclaim the same piece of a lost youth of parking, making out, and drag racing.

It truly is a look at how men actually bid on a midlife crisis.  It’s fun to watch!  Although, I must admit, I have told some folks that the day I have a car where a paint swirl is as devastating as a natural disaster, they are to beat me about the head.

Anyway, as I watch this 2012 installment of Barrett Jackson I am reminded of the old saw that everything old is new again.  This is true with fashion, recipes, vacation destinations…but perhaps nowhere as accurate as with cars.  Many of the 2012 Barrett Jackson offerings are re-imaginings of these old cars.  Someone found a car body.  They got a crew together.  The guys rebuilt the thing as close to standard as possible, whipped up a coat of paint, and voila!  Across the Barrett Jackson block and into someone’s “recapture-my-youth-or-the-youth-of-my-father” collection.

Something once discarded and rusted is now shiny and new.  A centerpiece.  A topic of conversation.  A work of art secluded in a hangar.

We here at Nobody’s View like that sentiment that all old is eventually new.  Though I’ll probably never have nearly enough disposable income to buy a $350,000 ’66 Vette, I certainly can read a long-forgotten novel, participate in an ancient ceremony, or do some yoga.  You see, not everything that is old is forgotten.  Not everything that is a little frayed around the edges needs to be polished, buffed, and sold as “new.”

It is new again when we participate in it.

It is new again when we “rediscover” it.

It is new again when we share it with someone who really gets it.

I think sometimes we fall into the trap of envying people who can afford to buy expensive antiques and display them.  We admire folks who can live out their midlife crises or indulge their inner child with a costly purchase.  But to go down that path of envy is a false road.  It’s not that I begrudge them this pleasure.  I say, if you can do it, go for it!  Why not?  But for the rest of us?

Well, there is no reason a Nobody can’t reclaim a piece of the past in some very inexpensive ways.  Tell you what…over the next few days or weeks, dig out some old pictures and arrange them into a photo album from a craft store.  What’s that, $10 or so?  Perhaps go have some ice cream at a favorite spot for $3.  Call a childhood friend on your cell phone and burn 50 anytime minutes.  Put $20 worth of gas in your tank and take a scenic drive where grandpa used to take you in his car that’s now being sold for $500,000 at Barrett Jackson.  Pull out a crinkly $1 bill and get a candy bar from the vending machine that you used to love and really savor it.  But a $100 fun pack to your local NBA team and take the family.  Make a mix tape (CD?).  Watch a favorite movie from the ‘80s on a $2 rental.

The list is endless.

If you get a chance today, flip over to the Speed Network.  Check out the guys spending 3 children’s educations on a car they owned in 1970.  Then, turn off the TV, pile your own kids into your 2007 Honda, and make some new memories….

The kind that are as close to free as possible, and so much more precious.

I was asked to go see Michel Hazanavicius‘ “The Artist” yesterday and I couldn’t say no.  I’d wanted to see it, but after a full day of work…well….

It was almost surreal–there in the quiet theater watching a silent movie.  I sneaked a peek at my iPhone…yup…still 2012.  Still the age of “talkies.”  But there, on the screen, Jean Dujardin, Bérénice Bejo and John Goodman weren’t making a sound.

Or were they?

We have come so far in this technological age, but have gone so far backward.  What is so striking about “The Artist” is its reminder that so much can be said with the eyes.  The body.  The careless, melodramatic flit of a casual hand.  A faint.  A smile.  We can come to love what we cannot hear.  We can actually come to hear silent desperation.

Now, my older readers among you will no doubt say, “Yes Mr. Nobody…but in 19-some-aught that’s all we had!  Well, that and speakeasies.”  I know that.  I’m wasn’t born yesterday (or even 20 or 30 years of yesterdays ago).  I’m just saying that in the times I know, when movies always make a sound, it was enchanting to watch a picture wrapped in the silence of older music and even older human gesture.

“The Artist” is set in the late 1920s.  We take the journey through those tumultuous years with Dujardin (an actor who plays one of my favorite spies: Hubert Bonisseur de la Bath, the French spy of OSS 117 fame.  If you haven’t seen these OSS movies, see them!) playing suave screen star George Valentin.  He experiences the highest of highs and the lowest of lows with his entertaining doggie sidekick.  What we see on the silent screens of his movies is so much in opposition to his life in the silent world.  But the one woman who can break his silence, Peppy Miller (played by the striking Bejo), is the one person from whom he seems so distant.

I’ll leave it to you to see how it all plays out–and trust me, you will fall in love with the sequence that brings the first active sounds to you ears.  But for now, let’s talk about silence.  Let’s talk about expression.  Let’s talk about a genius that is in all of us that needs no words to express it.

