Resolutions? Ridiculous

I absolutely hate to be the brunt of a joke, but I find immense delight in poking fun at everyone else. It’s not that I’m a bad guy, it’s just that I’ve not grown up nor learned to accept responsibility. When (well, that should be if) I draw undeserved attention for wrong-doing, it doesn’t bother me to shift the blame, scream my bloody head off, make obscene gestures, or tweet falsehoods in all caps.

On the other hand, I consider myself a thinker, one who finds joy in thought and meditation. Take, for instance, my absolute love of cleaning out the cat box. It’s a daily routine, a definite necessity, but it’s also a meditative focal point, a Zen Sand Garden if you will. I can spend endless time raking and tilling the fresh litter into neat, precise and mandala-like rows. Today's kitty box is yesteryear's Etch-a-Sketch — one can draw almost anything in unlimited styles and shapes and then “erase” it all and begin afresh. Quite extraordinary and soothing, when you think about it.

For example, when I look down into this immediate infinitude, I also look back 13.8 billion light-seconds to the exact time this or that particular kitty-constellation was created; I can almost hear that big bang. Or, like the hand of some god-like creator, I can draw black and white interpretations of the Hubble’s and JWST's stunning images, X’s and O’s of football plays, diagrams of chess maneuvers, or even (and I did this just last week) a 3-D self-portrait of my piled-up coiffeur curling just so and crashing against the sand-cliff edges of kitty detritus.

It was great, I tell ya. “Make the Sandbox Great Again” is my new mantra.

A few of my friends think I'm smarter than average, and some even call me "Einstein.” I have an Einstein coffee mug and a pair of his glow-in-the-dark sox. (I also have pair of avocado sox, but they’re the pits.) This is not due to my intelligence, but rather to my unruly hair. (I hairspray daily to keep it “just so.”) They call me Einstein; I stick out my tongue. That photo made the cover of Life magazine back in the day; it was taken when I stepped out on a New Jersey balcony over-looking my universe.

Think about “thinking about it” the next time you have too much to think about. Or be like me and don't take time to think — play in your sandbox.

I think I’ll wait for next year to make any resolutions: nothing I need to change.

On a more somber note: I resolve to think seriously about how best to remember the events of Jan. 6 two very short years ago. My hope is that we all think about that. Happy 2023.

Cris Torp is a resident of South Beach.