With only today remaining for 2006, I have just this one day to complete my resolutions. The good news is I only had one, and I may, possibly, have kept it.

I didn't write a post about it, not one I can find, but I think I wanted to cut in half my patronage of nationally-advertised fast food places, from four a year to two. If so, I may have accomplished that.

Once this year I stopped at an Arby's, and no one would argue that doesn't fall into the category of nationally advertised fast food joints. I splurged a few times at In-and-Out Burgers, but they're not national so I can do that with impunity. Same for Tito's Tacos, though they do advertise locally.

I continue to maintain that Subway isn't a fast food place, but that's because it takes forever for the person behind the counter to assemble what, ostensibly, is no huge task. They don't have to cut the meat or chop any of the accompaniments, not when they're constructing my sandwich, so I can't explain why it takes them so long, but it does. In any case, I only ate there once, so that would only be two for the year, unless I'm forgetting something.

As long as I keep my ass away from McDonald's today, I should be a success. Next year I'll need different resolutions, and since I was so good about keeping this year's I can only wonder why I never made any all the years I was growing up.

I have a couple in mind, but will check around to see what other people come up with. I may borrow a few, may be talked into some, but now that I see that it's possible to keep them, I may be more likely to have them. I don't know what would be a good number of resolutions to have, but I've proved I can keep one so I'll want more than that.

Which is all to say, I'm open for suggestions. One thing I've learned is that I'm not very good at running my life, so all the bots that review this site may have a better idea of what's good for me than I do.

I just have no idea what they'll be.

The best thing about Christmas is the goodies, and by "goodies" I don't necessarily mean the presents that are exchanged, but all the things that only surface around this time of year. Okay, a lot of it is crap, but that just adds to its charm.

When I was growing up there were only two big meals each year: Thanksgiving and Christmas. Since my immediate family were the only ones living in California there weren't usually more people at the table than at any other meal during the year, but the turkey dinners brought from the nooks and crannies of the cupboards all manner of strange dining devices. None of these showed up at any other time of the year, so I consider them holiday goodies.

There are the obvious things, like the snowmen cheese knives, which might be considered inappropriate for August snacking, and otherwise useful things like the large plate divided into sections. That could be used any time, but it only makes an appearance with the big meals and invariably contains the same assortment of olives, celery, carrots, and pickles. Depending on how hungry we get waiting for the real food to show up, those snackable vegetables are as frequently decorative as not.

I, myself, have a service of eight that's been used no more than three times. There are lovely little red flowers on it, I think, and looks more festive than the normal dinnerware, but it, too, lives out its ceramic existance in a remote location at the top of the highest cupboard. My guess would be there's a frightening layer of dust on top, if only you could see it.

One of my favorite things, long since gone, was a set of plastic bins. The larger were designed to hold not only the smaller ones, which were filled with corn and peas, but a healthy helping of hot water. In theory, the vegetables would sit on the table, bathed in warming water, and never get cold. They worked pretty well as far as I can recall.

Also making their appearance at this time of year are serving spoons and forks and more bowls than you can imagine. I have no idea why they're not used the rest of the year, but part of that may be because I can usually fit my nightly dinner on one plate.

When I was married, I vowed to make use of the wedding presents and to use all this dinnerware and serving things as often as possible. I did, too, until my wife chose to live away from me, so I can be proud of that. We had a hutch filled with the better dining goodies, and we pulled them out and used them several times a year.

At this house, though, the festive straws are pulled from a drawer each holiday season, never used, and returned to exile until the next year. Napkins and tablecloths, both with and without snowmen, make their appearance, and its the presence of all these silly things that put me in the Christmas mood. More than the decorated tree, more than the houseful of glittered pine cones and clothespin people, the electric carving knife, to me, means holidays.

The only reason not to use most of this crap the rest of the year is simple: when it appears, it's special.

See, the title of this entry isn't lame: it's a wortspiel on yesterday's clever one!

My gift wrapping is all done! Normally that would be about an hour's task, but not this year. A few days ago it dawned on me that all my wrapping paper and things were back home and out of reach. So, in my cleverness, I bought some more.

