My New Year's Resolution: (You really didn't think I'd make one.)

The first day of every new year is a time most of us reflect on our past and attempt to gaze into our future. What can we do to make better what is to come compared to what has passed? Despite the many New Year's Days I have under my belt, I am no better at this first-of-the-year exercise today than I was at age 18.

At the root of it: I never know what to resolve for the new year. "To make money" would be a good one for 2011, and a real change of pace from 2010; but I have little control over that. Other than applying for a cashier's job in a convenience store or as a greeter at Walmart, there is little I can do to pick up my earnings’s pace. And sadly, either of those positions would boost my earnings.

Moreover, making a lot of money might be counterproductive to achieving my first goal in life. Always a believer in "you can't take it with you," my first big life goal is to leave nothing behind. Why accumulate a lot of wealth just to leave it to someone else? Nope, enjoy it while you can and depart this mortal coil penniless. So far I am right on target.

I guess I could give up something, but all the best vices are taken. Besides, I decided a long time ago that my second big life goal is to "live hard, die young and leave a good-looking corpse." Obviously the ship has sailed on the second two, but I am still determined to succeed at the first.

I might resolve to lose some weight. Yeah, that's a good one. But I already work out daily and usually only eat two meals. Adjusting my behavior to actually shave pounds from this lumpy flesh sack I generously refer to as a body would necessarily entail turning to leafy green stuff and raw fish as nutrition staples. No Way!

I suppose I could be a better person. But why monkey with near perfection? Certainly I could tinker around the edges of my persona; but, hey, why take a chance on turning what is already pretty good into something not so good? I've composed a list of my attributes -- much too lengthy to include here -- and I hate the thought of bruising or outright losing any of them. It wouldn't be fair to those around me.

No, I guess I'll just leave well enough alone. As I gaze into the fog of my future I am reminded of quote of Mark Twain. Paraphrasing, he said, "If I can't get to 70 by a comfortable road, I don't want to go."

Exactly! Life is enough work as it is; why add to the burden?

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6 Tips for Selling Your Used Car

OK, so shoot me. It's New Year's Eve and I have a more severe case of the lazies than usual. In that spirit, I am providing the link to a consumer piece I did for Interest.com. Used-car prices are at an all-time high. If you are considering selling a used vehicle, you might as well do everything possible to maximize your profit. Go to:  http://auto-loan.interest.com/auto-loan/how_to_get_most_for_used_car_1217.html.

And Happy New Year!!!

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Caught in the Crossfire: Why Auburn and Alabama Fans Shouldn't Drink

I like NFL football, period. I'm a Steelers fan. I am only interested in NFL games not involving the Steelers in regard to the impact those games and the teams playing them have on the Steelers. I root for two teams on the weekends: the Steelers and whatever team is lined up against the Patriots. Hate those Patriots! But then who doesn't?

I'm not a sports-aholic. I only watch ESPN's Sports Center during NFL season, and then only at the gym while clocking miles on the step master. I find basketball, soccer and baseball as compelling to watch as C-SPAN. (Insert snore here.) I am truly mystified by people who devote hours to watching golf and bass fishing tournaments. How do they stay awake? I'm getting sleepy just writing about this.

Armed with the above information, it should come as no surprise that I am completely baffled by people rabidly loyal to a college franchise. Living in Greenville, SC, that means I am a fish out of water. It seems that nearly everyone here has a favorite SEC team. Many of these fans either attended the schools they root for, or have kids who did or do. SEC sports take a backseat to nothing in this area of the country. A Greenville bar's Saturday night's business can hang in the balance on whether the nearby Clemson Tigers win or lose the day's contest. And if the Tigers have some sort of a night game against the South Carolina Gamecocks, any establishment, other than a sports bar, might as well close for the night.

I tell you all of this as a preamble to the reporting of my experience last night. Being Wednesday, it was the weekly gathering of the Wednesday-Night Irregulars at Peddler Steak House. As its name implies, this group varies in size from week to week. Its numbers range from 2 or 3 to as many as 15, depending on people's schedules and whether or not any of the Florida members are in town. We congregate in the small lower bar to wolf down some great steak and laugh for two or three hours.

