What I Really Meant to Say . . .

“I apologize for the long letter.

I didn’t have time to write a short one.”

                                                               Winston Churchill

The soft lighting and goodwill of the holidays are behind us.  It’s time to get back to work. 

I’ve recently had the opportunity to clean out a couple of file drawers (looking for some things I misplaced during 2010, the Year of the Never-ending Move).  In the process, I unearthed a case of business files I somehow thought I needed to hang onto.  As I dutifully read through them, making sure I was not going to throw away something important (no fear there), I was dumbstruck by some of the language.  My files date back through several jobs, and I’m currently in yet another one.  These are different companies, different management structures, different businesses.  But they all use the same dictionary – the one with words that don’t say anything.

By all indications, 2011 looks to be a bit more spry than 2010, so I’d like to kick it off by cleaning out the language cupboard the same way I cleaned out those file drawers.  Just like an old tin of bread crumbs and that jar of dried oregano you’ve had for five years, words get stale.  In fact, during my fairly lengthy career, I’ve found that corporate words have a shorter shelf-life than most. 

So, in the interest clear thinking and even clearer speaking, I offer you words to eliminate from America’s corporate vocabulary for 2011:

§  Action plan – That’s the stuff you have to get done.

§  Actionables – That’s also the stuff you have to get done.

§  Analytics – What we talk about when we mean, “Are we making any money?”

§  Bandwidth – The people and money we need to get this stuff done.

§  Beta – What we say when we haven’t figured this stuff out yet.

§  Buy in – That’s what we look for when we want to make sure the right people agree with us.

§  Circle back – That’s for when we want to make double sure the right people agree with us.

§  Consolidate – That’s how we’re going to do this stuff with fewer people on the payroll.

§  Core competencies – That’s what business we’re in – we had to write it down because we keep forgetting.

§  Daylight – A verb, meaning, “Get some publicity for this stuff.”  I recently talked with a woman who kept saying she wanted me to daylight something for her.  The conversation was almost over before I figured out she wanted a simple publicity plan.

§  Deliverable – The stuff you have to get done. (see action plan and actionables)

§  Dialogue – (as a verb)  Please, can’t we just TALK?  (The next time somebody asks me to “dialogue about this” I believe I am going to tell them to “shut up.”)

§  End of the day – As in, at the end of the day.  Or, “When we’ve done all this stuff, will we make any money?”

§  Enterprise-wide* – The whole company.

§  Excess inventory* – Too much of anything – widgets, empty hotel rooms, people. 

* When these two phrases wind up together, as in “We have excess inventory enterprise-wide,” it’s time to polish your resume.  They’re compiling the layoff list – and it’s going to be long.

§  Fact-based – To ask for a “fact-based” report is another way to say, “I don’t believe a word you’re saying.”  (I have not yet figured out how “fact-based” decision making is different from plain old “good” decision making.)

§  Granular – That’s when we have way too much information about this stuff.  Granular is what you get when you drill down.

§  Hallway knowledge – This is that stuff people who got laid off knew – and nobody who’s left can figure out.

§  Incentivize – This is what the folks at the top talk about when there will be no raises this year.  They will, however, offer ways to incentivize valuable employees like us.  Really, they will. 

§  Key learnings – This is what we figured out when a bunch of stuff blew up in our faces.

§  Knowledge base –This is where we store the key learnings, in the fervent hope we won’t have to deal with them again.

§  KPIs – Key Performance Indicators.  In other words, “Are we making any money?”

§  Leverage synergies – In other words, “We’re not making any money, so we’re going to cut costs.”

§  Low hanging fruit – When you hear some dude talk about picking the low hanging fruit, he's really saying, “We’re making money without breaking a sweat.”

§  Marketing cadence – All the mail, email, web promotions, and sales deals the company keeps cranking out, hoping somebody is going to buy some of this stuff. 

§  Metrics – Another thing we talk about when we mean, “Are we making any money?”

§  Mission-critical – Do it or get fired.

§  Monetize – “Oh, for heaven’s sake, find a way to make some money, but don’t be too obvious about it.”  (I am frequently asked if I’d like to “monetize” this blog.  If an ad for adult diapers pops up while you’re reading this, I’ve gone to the dark side.)

§  Net out – One more time, “Find out if we’re making any money!”

§  Next steps – The stuff you need to get done.  (See action plan, actionables, and deliverables.)

