Have a super new year!

There's mixed feelings about the trailer for the new Superman picture coming next year. I liked it, but I don't much bother with movies anymore. Still, one has to admire the endurance of the titular hero, who turns 87 next year. This is what he was up to 80 years ago.

Never mind the February issue date; this would have been on sale in December 1944. Comic books posted a cover date three months in advance to retain their shelf life, or did until the newsstand business collapsed. 

In 1944, Supes had been around for six years, a hero of radio since 1940 and Fleischer cartoons since 1941. While the big star of Action Comics since its first issue, he was not the only character with a story. Others in issue 81 featured explorer Congo Bill, the Vigilante, and Zatara the Magician. You got a lot for your dime in those days.

While the cover scene wasn't in the issue, it makes me think of what American readers guessed but couldn't know would come along in the "little chap's" year of 1945. The end of the war was hoped for and expected, yes, but the death of the president and the sudden entry of humanity into the atomic age would be shocks. There were fewer than 10,000 television sets in homes in 1945, but that would balloon to six million in five years. The top-grossing movie of 1945 would be The Bells of St. Mary's, if you can believe it. And Superman would meet Batman for the first time -- not in the comics, but on the radio show. (They would not officially meet in the comics until 1952.) 

As this highly bizarre year draws to a close, I wish you a super and happy 2025 -- I can hardly believe we're a quarter of the way into this far-futuristic 21st century! -- and that no one drops any nuclear bombs or anything crazy like that. May our wars stay cold and our economy hot, and peace and happiness and good health be yours. Thanks for stopping by.

Oh, Brave New Year, that has such people in it.

Okay, today we play Fun with Doomcasting. 

One of the things conservatives dread is the concept of social credit -- that delightful Chinese Marxist system of ruining the lives of people who do not toe the government line in every way. Disagree with Xi, show interest in Falun Gong, request more pay from your job, and you may find yourself unable to get a decent place to live, a vehicle, a loan, or anything else that ought to be decided by a proper financial credit system.

 

We know there are people who think it would be a good idea here in America. But there are two things we ought to keep in mind: 

1) It is already here unofficially, in the media; 

2) Your social credit score does not start at a baseline and go up or down -- it starts at nothing. You have to earn credit. You actually have to out-earn your fellows.

I've seen it in correspondence among editors and writers when some topic of Sensitivity comes up. Everyone panics a little, and each tries to provide a wokier-than-thou solution. In one story, there was a question about a trans woman whose boyfriend dumped "her" for unknown reasons. Would that make him a transphobe? Because the idea that a man might rather date a woman than a man dressed as a woman would mean he's some kind of evil hater. (Try reversing that -- "So the lesbian doesn't want to date a man dressed as a woman; is she a transphobe?" -- and watch the panic set in.) 

Even worse is medical writing, where we supposedly need to be grown-ups, but we are not. This is because we are no longer men and women, but AMABs and AFABs. 

You remember a few years back when the medical press was having kittens because it turned out that women's heart-attack symptoms were different from men's, and coronary studies always looked at men? It started the American Heart Association's Go Red for Women campaign twenty years ago. Well, now you may Go Red for AFABs, but you'd better drop the "women." 

If we must discuss distasteful subjects like ovarian or prostate cancer -- distasteful because no surgery on earth can give you ovaries or a prostate, yet we have to describe the patient population somehow -- we must refer to Assigned Male at Birth or Assigned Female at Birth. Like the doctor just decided which sex the baby should be. "We're fighting godless commies in Vietnam; better make some more boys today."

But we know that's only a stopgap, because there are campaigners who want to prevent the assignment of sex at birth. A baby should just be registered as "a baby" and it will tell us what it is later. That demand does not come from some lunatic fringe group; it is from the American Medical Association. 

So much for the idea that medical needs are different between boys and girls, and not knowing the difference is dangerous. Better the child should die than be misgendered, or gendered at all. 

What will we do when nothing is assigned at birth? Call them PWOs and PWPs (People With Ovaries/People With Prostates)? 

If you've ever been in a group blamestorm you know how this happens. Everyone is nervous; everyone is scared of being labeled something bad; everyone has to try to top the others, and as fast as they can. Temperance, consideration, sobriety of thought -- these are not considered virtues. We saw that in the wicked Tweetfest following the monstrous October 7 attack on Israel -- after the initial rush to lunacy was over, with its concurrent ratchet effect, the wiser ones silently deleted their Hamas-supporting Tweets. Others doubled down, more frantic than before. This is not adult behavior. 

I don't know where this mania ends, but I suspect it will require a lot of trial lawyers to start suing the ever-loving crap out of the perpetrators of insanity. We're starting to see a little of that, but not enough. Come on, you greedy bastards! There are billions to be made from this. Wise up and get suing! 

P.S.: I guess my social credit is deep in the negatives now. It was bound to happen sometime. It may have happened a long time ago. 

2024?

Sorry for being so short today -- I actually had written a longer post that totaled all the things I hated about 2023 and all the things I expect to hate about 2024. But who wants that?

Instead I'll just wish you all a happy new year, and please accept my deepest thanks for visiting my blog. It's a humble blog, with much to be humble about, but it's mine, and you're reading this, and I'm thanking you, so there we are.