Think about that last line there.  You don’t need sound to express your genius.  The essence of sculpture, pottery, a math sum, or a great novel is not contained in the sounds they make.  Even the greatest orator–a trader in words–has to have a knack for warmth and expression, or else his audience will head for the exits.  Our very attractive essence and our great capabilities are qualities within that we cannot express verbally.  It’s a  je ne sais quoi so to speak…that makes us who we are.

Don’t believe me? Go on a date and sit like stone the whole night with no expression or caring…see how long it lasts.  Teach a class in monotone and watch the heads bob.  Call up a friend and talk and talk and see how much they actually take in.  Or, better yet, go see “The Artist.”  See how quickly you fall in love with the characters and their expressions, such that their voice might threaten the connection.

You see, the beauty of silence is that it leaves a space that is always open for possibility, creativity, marvel, and madness.  Like the empty bowl or valley of the Tao or the clear mind of the Buddha, that which is quiet is beautifully receptive and always at the ready.  Think that’s too grand for a movie review?  Well, consider where all your best ideas come from.  In a quiet moment, in the shower, just before you doze off…there it is!  Just when you least expected it.  Out of the silence.  Out of the state of non-expectation.  Out of nothing came genius.

Hazanavicius’ gives us more than a brilliant movie.  He gives us a chance to take in a picture in its entirety.  To take in people in three dimensions.  To receive the gift of 100 minutes to hear ourselves laugh in our heads without it being drowned out by the script.

Remember that date we talked about just above?  Try this instead: listen with expression.  Just sit and take in whatever the person says with interest.  Pepper the conversation with your own well-placed phrase, but make sure it doesn’t detract from the other persons’ words.  Show your sincerity with gesture, eye sparkle, and a lean-in.  See how much more wonderful it can be when silence takes center stage.

Heck, if it goes well, go and see “The Artist.”  I’m sure your date will love it.  If not, rent OSS 117.

I have a family member who used to claim he was the veritable king of useless trivia, and I think he’s right.

However, last night, I had a chance to be the duke of useless trivia (well, maybe the duke’s assistant’s assistant).  How?  Well, I was at a get-together where someone broke out ‘80s Trivial Pursuit (Totally ’80s).  I won.  The winning answer?  “Max Headroom.”

Remember Max Headroom?  Luckily I did!

Now I, and the other folks, were all children of the ‘80s.  And by children, I mean we were actually children in the ‘80s.  As we played the game meant to test our young lives, and missed question after question, I realized we were adults out of time.  We were too young to take in the ‘70s, not quite old enough to remember all the ins and outs of the ‘80s, and too distracted in the ‘90s to actually attempt THAT version of Trivial Pursuit.

Think about that.  Take that in.  The great calendars move on and on, time ticks by and by…how much do we really absorb?  Are we really tuned in to anything?  Now, the people around that table last night are all well-informed folk with whom you can have a great conversation on just about any topic from art to music, to medicine to philosophy.  But sure enough, question after question went by and we drew blanks in category after category.  I mean, was I even alive in the ‘80s?  I would have taken my oath on it, but now, I’m not so sure!

Of course, we didn’t miss every question.  Some sample answers we got right?  Terry Waite, Mask, Every Breath You Take, Ronald Regan, Margaret Thatcher, China, The Detroit Pistons…and many others.

But goodness!  How humbling.  I remember years ago sitting in a pub in Scotland playing the UK Edition of Trivial Pursuit with some other Americans.  That was embarrassing, although our passports gave us a good excuse.  Last night was shocking.  There’s a difference.

Totally ’80s Trivial Pursuit got me to thinking about how much we actually pay attention.  Do we pay attention at all?  A game like Trivial Pursuit really drives home the point that, in addition to work, family, social life, and all the other things that crop up in our days (any years), there is so much else happening all the time.  We are so bombarded by TV, movies, politics, sports, and technology that it’s almost impossible to take it all in.  We don’t really care until we’re moving a little piece around a board, trying to fill it with pegs that represent how well we retained information from years past.  Last night, it was all on the tip of my tongue, but submerged in the morass of the mind.

But folks, we’re not game pieces filling up with pegs.  We’re real people with real lives and the ability to weigh competing goods and needs.  There’s only so much room in the ol’ noggin for trivia.  So, in retrospect, I won’t be too hard on myself for being a little light on memory last night.

And hey, as long as I can remember Every Breath You Take and Max Headroom, then maybe my memories of the ‘80s aren’t so bad after all…even if they are a little thin.