The paper may or may not be beautiful or festive (it's inoffensive, solid green with flecks of gold), but I noticed an unexpected property when I started wrapping my gifts. Tape doesn't stick to the paper, and in that regard it's more like wax paper than wrapping paper. It's possible (and confirmed through scientific testing) to unwrap one of my gifts without tearing the paper simply by removing the tape, which you could also use again.

So, the paper is not only green in color, it's green in the environmental sense! You can peel off the tape to use again, and you can do so without ripping the paper at all!

In other news I should be going back home tonight. The biggest benefit of that is that my phone will stop continually beeping, which is its way of bitching about not having its pings answered. This hilltop living is gorgeous and rural, but it's not a location Virgin Mobile has considered.

Also, according to people who've talked to me about it, my hand wringing over my failing clutch is misplaced: I probably need an entire new transmission. Well, and why not? Into every life a bit of adversity must fall, and heaven knows I've been blessed more than many people.

It's a good thing, too, that I'll be going home soon. One of my landmarks for returning to this place is gone. On top of a misshapened, somewhat triangular building located on the turnoff I need to take to get from Sunset Blvd back to this place, a huge snowman or Santa in a globe sat. I could see it, literally, from a mile away, but it's no longer there. It seems to have disappeared a few nights ago, coincidentally on the same night we had some strong winds.

Now, I'd like to think the owner of the restaurant or the apt building or whatever climbed up there in the middle of the night and deflated it,  but it's even more fun to think of the snowman escaping his binds and rolling merrily down the street. I picture him bouncing off cars and buildings, and I can only hope he made it all the way to the Pacific Ocean.

Now that would rock!

That's a very clever title for an entry. I wonder if I'm the first to think of it.

Today I wrapped up my shopping, but not yet the gifts. Nothing puts me in the Christmas mood quite like driving around in a convertible in seventy degree weather (feels like 75!) with nary a cloud in the sky. The little rain washed the skies clean and snowy moutains can be seen surrounding the city.

Also, the recent winds have covered the deck where I'm staying, as well as the driveway, with a carpet of yellow leaves. Palm fronds dot the streets, ruining tires and surprising unwary motorists.

Historically, the presents I'm happiest with choosing please the recipients about half the time. The gifts I'm unhappy with fare better, which irks me no end. This year, then, promises to be a good one since I'm not happy with much of anything I've bought. I can't imagine anyone doing much other than mumbling "thanks" to any of the gifts I'm giving this year, but I there's a lot I can't imagine.

For myself, there's nothing I particularly want (except a clutch and gainful employment), so I'll be overjoyed to get anything at all. I can't be an easy person to have to get a gift for, so I always appreciate my family's efforts.

This year promises to be one of the best Christmases, ever.

As expected, the rising sun drove away the rain clouds. I can only hope that when it wasn't involved in that task that it also repaired my clutch. If nothing else, the nighttime air would have cooled it off.

Also, I found my mobile. I did a cursory check of my cars interior last night, one that gave me fewer rewards than Bush's excursion into nation building, but was hampered by the lack's  of any light. What I did was run my hand over the passenger seat, which even I admit isn't much in the way of an exhaustive search.

This morning, when it was light enough to see my hand in front of my face, I put off doing a search for the obvious reason that if my efforts weren't successful that I'd have to admit my phone was gone for good. It's always better to have hope than knowledge.

Just now I held my breath, opened the door, and found the phone resting where I very well may have put it yesterday. In my defense, it was a new place (a hollow near the emergency brake).

The sunny day means I can postpone wrestling with the top and becoming more discouraged. I just hope the clutch survives my day's travels and doesn't provoke the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that I expect.

The last-minute shopping should go well, assuming I can stumble on things for the last two people on my list. I have no idea what to get them, which should be obvious by how long it's taken me to get the presents. I keep finding wonderful gifts for people I don't need to buy anything for, but that doesn't help me in the slightest.

I think I'll give my phone an hour's worth of electrical charge and then tuck it in my pocket like a normal person would. I've had poor luck hanging it from my belt, and last night's despair should be good for something, like a lesson.

In other news, I was able to read the newspaper this morning which succeeded in ruining my appetite.