Good luck and God bless! Off we go into the wilderness of a new year! 

hooray.

 

Trouble on day 3.

Rejected from the Roses.

Today is the Tournament of Roses and the Rose Parade, which has mostly been going on since 1890, barring a few interruptions like World War II and the Chinese Death Virus. Normally it's held on January 1, but not if New Year's Day falls on a Sunday; in that case it's moved to Monday -- today! And here we are.

Many fraternal, professional, and business groups organize the popular floats for the parade, which are generally festooned with flowers and must be covered with organic materials. Equestrian groups also ride, marching bands march, and some dignitaries wave from flower-bedecked automobiles. What's not known is that over the years, the parade has refused entry from a few groups for various reasons. Here are six interesting cases.

1901: The Mighty Cowmalazoo Marching Society

A combination marching band / bovine act had hoped to be featured in the parade -- a large group from Kalamazoo, Michigan, who played their instruments while riding cattle. Of especial interest was the cow-mounted pianos played by the 88 Keys Joy Squad. Officials ultimately deemed the act too messy, too disruptive, possibly dangerous, and not nice to the cows.

1939: The German American Bund

The pro-Nazi German American Bund asked to appear in the parade, sending some of its bigwigs in one of those newfangled "people's cars" that the Germans had introduced, a vehicle they called the Liebe Käfer. Parade officials said no, that only their own officials were allowed to ride in cars. Oh, and also: Nazis.

It would take almost thirty years for this type of "Love Bug" to be seen on American streets.

1955: The Potrzebie Special 

A float called the Potrzebie Special was registered with the parade by one A. E. Neuman. When asked to explain the theme of the float and who would be constructing it, a return telegram from Mr. Neuman in New York replied "please buy this magazine" and "the usual gang of idiots." When pressed about the design for the Potrzebie Special, Neuman would only say it would be "completely covered in nuts." Suspicious, officials declined to allow the Potzebie to participate.

1979: Disco Demolition Float

A group from Chicago asked to construct a float made in the likeness of popular disco records of the day, and blow it up as it completed the parade route on Paloma Street. Officials determined that the group was serious about using explosives and denied entry. The Chicago group ultimately decided to host a disco demo event in their home city later that year. 

2000: The Last Float Ever

The Y2K Last Float Ever was proposed by a group from Silicon Valley who anticipated that with the end of the world coming on 1/1/00, thanks to the Y2K bug, we all might as well go out with a bang and have the parade as the world fell into chaos. The parade officials informed them that in the event of Apocalypse, the parade would be canceled or at least postponed. 

2021: The High & the Mighty

A float completely made of pot was the theme of the High & the Mighty, sponsored by the California Marijuana Association Dudes. Officials bickered over whether a recreational drug themed float would conform to or contradict the parade's theme that year of "The Power of Hope." With the COVID outbreak, the decision was made to cancel the event anyway. By the time the parade returned in 2022, the Dudes had lost interest, deciding instead to sit on the sofa and play World of Tanks. 

Look back in irritation.

So here we are, at the start of a new year. 

This is it!

Before we go charging into 2023, I thought I'd have one last glance backward. I thought that, rather than a roundup of the things that made me and many others absolutely insane with fear or fury this year, I'd just note a few things that were memorably annoying, at least as far as I am concerned. As they say (and Benny Hill once quoted), it's the little things that hurt. You can sit on top of a mountain, but you can't sit on top of a pin. 

In no particular order: 

😠 Americans can't pronounce monsieur

This one's for my wife. The French makeup company Lancôme (part of Paris-based L'Oréal) released a new mascara called Monsieur Big, and all her favorite online influencers have been pronouncing the first word MON-sewer. Even one in Louisiana, a state founded by French people, where they don't pronounce Baton Rouge BAYten ROOgee. Merriam-Webster has no other pronunciation for monsieur except slight variations of the French meh-syeur. What happened? Doesn't anyone take French in high school anymore? 

😠 Whoop/whup

Ain't these people never watched wrestling? When you want to beat someone up, you want to whup him, not whoop him. To whoop is "to utter a whoop in expression of eagerness, enthusiasm, or enjoyment". If someone says he wants to whoop somebody's ass, it sounds more like he wants carnal knowledge of said end, not to leave the imprint of a boot on it. The whoop/whup menace is not as common as the inability to spell whoa that I mentioned early in December, but it's always a show of ignorance. Whup too is in the dictionary -- let's resolve to look words up before we use them this year!

😠 Political infection 

Twice I have dropped out of groups on social media that specifically demanded NO POLITICS of their memberships. People can't help themselves. In one case it was a group dedicated to old comic books, and Trump seemed to still own these people's thoughts a year after he left office. In the other, a group about the history of my home town, one member who was also a moderator kept slipping in PETA propaganda. It's like a mania. 

😠 Loving villains

Disney has been leading the pack on this, of course; in its efforts to squeeze every nickel from every bit of intellectual property it owns, it's been doing films, novels, graphic novels, and whatnot celebrating the bad guys. We've also seen it with films like Joker and Black Adam. The bad guys never seem to choose wickedness out of overwrought ambition or greed or even the left's favorite hatred to hate, prejudice; they're forced into being evil. Great, now do Hitler. 