Among the more regular Irregulars is a couple who each graduated from Auburn. One of their three kids already graduated from Auburn and another is a senior there this year. They are fans. To put it in some perspective, the entire family of five is going to Phoenix to root for Auburn at the national championship game in a couple of weeks. I'll let your imagination put a price tag on this boondoggle that involves flying five adults from Greenville to Phoenix, putting them up for two nights, feeding them, sufficiently lubricating them and getting them seats in the stadium for the game. Can you say, cha-ching! Yes, they are serious fans.

As usual, the laughing and good-natured ribbing was in full swing as the gathering clocked its second hour at Peddler. My Auburn friends brought their Auburn senior with them. Other Irregulars were there as well. As often happens we had included one or two unsuspecting bar guests in our silliness. Things began going wrong when another guest sitting at a table in the corner overheard talk from our group referring to Auburn. As an Alabama supporter, he couldn't resist yelling, "Roll Tide!" You see, in the SEC Alabama is evidently the "New England Patriots" of the conference, universally disliked by just about everyone not a diehard Alabama fan.

A little innocuous back and forth ensued and the encounter would have ended peacefully enough right there, but then things deteriorated a little more when the Bama fan decided to approach our group. He and his wife had been in the bar earlier and been quite friendly. They eventually got a table in the dining room for dinner and then returned to the bar. They are neighbors of the Peddler's owner. This wasn't some rogue jerk off the street, but by this point he seemed to be under a full head of steam.

Our Auburn friends didn't do much to avoid the escalation. When Bama said he thought about rooting for Auburn in the championship game because of state pride (Auburn is in Alabama.), Mrs. Auburn announced that she could never support the Tide, no matter who they played. I think one of the Auburn folks said he or she would root for Afghanistan against Alabama. Our Bama friend then sang the Auburn fight song and Mrs. Auburn joined in. Bama asked, what shall we sing next? Mrs. Auburn responded by singing some anti-Alabama song. I don't remember the exact lyrics, but the gist of them was, "Bama sucks; no it really sucks."

Then the discussion went to which team (Auburn or Alabama) has the greatest number of future felons on its roster. And so on and so forth. Before Bama wandered back to his wife, he was yelling, "Go Ducks" (referring to the Oregon Ducks opposing Auburn in the big game), Mr. Auburn was red faced and looking for a weapon, and the rest of us were sitting quiet and wide-eyed like witnesses to a horrific train wreck.

Nope, I just don't get it. Passion is a good thing most of the time. We should all have some passion, but some things are more worthy of our passion than others.

I'm so glad I went to Wittenberg, a small Division III college with no national profile. I never have to worry about being in a bar and getting into a verbal brawl with a rabid Baldwin-Wallace alum about the outcome of the Amos Alonzo Stagg Bowl. Yes, that's a real bowl game; look it up.

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BMW 1 Series: BMW Qualities in a Small Wrapper

As an entry-level luxury-sports coupe, the BMW 1 Series excels despite a price tag with the power to repel many potential buyers like a garlic necklace would a vampire. But its hefty price aside, the BMW 1 Series shines in its entry-level role because it is no pretender to the BMW brand. Armed with the same zippy engines that power the 3 Series and a suspension that vanquishes the physics of the tightest curve, the 1 Series is really a 3 Series Lite at heart.

BMW presented me with the $36,675 135i Coupe for this review. There is also a $29,975 128i Coupe. Drop-top versions of both are on the BMW menu, and they inflate the respective prices by about $4,000.

Although there are a few extras, such as 18-inch wheels versus 17-inch ones, as well as a sunroof and automatic climate control to be found on the 135i Coupe that are absent from the 128i, the key feature separating the two is under the hood. The 128i uses a 230-horsepower 3-liter inline six-cylinder engine to turn the rear wheels via a six-speed manual transmission. Sprinting to 60 miles per hour from a standstill requires about six seconds. Bolted to the same manual tranny, the 300-horsepower turbocharged 3-liter inline six pushes the 135i to 60 miles per hour in about a second less.

Those not wishing to stir the transmission themselves can pony up $1,375 for the optional six-speed driver-shiftable automatic tranny. In addition to the manual setting, it offers two automatic modes ("Drive" and "Sport") reflecting an individual's driving style. Sport mode maps up-shifts at higher rpms. Opting for the automatic doesn't alter fuel economy that the EPA estimates at 18 mpg in the city and 28 mpg on the highway for the 128i. The extra performance and driving fun generated by the 135i comes with a fuel economy cost, but not much of one. It shaves 3 mpg from the highway stat.