§  Offline – This is how we talk about stuff that’s not important enough to talk about otherwise.

§  Overlap – Here’s where we find the Department of Redundancy Department – with layoffs trotting closely behind.

§  Paradigm – This is the thing that keeps shifting while we try to figure out what we’re talking about.

§  Plug-and-play – The only thing that’s truly plug-and-play is a crock pot.  Who are we kidding?

§  Realign assets – This is what you do when you have overlap with excess inventory, enterprise-wide – layoffs are coming.

§  ROI – Return on Investment.  When the answer to “Are we making any money?” is “Yes” and we want to know “How much?”

§  Scalable – This means somebody else might also be able to use it somewhere else in the company, but we’re not sure who or how.

§  Scope creep – Meaning Murphy’s Law is coming into play and your budget is toast.

§  Seamless – A change that goes so smoothly that nobody even notices it.  aka Never happens.

§  Siloing – This is what happens when managers take authoritarian control over their departments and refuse to share information, people, or money with any other part of the company.

§  Solutions – What consultants try to sell you when you really only want to buy copy paper.

§  Spit test – A way to figure out if something is authentic – the way you lick your finger and rub it over a signature to see if the ink smears.  Like you do.

§  Sustainable – The folks up in PR would like us to think this means something good for the planet.  In reality, it’s more likely to mean “something that sounds like it should be good for the planet.”  Truthfully, nobody knows what’s “sustainable” – none of us have lived that long.

§  Talking points – What you meant to say and realize, after you sit down, that you didn’t.

§  Touch points – What you meant for the meeting to be about and realize, after it’s over, that it wasn’t.

§  Transparency – When we ask, “Are we telling the truth?” and wonder “Do we really want to?”

§  Tree people – These are the people who are so busy counting the lines in the bark that they fail to see the grandeur of the forest around them.  To tree people everywhere, look UP!

§  Uninterrupted service – What companies think they’re providing while they make huge changes to their systems.  Hint:  they’re not.

§  Unsiloing – What happens when somebody with the authority to do so tells all the heads of all the departments that they have to, like, talk to each other.  Hint:  they won’t.

§  Vaporware – What the consultant’s solution will consist of.  And you’ll still be out of copy paper.

§  Vet – That’s the word we use when we ask somebody to find out, “Is it possible for us to make any money with this stuff?”

§  View from 10,000 feet – “I’m tired of doing the grunt work so I’m going to go read the mission statement.”

§  Wallet share – How much money you have left after you’ve done business with our company.  Hint:  not much.

§  Webinar – Oh, good grief.  It’s an online seminar – did we really need to make up that word?

§  Wire frame – This makes more sense if I’m talking about my great-grandmother’s corset than when I’m discussing where things should show up on a web site.

With your agreement, let’s get rid of this vocabulary list (and whatever you’d like to add) once and for all.  However, there are a few phrases that continue to help me get through the day.  Here are a couple I’d like to keep . . .          

ü  Ready – Fire – Aim

I believe this is self-explanatory.  One of the smartest business people I’ve ever known introduced the concept to me.  In other words, get it done.

ü  FUD factor

When you’re trying to get your customer’s attention, never underestimate the power of Fear-Uncertainty-and Doubt.

ü  It’s hoof beats

Shorthand for, “When you hear hoof beats, look for horses, not zebras.”  Or, don’t ignore what’s under your nose.

ü  SWAG

I believe more American business decisions hinge on this than we’d be comfortable knowing – the Scientific Wild Ass Guess.

ü  Don’t open your kimono

It’s from that same smart business guy (as is the next one) and it’s the essence of the art of the deal.  Don’t reveal your terms too early in the negotiation.  Keep your kimono closed while they still care what you’ve got under there.

ü  Get the camel’s nose inside the tent

Another essential step in the art of the deal.  Get the other guy nodding in agreement with you.  Wait for him to ask, “What do YOU think we should do?”  The camel’s nose is now inside the tent.

ü  BLIVIT

I’ve known this one for so long I’m not even sure where I first encountered it – I think it was in the newspaper composition room.  A BLIVIT is “10 pounds of [explitive] in a 5 pound bag” – or 15 inches of type in a 10-inch column.

ü  PBP

Paralyzed by Perfection.  Ask yourself, is the 43^rd rewrite honestly all that much better than the 42^nd?  Closely related to Ready-Fire-Aim – get the thing done and out the door.