😠 Recipe introductions 

You go online for a mac & cheese recipe -- a recipe that takes five ingredients and four numbered instructions -- and the author first has to tell her life's story. Thanks for the recipe, but I don't understand why you went to all that trouble, writing all that. I almost gave up hope until I saw the header INGREDIENTS and realized I was saved. The personal touch is great, but usually a paragraph or two is plenty. 

😠 Affirmation dumps

Don't get me wrong -- I much prefer people who want to spread hope and cheer to those who want to cackle as the world burns. But you can't just dump and run. People say the darndest things about expecting the universe to magically respond to their desires if they desire them enough. If I politely explain that this is not my experience, or ask a question, I get ignored or brushed off. You have to be able to defend those posts to an honest inquiry, not just put them out there to perfume the air. 

😠 Owned truth

This one goes back to Jim McGreevey's shameful exit in New Jersey -- anytime someone introduces "my truth" or dismisses your facts as "your truth," expect a humungous pile of crap to follow. If it's not the truth, it is a lie. This seems to get worse every year.

😠 Really bad portmanteaux

Kidult. Manscaping. Beergarita. Foodlegger. Caucacity. Some are fine and fill a niche. Most, like these, have little wit and less sense. Unless beergaritas are really good; you'll have to tell me. 

😠 Christmas cards

I'm sorry, but I think we have to let this one go. Every year I send them out and get fewer back as people just give up. We all can stay in touch online, at least enough to know who's alive. Most of the cards we get aren't even signed, and may have been ordered through something like Shutterfly. Mine may be the first human hands to hold the card. Maybe we can send out a handful of cards for people we really can't stay in touch with without mail (old folks in the home, for example, or people working at Port Lockroy), but for the rest, I think this is one tradition we ought to drop.

That's my list, and I'd love to hear your pet peeves. I have a longer list of things that are really awful, but I'd guess most of those are on your list, too. On to 2023, which I can only hope will be no more tragic and horrible, and less annoying. 

End of the year.

It's nice to shut the door on a year that didn't bring us what we'd hoped, or worse, brought us many things that we would have hoped not to get. Of course we know it's all arbitrary -- tonight 2022 ends, but the Jewish year 5783 started in September and the Chinese new year (it's a rabbit year) doesn't start until January 22. But I guess it's always nice to mark the end of an era and take a moment to assess our experiences and anticipate what's to come. 

I actually finished all my work assignments right at the end of the day Friday, so I have nothing new looking me in the face this weekend. My goals for the weekend: Get to church and sleep. Depending on the pastor, they may be combined. (Rim shot.) I will certainly feel obliged to stay up to midnight, which will mean an overtired puppy tonight and then an overtired both of us Sunday morning. But time and pee wait for no man or beast. On the upside, TCM has apparently listened to its viewers and has reinstated its marathon of Thin Man movies starting at eight tonight.

The past year did not have any personal highlights, and the lowlights were nothing worth mentioning, so I guess that's good. I have grievances, of course -- annoyances that I may compile in list form. Like a lot of folks I often dwell on the little things to avoid thinking about the big things. People will say "Don't sweat the small stuff!" but they will also say "Watch the pennies and the dollars will take care of themselves." Culture is contradictory to the point of insanity. 

So what are your hopes for the new year? Maybe regrets from the old year? Let's hear about them in comments. See you there, if I'm not too sleepy to read them.  

Escape.

My wife and I have one crucial goal for 2023: Escape from New York. 

I used to be proud to be from New York State, I truly was. I was born here, grew up here, went to school here, got married and settled down here (mostly in the city itself, now north of that, west of the mighty Hudson). I liked everything in the state, from the excitement of the city up to the gorgeous countryside in the north and the hardworking cities of the west, three of which are so tough they have survived despite being in the top seven snowiest cities in the entire nation. It was a state worth being proud of. 

Now? It's a dump and I want out. 

It's not the winters. Yeah, they are tough here, but the spring and fall are so gorgeous that I am willing to suffer the cold and frozen precipitation. 

Who doesn't like salt trucks doin'
doughnuts on the cul-de-sacs?

And it's not that the city is becoming an unlivable nightmare of crime and filth, as I have avoided going into the five boroughs for a couple of years now and see little chance of having to go there again soon. 

No, it's that the state has become irredeemably stupid and corrupt. 

We were not a one-party state until recently. Our last Republican governor left office in 2006, and our last Republic Senator in 1999. The state senate was last run by Republicans in 2018 and may never be again. I'm not saying those guys were not corrupt and stupid (several were brought up on charges); I am saying that when it's a one-party apparatus there's no one able to hold anyone accountable. That's where we are now. Since Pataki left Albany we've had two Democrat governors resign in shame, and yet the people are content to pull the D lever no matter what now. So we're on our way to becoming California: Cold Edition.

Speaking of which, every stupid idea doomed to failure that comes out of that West Coast Feudal Empire finds some traction here. Fortunately the obsession with light rail and bullet trains hasn't taken over New York yet -- who wants a bullet train from New York to Buffalo? 