I had a lot planned for today, mostly because I've done so little so far and pushed everything to the last minute. What I hadn't planned on was having to perform these tasks in the wet, but I think it will pass.

Some other developments, however, may prove even more noteworthy.

Yesterday, when I wasn't busy losing my cell phone, I was convinced my clutch is slipping. Maybe all this hill driving has taken its toll and has simply exposed a pre-existing condition or maybe it's caused it, it doesn't matter. What does matter is I've lost over half the faith I had in my automobile.

The good news is it's a repairable problem, given money.

I was hoping today to pop back to my home and finish up my Christmas shopping, but I was upset yesterday when I wasn't able to fasten the top on my car. It wasn't a big deal, but if this rain continues, it may be. The good news is that my distress over not being able to secure the top was washed away when I noticed my phone isn't anywhere I expect it to be.

The rate at which I can waste money concerns me. At least I'm not kicking myself over buying myself some unnecessary Christmas present.

Not yet, anyway!

It's chilly in California, which means sweaters are inadequate to keep me toasty. I can't see my breath, not inside, and I don't see dogs shivering, but it was cold enough to shrink my hands and cause my ring to fall off.

I was without it for a couple days and missed it much the way I miss teeth. I have a tendency, not unique, to grow accustom to things and, to go along with that, to miss them when they're gone.

The ring's back now and returned to my right index finger where it belongs. I can now, I hope, somehow save my life or prevent some other disaster by thrusting my hand inside a closing door or beneath a falling safe. That's what titanium rings are good for.

It does little, however, to protect my head. I should know better, but it may be another of those "grow used to" things I was just typing about, but every time I come here to housesit I give my head no fewer than two or three really impressive whacks on the hood over the range. It's the type of range that inspires one to weep for its awesomeness, and the hood is equally sturdy and, more imporantly, pointy. At least the corners are, and that's what I run into.

I think I've learned to avoid running into it, but I've thought that before. In any case, it's pretty evident that if I have learned it, that knowledge has yet to make its way to anything near what they call "long term memory."

The only other annoying thing here is that I spend my evenings looking at a fireplace that I don't think works. I'm not so naive as to try it, but it's tempting. I've never lived anywhere with a fireplace so I consider them a delightful luxury and one that can entertain me for hours. I've had friends with them and remember many enjoyable evenings spent poking the logs, a shopping item that I've never been able to include on my list. I'm sure that clerks and others in the store treat you better if you have a small load of logs, even those manmade ones, in your cart since only the better class of people are allowed to have fireplaces. While the authorities may allow arsons to have fireplaces and pokers, they draw the line at careless people or those who I imagine haven't passed some sort of fire safety test. I'm excellent with campfires but have never been blessed with owning a fireplace, not ever.
There is a small built-in electric heater in the bathroom I get to use, but as cheery as the glow of the wires is, it's just not the same thing.

About a week ago the Shoshone tribe bought the Hard Rock franchise, and I've been disappointed ever since. It used to be you couldn't turn your head without seeing someone wearing one of the T-shirts, but the hippies are letting me down. I expected them to be all over this and doing everything they could to make the purchase a successful venture.

I've ridden by the Hard Rock in Las Vegas, but that's as close as I've ever been. I did, once, eat at a Planet Hollywood in Orlando, but that's hardly the same thing.

While the Shoshone are channeling what I suspect to be gambling profits into a more mainstream venture, one of our local Indian tribes, the Pechanga, are dealing with their windfall a bit differently. In an effort that I'm sure has nothing to do with the twenty grand a month each of their tribe members are reaping from a successful southern California location, they've decided to trim their ranks. I have no idea what's considered acceptable, but they've been sending out notices to many people purging them from tribehood.

The recipients, naturally, say they're not upset about the money, only about losing their roots and heritage. I'm not sure who's doing the genealogy, but I don't think I'd be too upset about being told I wasn't one-sixteenth Pechanga or whatever the cutoff is, not as much as I would be about losing a damn good income for an accident of birth. Then, again, I've never been all that concerned about what my grandparents did for a living, or anything about them.