When I got home, I started to look through some web pages, just browsing the headlines and keeping up with current events.  At one site, the headlines were of this variety:

-An Iranian nuclear scientist was killed by a bomb blast

-A reporter went undercover to expose forced prostitution in Eastern Europe (This one is particularly chilling and particularly important as the article says that January 11 is Human Trafficking Awareness Day)

-The Republican race is getting uglier (as if we needed to be reminded of that horribleness coming around every four years)

My review of these headlines got me to thinking why it is that I love the bands I listen to.  I think part of the reason is that the lyrics are powerful (at least to me).  There is so much terror, so much suffering, and so much grief in this world and in the headlines, yet there are folks out there that know how to reduce the human condition to lyrical poetry.

We all know some amount of suffering.  Some know more than others.  But the great thing about song is that we don’t compare our wounds or emotions when we listen.  In a sense, we’re all equal in music because we can all form our own connection with, and have our own interpretation of, the art form.

Let’s list out some great bands with great lyrics.  I’m going to give you a small sampling of my favorites, and if you are so inclined, you can give me a sample of your favorites in the comments section.

Feel free to click the links and have a listen!  By the way, none of these bands are paying me for any of this.  If there’s an ad before the video, well, that’s just because there is.  I get nothin’ for it!

1.  James.  You may not know the band James, but they are one of my favorites.  Their song Sometimes is so excruciatingly beautiful, that it is…sometimes…hard to listen to it.  James’ lyrics are painful and beautiful and are about high highs and low lows.  Everyone’s welcome!  Check out Sit Down.  But for a really great 90 minutes, it doesn’t get much better than their album, Laid.

2.  Paul Simon.  Do I really need to type anything here?  One listen to Only Living Boy in New York and I’m done for a while!  I was raised on Simon and Garfunkel.  I was too young to dive in too deep to lyrics from I Am a Rock, The Boxer, and April Come She Will, but I could bop along with 59th Street Bridge Song with no problems.  Groovy!

3.  The Connells.  I’ll bet you don’t know this band.  Too bad.  Incredible.  First heard their song ’74-’75 on an airplane many years ago and haven’t looked back since.  There are songwriters that can convert pain and doubt into melodic beauty through musical alchemy.  That’s The Connells.  When I met them back in the ’90s, I asked Mike Connell what ’74-’75 was about and he said, “A feeling.  A feeling of a year.”  Indeed.

4.  Tears for Fears.  Yes.  This is one of my all all all time favorites.  There is a lot more to Roland Orzabal and Curt Smith than just Shout and Everybody Wants to Rule the World.  Ever heard Who Killed Tangerine?  What about Cold?  Buddhism, astrology, angst, joy, and Janov’s scream therapy.  All rolled into one band?  You bet.

5.  The Pogues.  Shane MacGowan is a genius.  Absolute and pure genius.  Take time with The Pogues.  Don’t judge the book by the cover.  Judge by lyrics.  Delve into them.  Listen.  I know there are some who regard Thousands Are Sailing to be his masterpiece, but don’t forget about Misty Morning, Albert Bridge and White City.  I can’t stress their genius enough.  The breadth and depth of their writing and musical ability is beyond belief.  It’s a treat you give yourself every time you listen.  And if you listen deep, then you really discover something special.  They sing about love, loneliness, authors, sailors, prison, Spain, Mexico, beer, whiskey, greyhound racing…and so much more.  Not for the faint of heart, but so worth it for the rest of us.

Oh, there are so many more than I can list here.  But this is a good start.  These are some great bands (to me) and I’ve had many more hours of enjoyment than I can count from them.  They have my gratitude.

Read the headlines today and stay informed.  It’s important.  Then, go pick out a favorite band and listen to someone who can pluck the pains and joys from the world and set them down in your ears.

Maybe then, that drive home can take on greater meaning.

Take a big whiff of January.  Go ahead.  Take it in.  It still has that “new year” smell.  Eventually there’ll be some fast food in here, some cat pee, and a smoker who hitched a ride, but right now, it still smells great!

*Sniiiiiiiiif*  Ah, the new year!

So, what should we do with this shiny new beginning?

Well, how about starting with some 2012 New Year’s Resolutions?  No?  Well, too bad.  That’s what today’s post is all about.

We here at Nobody’s View really aren’t big on resolutions.  I mean, why do that to yourself, right?  If you don’t like your image or your thoughts or your…whatever…I doubt making a promise right up front of the ol’ 365 is going to make it better.  Oh sure, you might have good intentions, but if you end up falling short (which I do quite often), you’ll only end up feeling worse about things.

So, let’s try something different.  Let’s go for some bizarro-resolutions.  Resolutions we’d make if we lived in a different world.  An opposite world.  A world where things could actually get resolved.  Ready?  Let’s try it.  In fact, let’s make the Nobody’s View list of 12 2012 resolutions that might get something resolved.

1.  This year, I’ll resolve not to exercise every day, but to make friends with down time.  That’s right!  Instead of bemoaning the fact that I can only get out and pound the pavement three days a week to get the ol’ heart rate up, I’ll pick up a hobby to make me feel productive even when I’m sitting on my butt.  Something like reading, more guitar, or nookie.