But: Outlaw the sale of gasoline powered cars? Check! Close nuclear plants? Checkarooni! Hey, where's the electricity going to come from to power all those electric cars, let alone the rare minerals needed for the highly polluting batteries? Don't bother us with details! We're too busy giving ourselves a 29% pay raise because we work so hard and we deserve the highest pay in the nation! And they also love to crush small businesses with taxes and regulations, because that always helps, especially in economic downturns.

Stupid to the point of belligerence. I'd say childishness, but children have a reason to know nothing. These morons not only know nothing, they don't even suspect. 

You may not believe this, and I would have to make a better case than I can here, but New York's decline began with the end of the Erie Canal as a major shipping course after the opening of the St. Lawrence Seaway in 1959. 

I'm serious. It's hard to believe in a Manhattan where nothing is made but lies, debt, and bad musicals, but New York City once led the nation in manufacturing, and all those cold, snowy cities upstate thrived on the Erie Canal. What do we have now? Rochester, which is sinking as fast as its ko-dependent company Kodak; Buffalo, where the steel industry left and everything else is hot wings and government graft; Utica, which can't even keep a single-A ballclub anymore; Albany, whose only industry now is bull. Even Junior's Cheesecake is now made in New Jersey. It's been a long decline for the Empire State, but with the current irreplaceable leadership it looks like the rest of the slide to third-worldism will come pretty fast. 

Many things were out of New York's control, but now it seems like everything is out of control in New York. Meanwhile, the state government thinks it can fix the climate. So, we have to leave. This much dumb in one place is likely to open a black hole of stupid that will suck in everything around it. It breaks my heart, but the New York state of mind is insane. 

The old standby (post-Christmas edittion).

Merrrry second day of Christmas! Well, yesterday was festive, or certainly busy, so I'm falling back on that old standby, the post-Christmas meme! What can I tell ya -- it was that or stories about everything I ate, and I'd bore myself. (Plus -- this is stupid but true -- I managed to burn the tips of my index and middle fingers on my right hand, so it hurts to type today. And I sprained the ring finger on the same hand bending it back on a drawer. And then Izzy yanked the leash so hard -- excited to get a treat -- that I stumbled on the walkway edging and skinned my knee. All very holly jolly.)

Where is the returns department?

WOMAN DEMANDS TO SEE MANAGER

WARWICK, NY -- Noted consumer and activist Kaitlynn Schweack demands to see the manager regarding the new year that has just begun two days ago. 

"I have a number of complaints with this so-called 2022 that need to be addressed by a higher up, and I mean right this minute," said Schweack, known in area stores for expecting "prompt and adequate service".

"First of all, this supposed new year is extremely shopworn, to say the least," she continued. "I mean, look at this mess. It's still got these Brazilian floods and other clear evidence of climate chaos, totally unresolved from the previous model. There's still knuckle-dragging morons with guns all over the country. You can see signs of financial crisis right here all along the edge. And look! There's still COVID all over it! You call this new?"

Schweack further stated that this was probably a reconditioned or refurbished year, falsely being sold as new, and the store should be ashamed of itself. 

"Like all of us, when I go to get a new year, I want something clean and unsullied," she told reporters. "Not this thing! Sully sully sully! I demand satisfaction. I and my 20,000 followers on TikTok, I might add,"

The store's "no refunds, no returns" policy, clearly marked on signs and packages, was also considered objectionable by the noted consumer. 

"That's against federal and state law, you know," said Schweack. "I don't care who you are. Your signs cut no ice with me. Now, am I going to get a really NEW new year, or do we have to escalate this further?"

At press time there was no indication that anything would or possibly even could be done to satisfy the demands of Schweack and her supporters. 

New Year's devolutions.

I was inspired yesterday by this meme on the Great Lileks's comments, posted by our friend Mongo:

I find this is pretty true for me as well. In that spirit, I've decided that my best course of action is to resolve to do exactly the opposite of what I ought to do this year, in the hope that it will result in me doing what I ought to do as I break the resolutions as normal.

In that spirit, I hereby resolve:

📅To gain at least thirty pounds, if not more, by letting my diet go to hell and exercising as little as humanly possible. 

🙌To do as little work as I can while seeking lower pay all the time. 

🥳To stay away from church and avoid all forms of spiritual growth, stuffing myself instead with pop culture and stupid timewasters. 

🔔To allow my dogs to run wild and undisciplined, and do whatever they please with no training from me. 

📅To neglect family, friends, and all other personal relationships to the point where they wonder if I died.

🙌To let my finances fall into complete disarray and spend, spend, spend. 

🥳To let the house go to hell and stuff every room with garbage like I'm auditioning for a hard case episode of Hoarding: Buried Alive.

🔔To be as rude to my fellow man as I can without getting beaten up or killed.

📅To achieve nothing more intellectually challenging than sitting through an episode of a Real Housewives show. 

That should do it. Check in next December to see how it's going, if I live that long. 

Bad New Year's I have known.