ü  MEGO

Mine Eyes Glaze Over – something that often happens when I’m confronted with rhetoric designed, as my favorite Chicago editor once wrote, “to amaze the gazing rustics ranged around.”

ü  Hot Rat on a Stick

To appreciate this one, you have to be a Monty Python fan (guilty).  Remember that movie when everyone was dying of the Black Plague?  They were rounding up bodies in a wagon and the guy on top is yelling, “Not dead yet, feelin’ bettah, actually.”  And in the background is a street vendor walking around hawking “Hot rat on a stick!  Get your hot rat on a stick!”  One of the best, most talented, efficient, and creative units I’ve ever had the pleasure to work with used that moniker for “those” projects – the ones that won’t go right and won’t go away.  Still works.

ü  A goat rodeo

For me, this is the perfect way to describe the chaos that surrounds some endeavors – and it’s also why this post is a little late getting to you.  I spent several late evenings rounding up goat rodeos last week.  For now, they’re back in the pen. 

What works for you?

For RoRe

“In the cookies of life, sisters are the chocolate chips.”

~ Anonymous

By the time you’re reading this, the cat is out of the bag.

My sister already knows that I showed up at her retirement party as a surprise.  Even though we live in opposite corners of the continent (she in Georgia, I in Washington state), it was a surprisingly simple operation, involving only a chunk of frequent flyer miles, a fairly comfortable overnight flight, the conspiratorial help of niece, nephew, and brother-in-law.  And there you go – we pulled it off.

The party was wonderful and, as always, the visit far too short. 

The praises and sentiments from her colleagues and coworkers are well-earned.  Her career flourished among them for more than 20 years, endearing her to clients and team-members with equal recognition not only of her skill and talent, but of her absolute integrity and genuine charm.

This is the rest of the story.  A tribute to my sister , not as a business woman, teacher, trainer, wife, mother, or friend – but as a sister.

To put this in context, you should know that I am the youngest of three daughters.  Youngest by a bit.  My two sisters are two years apart . . . then a fairly long wait . . . then me.  In fact, my parents (and aunts, uncles, and cousins) often referred to us as “the girls and Martha Jean.”  Truth be told, not only was I sort of a hang nail, I was quite often a nasty little brat.  I tore up their paper dolls.  I messed with their records.  I interrupted them when they were with their friends.  The classic movie “Wizard of Oz” was re-released when I was about 4 and seeing it at the neighborhood theater was a much anticipated family outing.  I, however, took one look at those flying monkeys and lost it.  My two sisters had to take turns walking me in the lobby, trying to calm my 4-year-old hysteria.  I have only a vague recollection of the day – and I’m still not crazy about monkeys.  My sisters remember it vividly – they are still slightly bitter.

The August before I entered sixth grade, both of them left home at once.  The older one to get married.  The other to enter college.  And there I was, functionally an only child.

My oldest sister, Joan, married and devoted her considerable talent to homemaking.  We didn’t recognize it then, but the wrong sister in our family got named “Martha.”  The woman is amazing.

That left the middle sister and me officially living at home.  She had moved out, of course, to go to school.  But the times she bounced back were the highlights of my life – Thanksgiving, Christmas, spring break, occasional weekends, and the times I always looked forward to most, summer vacations.

Like all middle children, she was plagued by attention-grabbers on either side, the elder stateswoman and the consistent brat.  My mother said it best when she once comforted her, “Children are like sandwiches.  The best part is in the middle.”

To illustrate . . .

She got the best name.  Rose Marie.  It’s beautiful and melodic, just like she is.  She later consolidated it to the even more lovely Rosemarie to keep her Yankee clients from calling her “Rose.”  Decades earlier, I had given her a nickname that stuck in our family – and passed on to her wonderful husband.  Not being able to wrap my toddler tongue around Rose Marie, I shortened it to “Ro” and “Re.”  RoRe it has stayed.

She got the height.  The first sister is 5′4″.  I’m 5′5″.  Rosemarie is elegant at over 5′7 ″.  And she got the legs to go with it.  While mine are basically tree trunks with knees that make faces, hers are long and lovely.

