Every 365 days it happens, as regular as clockwork: Ryan Seacrest invades our televisions, we try to find a stranger to kiss at midnight, we call in sick the next day and we make New Year’s resolutions.
Go the gym more. Make stopping for pedestrians in the crosswalk a habit. Quit drinking as much (in the mornings). Become a better person.
Everyone fails — except those of us smart enough to not even try.
In the spirit of self-improvement but with an inability to peer beyond our own greatness, we have enlisted each other to provide the opposite with a list of resolutions for 2019:
Know the public’s limits
SB: In the realm of column constructing, concise content conquers. With Adderall-accentuated attention spans, the amount you write is the amount you write. Less isn’t more, there is no addition by subtraction. Say what you need to say in the appropriate amount of words and move on.
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BW: In that case, I’ll shorten this.
You pride yourself on the speed at which you ride down the mountain, checking how many minutes a Little Nell bomber took as we snowplow for Instagram moms at the base of the Silver Queen Gondola. But when it comes to more tactical maneuvers, like getting a couple inches of air off rollers — or, god forbid, a talent upon which this very column is named — my skill set is more vast. Let’s see you catch a couple of edges this year.
Hair of the haggard
SB: In sticking with the reality reflects reality theme, flailing off of catwalk hits and calling it Shaun White Part Deux is like growing out your locks as an excuse to buy a hairdryer. Because you can do it doesn’t necessarily mean you should do it.
Just because societal standards relax doesn’t mean capris are a good look. You can’t polish a turd. Long hair is fine but don’t bust it out like mustache wax and wonder why people treat you like a carnival attraction.
Gain 75 pounds
BW: Make it easier for the rest of us and stop looking like Adonis. While everyone else is busting their ass taking yoga classes and trying to skin up Tiehack for the first two weeks of the new year, you can be loading up on Taster’s pizza, Buffalo Wyngz from City Market and a heavy rotation of apres beers. If you get big enough, you’d look like a ski patrol version of the cop character from “Tony Hawk Pro Skater.” A couple walks up Smuggler in the warmer months and those extra hibernation pounds shed right off, anyway.
SB: Lose weight, gain weight, who cares? How about doing the bare minimum to get by? No girlfriend? No problem. That raise at work, you know what, you’re good. You’re No. 1 goal for 2019? Just make it through the year without an incident.
When you don’t have any aspirations, no one has to listen to you complain when you inevitably fail. Your Diet Pepsi, Yukon Jack and discount meat bin regimen is the exact type of lifestyle to keep you regular Ben, which is better than “I’m going to get a six-pack so I can pose shirtless on Tinder” Ben.
Strap a couple planks on
BW: It’s great being one of those people who can, with fake modesty, say “Uhh, I do both” when people ask if you ski or snowboard. I think you would enjoy flaunting this supercilious phenomenon, minus the fake modesty part — or any modesty at all, for that matter. Strap on a pair of 145s and get acquainted with Panda Peak laps.
A poem about Sean learning to ski, set to the tune of the first verse of “Thriller”:
It’s close to Midnight Mine, and something medieval’s lurking like Dick Clark / Under the lift line, you see a blue that almost stops your heart / You try to ski, but error leaves the ground before you brake it / No expertise, as burning hits you right between the thighs / pizza, french fries!
SB: Oh, I’m on my way to becoming your Sendly Neighborhood Spider-Man. As soon as the snow stops and the patrol pup days of winter kick in, we can go jib all over Buttermilk.
Speaking of Buttermilk, the more we ski there the more I can try your Dad Bod Challenge with barbecue from Hometeam or you can show me how you open your throat for shots of ranch dressing. I’ll even eat the non-toxic Play Doh a la Homer Simpson.
And finally, I will not join you and the other turncoats as you swiftly adapt to uphilling life. I’d rather pick up ski blading than abandon my bro, brah, bro brothers for hard boots and planks.
BW: Sometimes the appropriate amount of words is many — I’m sure our high-minded readership is capable of understanding sentences that look like 14th-century book titles.
Whenever societal standards relax, I know I have to relax even harder. The height of fashion will be when I’m wearing thigh-exposing jorts, floral-print rompers and have a beehive man bun.
As for complacency, have you seen my stack of unwashed dishes? But I agree, I should remain regular Ben. I’m only four abs, 5 inches and a corgi puppy away from becoming unstoppable.