I've been thinking back to New Year's Eves of the past, partly because I am thinking this could be the first year since toddlerhood that I don't make it to midnight. I've been dragging around all week, the weather is gloomy, I'm still on the anti-neuropathy drug that makes me sleepy, and I have two dogs that will want to be up early in the morning no matter how late I stay up at night. And let's face it--I ain't no kid anymore. Who is? If you were ten in 2000 you're in your thirties now. 

Looking back, I realized that while I had some great New Year's -- a couple of parties were legendary, including one we threw while our parents were out of town -- a lot of them were pretty bad. 

Times Square, 1937. No, I wasn't there. I've never been there for New Year's. 

One year I spent New Year's in a dumpy hotel in New Jersey with my parents. It was supposed to be a party atmosphere, but it actually seemed to suck joy right out of the air. Passing cars would feel a joy drain. Another year, when my folks were older and living in Florida, I was visiting for the holidays. Both of my folks were asleep by ten, right in their chairs. I loved my parents, but they weren't a ball of fire to be with for a young guy on New Year's Eve. 

On the other hand, as I've gotten older myself, I'm no ball of fire either. I enjoyed watching the Thin Man marathon on TCM for a few years with my wife; they skipped it last year but are back to it tonight. I also thought of a New Year's long ago when I just hung around with a friend's younger cousin all night, talking about comics, Dungeons & Dragons, playing video games, and watching TV (1967's Camelot was on, and as bad as I'd always heard). He was a good kid. We met up again a few New Year's Eves later but it wasn't the same; his interests had drifted and so had mine. 

Good or bad, though, one thing I have always done on New Year's is make it to midnight, at least since I was a little kid. Not sure about tonight. I guess we'll see. But I expect to be here on the 2022 side of things, and God willing it will be a good year for all of us.  

I feel the same way.

 

Dog cocktails.

At New Year's, the Living sections used to have drink recipes for curious and elegant cocktails to help with party celebrations. This was when we had newspapers. Also, parties. And celebrations. And elegance.

Also, these days when people do get together with adult beverages, they're more likely to bring some wine, beer, or fake beer product that they saw on TV. 

But my dogs are sticklers for tradition, and would like you to know that, if they were human, they would have been celebrating with exquisite cocktails made by experienced bartenders. After all, they are always prepared for high society. They may not have tuxedos, but they do have tails. (rimshot)

So here is a list of six festive cocktails -- dogtails, perhaps -- that one might wish to make, based on my dogs' favorite things. Consider them specialties of the house -- the dog house. Note that these have not been tested on animals, who shouldn't drink alcohol, or on humans, who probably shouldn't drink these.

🍹🍹🍹

ASPHALT

Big dog Tralfaz loves to drink puddles on the driveway after it rains, and thank God I don't leave the cars on the pad to drip toxic substances. Still, this one is named for his tar tipple.

1 part eau de vie

1 part Kahlúa

1 part Jägermeister

Stir well in a cold glass rimmed with salt (for the rock salt used in winter).

SPIGOT

One of these will turn you on! Both Tralfaz and Nipper love to drink water off the backyard spigot for its refreshing taste, especially in summer. 

1 part Watermelon Sour Schnapps

1 part gin (for that metallic tang)

Splash of seltzer

Serve over rocks. My spigot is over gravel. 

BUTT

Everyone knows that dogs love butts, but they may not know that the butt is an old English cask, equal to 1,008 pints, often used for wine. So this drink includes wine, not hinders. Go ahead and tell your barkeep "I want a Butt!" 

5 oz. red wine

1 oz. vodka

1 oz. peach schnapps

1 egg white, beaten

Serve with garnish in a tall glass. You can also leave out the schnapps, which makes this a Butt Lite.

SQUEAKY TOY

My guys always love to play with and destroy a squeaky toy. Here's one that will have you squealing for more. 

2 parts bourbon

1 part maple bacon liqueur

1 one part ginger ale 

Twist of orange

Serve over crushed ice for that squeaky-cold goodness.

BAD TO THE BONE

Dogs dig bones, and what are bones but calcium? For that matter, dogs dig high-calcium cheese and yogurt. It's all about the bones for them. 

1 part Bailey's Irish Cream

1 part white chocolate liqueur

2 parts vodka

Serve however you want, but be prepared to bury whatever comes up in the yard.

THE THIRD FLOOR

My dogs spend most of their day loafing on the floor, which reminds me of this classic line: 

1 tequila, 2 tequila, 3 tequila, floor

So here's a drink that'll put the drinker on the floor too!

3 shots of tequila

1 part grain alcohol

Splash of grenadine

1 oz. lime juice

1 oz. orange juice

Orange slice for garnish

Serve in a tumbler with a straw so it looks innocuous. Prepare a space on the floor for your guest.

🍹🍹🍹

If all else fails and the party is a disaster anyway, be like a dog and drink straight from the bottle. That's how they approach things. They may wear tails, but they're still slobs. 

Fitness resolution! With steroids!

Hello, fellow kids, and welcome to 2021! No more loafing around, moaning about how bad things are. This is a new year! Time to run around and get fit while we moan about how bad things are! And look what I got for Christmas. 