She also got the talent.  A voice like an angel.  In fact, I fully expect the heavenly choir to sound a lot like RoRe when I pass through the pearly gates.  She also plays the flute exquisitely.  When she was in high school and I was in grade school, I’d come home from school during the symphony season, finish homework, put on my nicest dress and Sunday shoes, then head out in the back seat of the family sedan to Chattanooga’s Memorial Auditorium where RoRe was playing in the flute section of the orchestra.  On Saturday mornings, I’d settle down with cartoons while my dad rushed out to drive RoRe downtown for her voice lessons.  She never got to sleep in.  While I did manage to play an acceptable clarinet in the school band, I still sing in a whisper as not to offend anyone.  And after almost three years of piano lessons, I gave it up without finishing the first grade book.

You get the picture.

Of course, there were years when ours paths separated, when our lives and interests turned inward.  As adults, she lived in Columbus, Georgia, a city so beautifully southern that it takes my breath away.  I lived in the Chicago area for a time, then “moved off out west” to Seattle, both magnificent urban centers.  The distances between us were sometimes as wide culturally as they were geographically.

But inevitably, we were drawn together.  Our bond is stronger than any distance or difference can break. 

It was RoRe who read aloud to me the first “chapter book” I ever experienced.  Heidi.  I still love that book (although I honestly expected goat cheese to taste a lot better).  It was RoRe who sat with me in the hospital room after my tonsillectomy because my mother couldn’t bear up under the strain (and it was RoRe who cleaned me up when I was sick from the anesthetic – she still goes green at the smell of ether).  It was RoRe who baked me a special heart-shaped birthday cake when everyone had to work late on my 16^th birthday – and I still cherish the little silver heart charm bracelet she gave me.  It puts Tiffany to shame.

It was she who made sure I knew that our school system wasn’t going to prepare me adequately for college, that I’d have to do a lot of work on my own.  She who taught me how to wear make-up . . . to cook . . . to sew . . . to apply fingernail polish . . . to pull weeds in the Georgia heat all afternoon and still look cool and serene at the dinner table.

She taught me all of that, and so much more.

From her I learned that kindness is a gift, not one you are born with, but one you receive by giving.  She taught me that words are treasures, whether you’re reading them or writing them.  That being a “late bloomer” (a favorite phrase of our mother’s that made us both cringe), really is a wonderful thing.  That good manners are always in good taste.  That nothing is more becoming to a woman than a solid sense of humor.

I’ve seen her stand at her husband’s bedside – and at her child’s – watching the steel rod of her strength support everyone else.  I saw her sit with our father through his terrible final illness – and watched her visit our mother when she had to move into a care facility, comfort her, and care for her – every single day for five years.  Every single day.

My life has been blessed with wonderful people from whom I’ve learned exactly what love looks like – but she is chief among them.  Rosemarie Ward is not only my sister, she is my best friend.

So, RoRe, this one is for you.  Everyone who celebrates with you as you retire knows what an asset you have been to your company. 

What I hope they know now is what an asset you are to the world.

I love you,

MJ

You DO make New Year's Resolutions. Don't you?

“An optimist stays up until midnight to see the new year in. 

A pessimist stays up to make sure the old year leaves.”  

~Bill Vaughan

As December slowly ebbs into the bright hope of another January 1^st, I have this to say about 2010 – can this please be OVER?  Shoo.  Scat.  Git.  You low down, no good, poor excuse of a year.

2010 was one of those years we all have now and then, the ones we’re glad to see the back of.  And as it slinks off into wherever old years go to relish the havoc they wreaked while they reigned, it’s time to dust off the party hats and celebrate a brand new start.

Since this is a New Year, it seems appropriate to make some resolutions to go with it. 

From what I can figure, the tradition of making New Year’s resolutions goes way back, all the way to the ancient Babylonians who apparently believed they could appease their gods by paying off debts and returning things they’d borrowed during the year (if only the woman who borrowed my typewriter in 1991 had been Babylonian).  Centuries later, the Romans took over the traditions, altering it to make promises of good conduct to their god Janus (he’s the one in the museums with one face looking backward and another looking forward, they even named the month after him).    

While I can’t verify the historical facts, I’d be willing to bet that however long humans have been making resolutions, they’ve also been breaking them.  That’s why I no longer formally resolve to do anything that will make me healthier, stronger, nicer, smarter, prettier, thinner, or will in any way improve my moral character.