2.  This year, I’ll resolve not to make to-do lists, but instead, learn to use my days the best I can.  Yep!  Less lists and more just kinda doing things when they need to get done.  Hammer the nail when it needs nailing.  Fix the leak when it’s leaking.  And for the love of God, if it ain’t broke or dirty, don’t fix or clean it.

3.  This year, I’ll resolve to pay debts I owe to myself.  Bingo!  There’ll always be someone who thinks you owe them something for one reason or another.  They think you owe them money, time, respect, or whatever.  Maybe you do.  Maybe you don’t.  Forget it!  Spend more time taking care of what you need to take care of and less time worrying about all the hands grabbing at your heels (or your wallet).

4.  This year, I’ll do it my way.  Nice!  Think this only applies to one fast food chain’s burgers?  Think again.  You’ve made it this far in life doing whatever it is you’ve been doing.  Not everything you do is wrong.  Trust me.  Oh, I know you have someone in your life who wants to tell you your way is wrong, your hair is wrong, your something or other is wrong.  Well, tell ‘em where they can shove it.  Take the best of the advice you get and leave the rest for the wolves.

5.  This year, I’ll write what’s in my heart instead of what the market will bear.  You know it!  Any of you have a novel started, but there are voices telling you it needs more silly teen vampires, werewolves, or some honey-dripping insanity?  Well, you write what you want to write.  Write from the heart.  Write about vampires, werewolves, and honey if that’s what you are truly passionate about!  Write because it feels good to tell a story, not sell a story.

6.  This year, I’ll take a trip to that less-popular destination in the off-season.  Yep yep!  I once went to a national park in Utah in the dead of winter.  It was freezing.  It was snowy.  It was icy and bitter.  It was also empty, peaceful, and bore the most amazing images I’ve taken yet.  Crowded isn’t better, my friend.  Sometimes it’s just more crowded.

7.  This year, I’ll try a new thing because I want to try it and not because someone else is shoving it down my throat.  Killer!  I know your aunt loves her Brussels sprouts.  I know your bff has the “perfect” person to introduce you to.  I know someone else thinks those glasses will look great on you.  But you know what?  If you don’t want it or don’t wanna do it, DON’T!  It’s your life.  So few years folks.  So little time.  Do what you want.  Do what you need.

8.  This year, I’ll be more authentic, even if it annoys people.  Zow!  People will get annoyed with you.  They will.  Not because you’re annoying, but because they have issues.  And their issues conflict with your issues.  If you know a depressing person, laugh anyway.  If you want to sit up front and raise your hand, do it!  You want to go out in a pink hat with an orange shirt and slippers?  Go for it.  Be nice.  Be respectful.  Be helpful.  But above all, be you.

9.  This year, I’ll share more but will decay less.  Zounds!  What does that mean?  It means this: you have a good heart.  You give to others.  You are there for that other person in #8.  But if you are “there” at the expense of yourself, or if you are wilting so that they can grow, you’re actually hurting the situation.  Be the good and amazing person you are.  But make sure you take care of you so you can keep on being that person.

10.  This year, I’ll listen less to the pundits and more to my soul.  Bang!  Those talking heads on TV are the absolute very last people you should be basing your decisions on.  Like what they say?  Great.  Listen.  Then measure it against your own life and needs.  I have known argument bullies whose hate and bile match only what they hear on TV.  They touted it like it was gospel and beat others with it like a bat.  Screw that noise.  Follow your conscience, get to know your neighbor, and learn to see more than what the tube can tell.

11.  This year, I’ll move out of the comfort zone.  Great!  If you don’t know people of a particular ilk, seek them out.  If you judge the poor for panhandling on your snazzy street corner, work with them for a few days on their turf.  If you have a bias, test it.  If some political-pundit talking empty head says something you disagree with, don’t feel you have to agree because he or she is in “my party.”  If you want something new, find something new.  Try tuna.  Watch sports with your significant other.  Then, the next night, head for the ballet.  Buy your first suit.  Ditch an old one.  It’s your life.

12.  This year, I’ll leave the resolutions behind the minute they don’t suit me, for I know situations change, people change, and, above all, change changes.  Amen!  Not much else to say here.

So, there you have it.  The Nobody’s View 12 bizarro-resolutions.  They make sense in some twisted way, don’t they?  As you “sniff” around in that list, remember – take the ones you want.  Leave the rest.  Wrap fish in ‘em all.  Do what you will.  But in the end, this year is only what you make it.

Have a wonderful January 2012 and beyond.  Oh, and if you need some help as the days go by, just follow your nose.  The year isn’t all smelly.