My wife gave me an Inspire 2 FitBit, that step-counting marvel that can help you track heartrate, sleep quality, calories burned and consumed, water drunk, and alert you to calls and messages on your phone. It's a marvel! And it also tells time! Which is nice, since the watchband just broke on my wristwatch.

So on day one, which was actually December 27, I set it up, strapped it on, and went about my business. I wanted to see how active I am on an average day with no particular extra effort. As it is, I finished with more than 8,000 steps, which made me glad. They say you should walk 10,000 steps for baseline exercise each day (or do they? Well, it's better than most of us get). I did not have the thing on at the start of my day, so maybe I did walk 10,000 steps -- could not tell. 

On day two I was welded to my desk to meet a deadline, and yet by bedtime I had about 9,500 steps. Awesome! I figured that the next day, when I had more liberty, I would pulverize the 10,000 goal. FitBit's little screen would blare at me: "HOLD ON, COWBOY! YOU WAY TOO ACTIVE!" And I would laugh! "Ha ha! I am just warming up!"

And indeed, thanks to a sudden desire by large dog Tralfaz for a large walk, I had more than 4,000 steps behind me by nine a.m. I was going to RAWK this one!

And then this:

While I was working my wrist started to itch. Naturally, I had a lovely red rash around it where the FitBit lay. So this is where the steroid portion comes in -- corticosteroid gel, to get the itch to stop and remove the rash. And FitBit went onto the charger. 

Three days later I still have the stupid rash, although less red and not so itchy. FitBit says this probably came from wearing it too tight, and I think that's true -- you're not supposed to wear it as tight as a regular watch. The plastic doesn't breathe. I've worn my share of cheap-ass watches with plastic bands, but I usually take the watch off when I get home. You're supposed to wear the FitBit all the time -- to bed as well. You can even wear it in the shower. Got to count those shower steps!

When I was out and about yesterday I wanted a watch to keep track of time, so I put it on my right wrist, which felt very weird. Late on New Year's Eve I started to fear a rash was developing on my right wrist, so I took it off. It may have just been dry skin from winter air and dangling the dogs' leashes around that wrist.

I don't know about this whole thing. I would like it to work out, but I'm depressed. Like Rodney Dangerfield, I feel like things happen to me that don't happen to normal people. I never had any real skin problems, hardly any acne, for which I am grateful, but now this? And winter skin so rough I could sand cherry wood with it.

Well, I did get something in my stocking to help with that: 

Yes! MAN LOTION! By MAN STUFF, INC.! It works well and smells -- well, like something that wouldn't embarrass a manly masculine man's man. As they say, "NO GIRLY-GIRL SCENT: If smelling like roses isn't your deal, skip the unisex hand and body cream. Man Lotion has a fresh, clean scent – never overpowering – with no strong, lingering odor." But I may be too manly for it -- I actually broke the pump while unscrewing it. Too much man for Man Lotion to take!

But this kind of thing doesn't work on rashes. Only dry skin. Wah! 2021 sucks! 

Annus horribilis.

Begone, annus horribilis!

You’ve gone and made me scribble dis

You taxed me to the breaking point

You’ve made your godforsaken point

I hate your Chinese Viral Doom

That filled each ER waiting room

But Dandy Cuomo went one better:

“Let all da fogies die togeddah!”

Run to Walmart! Buy PPE!

Sanitizer! Lysol! TP! 

Small businesses by lockdowns rotted

What was left, the riots gotted

In the streets, the fire-bombah

Arrested, but sent home to momma.

And our fine health bureaucracy

Made errors far as eye could see

“Bigots worse than death!” they cried

And three hundred thirty-nine thousand died.

Then the election, where more folks voted

Than battleground states had voters toted

The counting stopped, strange votes came in

To let the cellar dweller win.

A terrible year by all accounts

And now as seething anger mounts

Congress tries to close the gate

By printing cash to stimulate

And form an economic bubble

Which always leads to fall and rubble.

Annus horribilis, out with you

And kiss my anus as you do.

A year with a knitter.

Diet TV.

Is the diet plan already failing in the new year? Is the cold weather triggering the nesting/eating instinct? Are you snowed in and unable to resist the siren call of the refrigerator?

Well, worry not! Basic cable is coming to the rescue!

How can this be? With shows like Food Network and the Cooking Channel, not to mention great food shows on PBS and the Travel Channel, surely cable TV is worse than useless at encouraging healthy eating!

That's true as far as it goes. For example, there is a word for shows about healthy eating on the Food Network, and that word is: Canceled. No one wants to pay for homework. So all their shows make food that looks delicious, no matter the calories and cholesterol, and devil take the hindmost.

But there are plenty of other shows out there that will kill your appetite dead.

I'm not talking about things like American Gothic or The Walking Dead, that might be supposed to work by showing gross icky monsters. We know that doesn't do the job. If horror movies kept people from eating, the theaters would never show them. They live by the concession stand.

