Weak Resolve

Happy New Year all.

First, congratulations to all fellow Mountaineer fans. Big, big win in the Fiesta Bowl. Pat White is now officially (in my book, anyway), the greatest player in WVU's history with a year left to play. Enjoy him, people. It won't be this easy once he's gone.

Now, on to other business.

Once again, my New Year's resolutions from last year have proved to be a resounding failure.

1 - I didn't learn how to solve the Rubik's cube. Sometime in late January, I deemed this to be a stupid goal, and decided to scrap it. If somebody held a gun to my head, I could remove all the stickers and put them in their proper place, and nobody would know the difference.

2 - I didn't get a tattoo. More on that later.

3 - I did teach my son to walk. I thought this was an attainable goal, and I was right. In fact, he's already sauntering. Way to go, son. This begins the stage where I live vicariously through you. Now put a baseball in your left hand and let's see your fastball. (Daddy needs a new vacation home).

One for three. I am 33% percent successful. Good enough to be a hall-of-fame batter, but not quite impressive enough to crown myself with the distinction of having "strong resolve".

This year, I have but one resolution.

Get a tattoo.

That's right. I know I failed this resolution this past year. I may have even thrown it out there as a joke. But now, I'm serious. It seems Mrs. Undaground digs the bad boys. Every month in 2007, she seemed to bring up my tattoo resolution that was still hanging out there. Eventually I called her out on it. Apparently, a little ink on my pasty white, undefined upper arm will make her putty in my hands.

Be careful what you wish for, Mrs. U. One tattoo usually leads to more. Before you know it, I might have some art on my forehead, neck, or the bridge of my nose. Wonder how that will look when I'm 70.

My father was in town for New Years last week. Shortly after the clock struck midnight, and Dick Clark took his shot of Nyquil, Mrs. U reminded me that I never got a tattoo in 2007. I told her I was carrying over my resolution til 2008. My father was appalled.

"Not under my roof", he said.

"It's my roof." I replied.

"Think it out", he answered.

"I'm thirty-six." I said.

"Whatever."

Next up, earring. Woo-hoo! Teen rebellion in my mid-thirties is fun.