Exceedingly smooth, both inline engines deliver deliberate and aggressive acceleration. My test 1 Series had the manual transmission. Although the shift gates are close together, they are well defined. The shifting is precise. The clutch engages with a light touch. All of this contributes to a driving experience that is fun and satisfying.

Mitigating forward motion falls to ventilated disc brakes on all four wheels. The antilock system includes stability control, traction control, emergency braking preparation, emergency braking assist and electronic brakeforce distribution.

What would a BMW be without superior cornering acumen? Exhibiting BMW's fabled acuity in the twisties, the 1 Series earned the BMW "propeller" badge affixed to its snout. Comprising the independent suspension are MacPherson struts in front and a multi-link arrangement in the rear. For even sportier performance, BMW tweaks this setup in the 135i for more aggressive handling.

Chocked full of standard features, such as full power accessories, six airbags, leather-wrapped tilt-telescoping steering wheel with redundant audio controls, dual-zone climate controls, leatherette seating, and a 10-speaker audio system with CD player and auxiliary audio input jack, the cabin seats up to four. Actually the stingy bit of space allotted to rear-seat passengers may discourage all but the most flexible from entering its confines. If your regular occupant quotient is more than two, you might want to spend the extra bucks for the larger 3 Series. The trunk contains just a smidgen more than 13 cubic feet of cargo space.

The front bucket seats are comfortable enough, but if you intend tossing the 1 Series around some curves, you should consider the $1,300 M Sport Package. Not only does it include sport seats with meatier side bolsters, it features real wood interior trim, an "M" steering wheel, and special wheels and exterior trim.

Those familiar with the 3-Series will feel right at home in the 1 Series. The surroundings don't look or feel as top notch as in more expensive BMWs, but this is the anchor of the lineup after all. However there is a familiarity in the overall styling, as well as with the arrangement of the controls and switches. BMW interiors tend to be more utilitarian than plush; the 1 Series cabin doesn't deviate from this formula. While some luxury models would have you think you are piloting your living-room sofa down the boulevard, the 1 Series is more like taking your desk chair out for a spin.

Adding Boston Leather surfaces will tack $1,450 to the bottom line; while opting for the hard drive-based navigation system boosts the total price by another $2,100. The $3,400 Premium Package lumps together several popular amenities, such as eight-way power adjustable front seats, auto-dimming outboard and rearview mirrors, digital compass and the Boston Leather upholstery.

Thanks to the run-flat high-performance tires and the tauter sport suspension in my test 135i, the ride was somewhat stiff. Otherwise, the cabin is a rather pleasant place to be on a quick turn to the corner store or a multi-hour cross-country run. Other than the purr of the exhaust note under heavy acceleration, most noise generated outside the cabin stays there.

Any time a luxury marque attempts to broaden its appeal by offering a smaller, less-expensive model, it runs the risk of diluting the brand and cheapening its image; however, the temptation to coax younger, less well-heeled buyers into the brand is difficult to resist. Some efforts are more successful than others. In the case of BMW and its 1 Series, the exercise has produced a car that lives up to the brand with a price tag that reflects that. Pricey, yes; but what you get is a true BMW.

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A House Divided: What Do You Mean You're Not a Steelers Fan?

Even when you spend some time with family members, you don't always know everything there is to know about them. When suddenly thrust into the proper environment, you may discover all sorts of disturbing facts about those you love. Such was the case last Sunday afternoon when my sister's family gathered at the home of one of her daughters who was celebrating her 25th wedding anniversary.

As family members trickled in, we gathered in the living room of her Albuquerque home where the flatscreen was tuned into Dish TV's RedZone. For the uninitiated, RedZone is a Dish TV channel that selectively shows only high-action plays from that Sunday afternoon's games. Dish bills the content as plays within a team's scoring Red Zone, but the action I saw encompassed a good deal more of the field. In any event, that's what was on the tube, er, flatscreen.

As people became involved in the ever-changing gridiron battles, talk turned to the impact -- or lack thereof -- these games had on favorite teams. The variety of favorite teams within my family, and even within households, was staggering. That my Steelers weren't universally embraced by this gathering was shocking, appalling and, dare I say, distressing.

Two of the non-Steelers fans there married into the family; so I can look upon them with a sadness something akin to the way you might view a refugee from some third-world backwater, who runs around naked because he has never seen a pair of pants. One roots for the Bears and the other for the Giants. There is another husband who married into the family who was absent; he cheers for the Cowboys. I feel sorry for all three.

