You know why New Year's resolutions don't work. They don't work because momentous declarations of good intent fueled by nostalgia, and perhaps liquid holiday cheer, are flakier than my mom's pumpkin pie crust.
For instance, many years ago, I made a resolution not to make any more New Year's resolutions. So far, so good. It's been I-don't-know-how-many years since I made that resolution, and haven't made another one since. But I'm breaking it.
I resolve to live more joyfully. That was why the pram
* I posted earlier.
--
* This use of the word
pram is an inside joke between me and my pal
Bobo, the Wandering Pall-bearer, from college nights spent watching Monty Python's Flying Circus re-broadcast on MTV. In one of the 1974 episodes, Graham Chapman, dressed up as some kind of aristocrat, and playing (perhaps) drunk, in a scene in which a poetry reading is being held in a backroom of a huge department store, refers to poems as "prams."
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