I didn’t make any resolutions for 2010, and I probably should have – like Take Cover!  Too late for that.  But I do have a list for 2011.  It’s more a glorified to-do list than a list of formal resolutions (I'm thinking Congress will make plenty of those before 2011 exits). 

For what it’s worth, here’s my list for 2011 – I’d love to hear about yours . . .

1)   I’m going to get up and leave work at quitting time.  Just because I’ve never done this in my life doesn’t mean I’m not capable of doing it now.  I mean it’s not like stopping smoking or something truly challenging.  I just have to stand up and walk out the door, right?  I can do that.  I’m sure I can.

2)   I’m going to paint the kitchen cabinets.  (Well, I’m pretty sure I’m going to do that.)  These cabinets weren’t top of the food chain when the previous owner installed them in 1989.  They haven’t improved in 21 – now almost 22 – years.  Replacing them is hideously expensive, but refinishing them might buy me another few years.  So, yes, I’m going to do that.  Remind me, please.

3)   I’m going to figure out what lives where.  I keep two residences, see?  (Don’t ask me to explain.  Like that relationship choice on Facebook, “It’s complicated.”)  And before this year is over I’m going to be able to think about a pair of scissors, or a measuring tape, or a notebook, and know precisely where it is.  Granted, it still may not be in the same zip code I am, but at least I’ll know.  By this time next year, I plan to open my sweater drawer in either abode without wondering where I left the red one.  I swear I will.

4)   I’m going to decide, once and for all, whether or not to go ahead and get cable.  That may not mean much to you, but I’ve been spending a lot of time and energy thinking about it.  I enjoy the righteous feeling that comes with saying, “I don’t have cable.”  But that only happens when I’m with people I’m hoping to impress – not when I’m all stretched out on the sofa, subconsciously reaching for the remote.  Don’t get me wrong, Hulu is great, but I keep waffling – so sometime in 2011 I’m finally going to make up my mind.  I’ll let you know how it turns out.

5)   I’m not going to wait for life to get better.  A smart teacher once told me, “It’s easier to guide a rolling vehicle than one parked with the emergency brake on.” (For the record, “God helps those who help themselves” is not in the Bible.  That was Benjamin Franklin. I threw that in because I knew you were thinking about it.)  Among the things 2010 taught me was to bite the bullet and move on.  So I’m going to.

6)   Along with that, I’m going to acknowledge that life is probably good enough as it is.  Before you accuse me of embracing apathy, cut me a break.  Anyone who’s spent more than an hour with me knows I’m neither passive nor a Pollyanna.  But I have figured out that I don’t need everything I think I do; I don’t understand the concept of enough; and I don’t always know when to leave well enough alone.  Probably.

7)   I’m going to enjoy being as young as I am right this minute.  Here’s the fact:  I’m going to be older next year, next month, next week, tomorrow.  And face it -- ayear here, a year there, and pretty soon you’re talking about Medicare and Social Security (well, some will live to talk about it – it will be long gone before others get to that point).  So I might as well enjoy how young I am now.  It’s younger than I’m ever going to be again. 

8)   I’ll end this list by adding that in 2011 I don’t intend to borrow trouble.  Unlike God helping those who help themselves, that one IS in the Bible, right there in the Sermon on the Mount.  “Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.”  See?  Another thing I learned in 2010 was to deal with the mess that’s in front of me, not the one that might be hiding behind the curtain.  (Closely related to item 5, above.)  Not a bad lesson on the whole.

That’s about it.  It’s pointless for me to "resolve" to get more exercise, eat more salads, write more letters, or be less judgmental.  I know those things are important to my well-being.  I’ve also lived long enough to know that I’ll either do them or I won’t – putting them down on a list won't make a difference. 

So, if we’re still having this conversation on December 31, 2011, and if, in the meantime, I’ve figured out how to attain world peace, or won a Pulitzer, or run a marathon – somebody please remind me that my goal was to paint the kitchen cabinets. 

Editor’s Note:  The writer has created a conundrum.  It is impossible to achieve goal #2 (paint the kitchen cabinets) without violating goal #8 (don’t borrow trouble). 

'Twas the week after Christmas . . .

“Next to a circus there ain't nothing that packs up and tears out faster than the Christmas spirit.” ~Frank McKinney Hubbard

We’ve once again come to that odd week of the year. 