But it's a different kettle of pus when you're talking about reality shows, programs that show real-life disgusting stuff. And that's where we come in. Have a look at these next time the hankerin' starts up:

The Incredible Dr. Pol: NatGeo's show about Michigan veterinarian Jan Pol is fascinating -- Dutch-American Pol is not a young man but he fearlessly treats any kind of animal, from a hamster to a bull that could kick you to pieces. Every episode seems to feature him having to drag a live young out of some huge mammal, sticking his arm completely inside the organs of something or other, and parts of Michigan that are under a permanent layer of manure. Also, he and his staff spend a lot of time shoving uteruses back into cows. You could almost make a drinking game out of it. Fascinating stuff, especially for us city boys.

Dr. Pimple Popper: Dermatologist Sandra Lee pulls unbelievable things out of human beings -- gigantic fat deposits, multicolored goo, miscellaneous blobs. They're all incredibly gross. The number of things that can grow in human skin is mind-boggling. She puts her patients at ease during procedures with running commentary on what she is squeezing/pulling/suctioning out -- this looks like mozzarella, that looks like gray toothpaste, ooh that's like a chicken breast, and so on. This TLC show is the biggest appetite suppressant on TV. Unless that title goes to:

My Feet Are Killing Me: You know, last year I joked around that TLC was following the success of Dr. Lee with a proctological show called Dr. Poop Digger.* Well, I was off by an inseam. My Feet Are Killing Me is about the practice of podiatrists who come face-to-foot with some of the most alien-looking appendages to ever appear at the end of a leg. I mean, most people's feet are pretty awful to begin with, but this is a horror show.

Untold Stories of the ER: Another TLC series, this one features what the title says -- stories from the emergency rooms of various hospitals that are in some way pretty shocking. They're shown as narrative by the doctors but also with vivid reenactments, and feature ER fun like people with large objects stuck in them, people infested with a variety of parasites, people with various bits cut off... The word rectum comes up more often than it does on Grey's Anatomy, I guarantee.

Worst Cooks in America: The only Food Network show about disgusting food, this competition pits really bad cooks against one another to try to become the best of the bunch. For the true diet factor, you want to come in on the early episodes of a season, where the contestants demonstrate to everyone's satisfaction and revulsion that they belong on this show. By the later episodes people have gotten better, and the worst have been weeded out.

Bizarre Foods: Andrew Zimmern is the host of this Travel Channel show, which makes him the grown-up version of the kid that would eat a bug for a dollar. As a profile on Fox put it, "He’s eaten putrefied shark in Iceland, tree grubs in Peru and even 'horse rib and rectum sausage' in Kazakhstan," which makes this show another contender for the "More Rectums Than Grey's Anatomy" honor. Unless his enjoyment of Samoan coral worms makes you want to see if you can order up some via DoorDash, you'll find this show a food turn-off.

Live PD: A&E's Live PD is like a real-time version of the classic show COPS, and based on the same premise, that following police officers as they deal with punks, lowlifes, slobs, wankers, perverts, and creeps is entertaining. Most of the time nothing disgusting is shown, besides the rank abasement that humankind may achieve. Still, rat- and roach-infested trailers don't stimulate the appetite. Nor does hearing the fifth guy in a row tell officers that he didn't know how the pipe got on him and these are his friend's pants and he doesn't know his friend's name.

My 600-Lb. Life: An agonizing program about people in the deepest throes of addictive eating who seek help from Dr. Younan Nowzardian, a specialist in these matters who doesn't take any crap. He deals with his patients with sympathy, but he treats them like the addicts they are, knowing that the slightest allowance on his part will doom them to a helpless, miserable life. You can't help but root for these people, but my God, seeing them struggle can make you hate food entirely.

Skin Tight: You know what? We're just going to change the name of TLC to TDC -- The Diet Channel. Skin Tight is a sort of sequel to My 600-Lb. Life, as people who lose a tremendous amount of weight have to deal with the sagging, leftover skin. It is not pretty. You feel for these folks and you never want to become one of them. So maybe skip the Chips Ahoy tonight.

🤮🤮🤮

That ought to disgust the desire for food out of anyone. But just in case it doesn't, you can always turn to the Internet. There you can watch such enlightening films as people on TikTok eating cereal out of one another's mouths.

Hell, now I think I have to skip lunch.

💣💣💣

* Just wanted to point out that I had another joke show on that list called Mythsploders, a follow-up to the long-running Mythbusters, that was just focused on blowing things up. Well, former cast member and all-around good guy Tory Belleci is now starring in The Explosion Show on the Science Channel, just focused on blowing things up. I am a true prophet.

Staff meeting: The Vision Thing.

[Twelve figures in a meeting room; one walks in and stands before them, clearing his throat to stop the chatter.]

"All right, all right, everyone, let's settle down. It's our first staff meeting, and we want to make sure we're all on the same page, right? Okay, I think I've met all of you. Of course, I'm 2020, the new CEO, and our goal is to make this the best year ever. The first thing I'd like to discuss is the promotion of the new year. The last CEO had a pretty good slogan -- 'You Say You Want a Revolution' -- but maybe a little too suggestive. I was jotting down some ideas on the way in and I like this one. Ready? '2020: Get the Vision.' Clever, don't you think? Yes, there, uh, July, is it?"

"June, sir. July's my sister."

"Oh, yes, sorry. Strong family resemblance."

"We've been told. I don't wish to sound negative, sir, but that slogan is all about the new year -- nothing about the rest of us. It sounds like of, well, yearist to me."