For the others, however, I can't muster similar ecumenical feelings. This is a family with its roots firmly in western Pennsylvania. My sister and I were born in Erie, and my brother-in-law hails from Greenville, PA. That's Steelers country, period.

Counting noses revealed that Steelers fans far outnumbered the fans of any other team: six in all. In fact, only the Cowboys managed to draw more than one fan out of the remaining nine relatives. The Packers picked up a vote, too. My niece whose anniversary we were celebrating is a Steelers fan, but she is the only one in the house. Her husband is the Bears fan; while the two girls are split between the Eagles and the Vikings. The Eagles and the Vikings! Where did that come from? What has happened to competent child rearing in this country?

Some of the family seems to have no NFL ties. Of course one of these is 8 months old. His mom rolls her eyes and sighs whenever football is mentioned; so I see a golden opportunity to swell the family's Steelers ranks by one more as this Polamalu wannabe grows a little older. I'll make it my mission. If the parents aren't going to do it, putting these kids on the right track falls to Uncle Russ.

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Back in the Saddle: Bringing a Great Week to an End

As I write this I am watching the sunrise from the window of my flight from Albuquerque to Atlanta. Delta upgraded me for both legs of my trip that will conclude in Charlotte. I did the math last night and realized that I will fall about 800 miles short of reaching Delta Platinum status this year. I can think of two California trips (one I canceled and the other I simply turned down) that would have easily put me over the top. Oh well…

Although a fair portion of the country is snowed in this morning, reports indicate that my flights today should be unaffected. Of course, I've learned never to count on the best-case scenario. Atlanta seems to be a magnet for the unexpected. If things go terribly wrong there, I can always get a car and drive home.

Longer than traditional, my Christmas trip to my sister's was an 8-day respite comprised mainly of lounging around, reading and eating everything that wasn't nailed down. Christmas is a big deal at her house. Decorating begins mid-November. My brother-in-law works tirelessly setting up a very intricate multi-tiered train layout under the tree. My oldest niece, who lives with them, is responsible for the tree. The outside of the house isn't quite the Griswold's, but I wouldn't hope to estimate the number of lights at play. My sister handles most of the smaller decorations arranged throughout the house. Baking and candy making also begin about the same time as the decorating. I resign myself to gaining no less than five pounds each Christmas visit.

This holiday was notable because the entire family was home. A bit overwhelming for a guy who lives by himself, the crowd gathered for Christmas dinner was loud, enthusiastic and half crazed. I wouldn't have missed it for the world.

So as I head home, I am both a little sad and a bit anxious to get back into my comfortable routine. I actually have a work assignment that needs completing before the 31^st, and that will occupy my daytime hours. I will also drag my bloated butt into the gym. After eight days of uncontrolled binge eating, I can't imagine how tough it will be to return to my workout routine.

With my next potential vacation not scheduled until my annual trip to South Florida for St. Paddy's Day, it's going to be a long, chilly winter.

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Pickled on Christmas

It was Christmas dinner at the Walton's. More people than chairs or space available at the collection of tables scattered about my sister's house resulted in a couple of people milling around with a full dinner plate in one hand and a fork in the other. More or less this was the traditional Christmas meal my family has had for at least five generations. It was turkey, chestnut stuffing, real mashed potatoes, Cope's dried corn, cranberry sauce, candied yams and gallons of artery-clogging gravy.

My sister's family insists on adding olives – both green and black – pickles and pickled jalapeno peppers, she lives in New Mexico after all. I'm not thrilled with their tinkering with the menu, but my mouth is usually too full of stuffing and gravy to offer objection. The 18 of us made quick work of the holiday spread. Hours of preparation culminated in a feeding frenzy that lasted maybe 35 minutes. The wreckage left in the wake of this chow down was biblical. Fortunately the contingent of teenagers in this family is large and motivated. They attacked the cleanup with nearly the same enthusiasm as the gift opening a few hours earlier.

As much fun as it was to have everyone under one roof. I shed no tears when the last of them proffered hugs all around and headed for home. The resulting silence was deafening. The age spread had been 74 yrs. to 8 mos. The noise had been at coliseum-like levels for most of the day. I was ready for some peace and quiet.

Today we are doing it all over again as the same crowd gathers at the home of one of my nieces to celebrate her wedding anniversary. And people wonder why I drink…  

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