As a kid, the week between Christmas and New Year’s filled me with a sad melancholy – the countdown for back-to-school was underway.  As a college student, this week always filled me with energy – the countdown for back-to-campus was underway.  As a young non-working mother, it became my favorite week of the year – the cooking, shopping, wrapping (and the dishes) were finally done; the morning hunt for scarves, mittens, and boots not yet resumed. 

Now?  I’d have to say this week of the year is a mixed bag. 

As the light of Monday morning reveals candles burned to stubs, boxes stacked in corners, ragged spools of ribbon and stray gift cards strewn about, it’s tempting to close the blinds and go back to bed.  Out on the street, folks aren’t quite as lively as they were last week.  Pedestrians are more prone to wait placidly on the curb for the light to change (a true rarity in Seattle, where pedestrians are militant – they rarely raise their eyes to check for oncoming cars before stepping out in front of one).  Bus drivers are once again solemn, having switched out their Santa hats for grubby knit caps and revived their competition for who can throw the most riders out of their seats.  Even Seattle’s ubiquitous baristas seem somber as they pull the morning shots.

This is the week when reality settles back over us like a worn quilt. 

Up here in our corner of the continent we have successfully fought back the darkness for most of December.  We’ve accepted the fact that we’ll get up in the dark, go to work in the dark, stay indoors all day, and leave our workplaces at 5 – heading home in total darkness.  We’ve kept the gloom at bay by surrounding ourselves with Christmas lights and candles.  Now we have to face the truth.  The pretty, twinkling lights are going away.  The darkness, however, is going to stick around for awhile.

For most of December, being at work was more bearable, too.  Cubicles got decorated.  Break rooms were piled with treats.  Employers became more cheerful, even a little bit benevolent.  But this week, offices are fairly sedate.  A lot of people aren’t working at all, having saved their precious time off for between-the-holidays getaways.  Those who are, wish they weren’t.  Things are quiet, but a little bit strained, not unlike the way I imagine old battlefields used to be – waiting for the first shot from the first soldier to crest the hill, or the first boss who returns to demand a year-end analysis.  

This is also the week we must look into the mirror head on (or, worse, from behind).  All those little indulgences that seemed so harmless earlier in the month must now be dealt with.  We face tough choices – loosen the button, or tuck in the tummy – go to bed earlier, or buy another tube of concealer – schedule a hair cut, or hunt for a head band – have another reheated dinner, or throw out the leftovers and spread out a salad.

But not all is drear and dank once the packages have been opened and the eggnog’s been drunk.  In fact, there is a very strong upside to this week after Christmas. 

First, it is the week after Christmas, meaning Christmas is over. 

All of the expectations (yours and everybody else’s) have been dealt with.  Maybe they were all met, even exceeded, this year.  Or perhaps this is the year things fell a bit short.  Either way, it’s done.  You don’t have worry about how Christmas is going to turn out for another 11 months (and you do have the option not to worry about it at all – I dare you).

Second, this is a great week for new starts.  Even if you’re working this week, you’re probably not as busy as you’re going to be next week when everyone gets back.  So clean out a file drawer.  Organize your email.  Back home, straighten up your sock drawer.  Clean the carpet or polish the hardwood as soon as you take out the Christmas tree – you have to sweep up the mess anyway, so why not do it up right and face the new year with a shine.  Buy a new cookbook and try something you’ve never eaten, let alone cooked, before.  Update your address book (get your great-aunt’s address captured before you lose it again).  Wipe down the top of your refrigerator (true, nobody sees it except your really tall friends, but you know what’s up there).  Wash your rain jacket, it probably needs it more than you realize (be sure to take your camera out of the pocket before you do – trust me, it happens).

In short, do things that make you feel new.  They won’t actually renew you, but you’re very likely to feel better once you’ve cut through the detritus any holiday, and especially Christmas, leaves behind.  You may still be going and coming in the dark, but at least you won’t be going to work to face an in box masquerading as an avalanche –  or coming home to face melted candles, dried out greenery, and leftovers for dinner.

And while you’re at it, this week is the perfect time to get all the way to the bottom of your dirty clothes basket.  (Admit it, you never get absolutely every piece of laundry clean at the same time.)  You're a good person – you deserve to face the brand new year with clean sheets and a drawer full of clean underwear.

There.  Don’t you feel better already?

Coming Friday:  You DO make resolutions.  Don’t you?