"Hmm... While I appreciate your input, July --"

"June, sir." 

"June, sorry... While I appreciate your input, I must remind you that when we all come together we are a year, and that's what this is all about. Not just me, you see, but all of us."

"Balderdash!"

"Excuse me?"

"It's me, August! And you may call it a team, but I call it another annus horribilis! We months never get the respect we deserve!"

Grumble grumble harrumph harrumph he's right he's a damn hothead

"All right, all right, everyone, let's table the slogan for now. What I want is for you to tell me what your plans are to make this year excellent. Would you like to begin? Yes, you in the front."

"January is the name, and I intend to be every bit as excellent in starting this year as I always am, MISTER 2020."

"Psst... Mr. 2020 -- me, March. Don't mind her. She always acts icy and mean up top, but she's hot down under."

"I, uh, noticed."

"I object! I object to this objectification!" 

Grumble grumble harrumph harrumph

"Please, please! Everyone, focus! Remember, this is not about us! This is about the people on this planet. Does anyone else have any plans?"

"Why, I do, sir, indeed I do! December here, and my oh my, I am already looking forward to my turn at the wheel. We just had a wonderful Christmas season but I think we can completely surpass it next time! I just hope, if I may say, that my colleague November doesn't elbow in again as usual."

"I object! Mr. 2020, December is completely out of line. It's not my fault she's always spilling that Christmas stuff into my space!"

"Well, if we're going to be little Mr. Norbert Nitpickers here, let me say that I don't much care for May calling herself the 'Merry Merry month' -- some of us put a lot of effort into our merriness, don't you know."

"Yeah, whatevs, Grandma."

"I, uh, dislike being confrontational -- my name is September -- but everyone seems to intrude in my space. Here I am, a pleasant month in any and either hemisphere, and yet I am neglected, shoved into seasons I don't properly belong, full of complaints about school and work. But you never hear me complain, no sir."

"All right, well, I'm sure we all have concerns, but we can work them out, have some open and friendly dialogue. Let's sit down and --"

>**FRRRAAAAAAP**<

"Who put a whoopee cushion on my chair?"

"Tee hee!"

"You're a fool, April."

"Look, I think we're off on the wrong foot here."

"Or cheek." 

BWA HA HA HA

"That's enough. I want you each to send me a report by week's end with your thoughts for this year, all right? And keep to your lanes, people; we're taking it one month at a time. Dismissed."

[2020 sighs, rubs face in hands. Mumbles, "No wonder none of the CEOs last beyond twelve months in this joint." Then he looks up, says wistfully: "2020: Get the Vision." Smiling, he sits back.]

>**FRRRAAAAAAP**<

Cookie what?

A resolution made with care

Got shot to hell, I know not where

For, so swiftly it came, the plate

Of cookies that I sat and ate.

First, in my defense, I didn't actually make any specific resolutions. But second, if I had, I must follow the holiday observance that says Christmas doesn't end until the Epiphany is celebrated, and that's tomorrow. Third, no food-related resolutions can go into effect until the offending food is gone.

Well, that includes stocking-stuffer treats, and here's a slightly confusing one that needed to be tested. By me, yes.

This is Biscoff & Go Cookie Butter and Breadsticks.

Cookie butter? What is cookie butter?

Actually, I had seen jars of it on sale up around the peanut butter, and as peanut butter is made of smashed peanuts, and cashew butter of smashed cashews, is cookie butter is made of smashed cookies? Indeed it is, according to A Taste of Home, which states that it is made from "ground-up spice cookies called speculoos created in the heart of Europe." Lotus, the company that made this cookie-butter-&-breadsticks treat, makes tons of speculoos, and I suppose this was a clever way to get rid of excess inventory. You can get their cookie butter in a jar or as an ice cream flavor as well.

Cookie butter has been around for years, but I never got my hands on any before, and didn't know what it was. Nobody tells me anything.

So, how is this stuff?

As with my wife's immortal description of Nutella, cookie butter is toast frosting. It's quite tasty; if you like gingerbread, as I do, you'll like it. It's a spreadable gingerbread cookie. I'll bet it would make a good cake frosting or filling, and could take the place of Marshmallow Fluff in a Fluffernutter. A Speculutter. Probably not much more sugary than preserves, although without the cover of containing "fruit."

As for the breadsticks, they are strong enough to scoop the stuff and have little taste of their own, perfect for this kind of thing. They are just the cookie-butter-conveyance device.

On the whole this is the kind of thing I am getting rid of. I'm mostly aiming to give food away; in fact, we're going to a little wingding tonight at which I hope to unload some uneaten cookies and awesome fruitcake. So then I'll be ready for the Bitter End on Monday.

An acquaintance tells me that his adopted motto is to say not "No, I can't eat that" but rather "No, I don't eat that." In other words, to treat unhealthy foods as something he has rejected, not something that he is denied. I suppose it's smart, but he's been a skinny bastard since childhood and I find it hard to believe he digs the sweets the way I do. Alas, I must make changes.

And now that I've eaten the cookie butter, that's just one more damn thing I have to say no to. Curses!