In Africa, however, the Bush people have received a very generous agreement with the people of Botswana, who've determined the Bushmen belong in the Kalahari. Now, I had to study the Bushmen in an undergraduate Sociology course, so anything I know about them is pretty much restricted to their name. Still, I think allowing them to return to their native lands is both good and bad.

Good because, well, it's what they're accustomed to. Bad because I don't think you can lift yourself out of a stone age existence if you're stuck in the Kalahari desert. Yes, you can survive the way your ancestors did, but look where that got 'em.

Whenever anyone who hasn't discovered metalworking runs up against Europeans, who have, they lose. This doesn't surprise me. There's something romantic about the pre-Industrial people, but I don't know anyone who'd like to live the way they did.

Still, it's been a great month for indigenous people.

That little car of mine should probably be named John instead of Timmy. He's getting a lot of action this week, but all of it is attention that's being paid for.

Earlier he had a date with a locksmith who was able to open his trunk for the first time in recorded history. The inside was clean, but contained nothing noteworthy or, to my regret, valuable. I promptly filled it with some assorted car goodies, which I'm putting off using, but there's still room for some small presents.

This morning, to my surprise, I felt strong and confident enough to admit I can't install the new convertible top that I bought from the previous owner, who was also smart enough not to try to put it on himself. I drove over to a tiny place that's been in my neighborhood all my life that advertises seat belt installation and auto upholstery. I've long felt it must be a mafia front, mostly because in all the years it's been around I've never seen anyone actually getting any work done there.

But, it was a mystery I could extend no longer.

My concerns going in were twofold: How much of an idiot would I look like asking them to install a convertible top that I had but couldn't put on myself? Second, and more important, the existing top doesn't latch tight, which means I can't put it up if it rains.

I parked my little car in the back and was astonished to see some guy actually working on a car, if by "working" you include "using a vacuum." I walked around to the front and was immediately met by an older man who spoke English with, to my delight, an Italian accent. I explained my plight, but left out that I can't secure the top in the shut position, and he quoted me a price to install my supplied top. As it turned out, much to my relief, he says a lot of people buy tops and can't install them.

He went out to look at, or mock, my car, and was concerned about the existing top failing to move that last inch it would need to if it were to be locked in place. I was too, and by then I was out of secrets and started feeling quite nervous. He thought, maybe, the top that was on there (in spite of the rips and complete lack of a rear window, which I'd cut out) may be too tight to allow the frame to move as far as it needs to. We ended up thinking it had possibly shrunk from years of neglect, but he wants me to bring Timmy back in tomorrow when his convertible top specialist can give it a look.

Then, if things are acceptable, sometime next week Timmy can have his new top installation appointment.

It's possible that if they take the old top off they can see if the frame will fasten, but I won't know that until tomorrow at the earliest. This little auto upholstery place doesn't work on convertible top frames, so I'm not sure yet how much trouble I'm in.

Today it would behoove me to wash and wax Timmy, who the owner called a "toy," but I'm too busy sulking to think of doing anything productive.

Over the weekend I began receiving gifts, the kind that come from those who care. Among others, my neighbors installed their Christmas lights and due to their generous use of extension cords I can now run portable heaters and other high energy devices. I can hardly wait to begin smelting iron and welding up some wrought iron goodies for all the people on my list!

I have some of those electric icicyles, too, and should probably put those up some time today, but it isn't as if this house is dreary as Scrooge's would have been. This year there's a couple of those inflatable things resting out front, one snow globe and one waving snow man. Very festive.

Except during the day, when it looks as if there's been some sort of industrial accident that resulted in puddles of plastic.

While the weekend started off poorly with Army losing to the Navy, a game I stumbled on and that I watched in respect of my late father, later on, of course, my Alma Mater triumphed over the hated men in skirts. I've yet to visit the campus, but I want to see all the cardinal taunts painted on the Bruin walk so I can be smug. In the meantime, I have to console myself with this article from the Daily Trojan, which I saw on Saturday.

It's always good when UCLA wins. I don't know why, since the athletic departments have little to do with the school, but it quiets some unwelcome noise and reminds me of the days when my car had a bumper sticker.