I’ve never actually made a New Year’s Resolution. Those resolutions I have made only had a habit of fluttering out of bar-room windows on ensuing Saturday nights during that magical time between midnight and three in the morning when indulgences can be purchased for the price of a beer, a wink, or a basket of wings. And most resolutions are woefully narcissistic anyway: I’ll quit smoking, I’ll lose the spare tire, and, per the Commandments, I’ll do my darnedest to stop coveting my neighbor’s goods, wife, and ass. But by and large, I’ve never really been much interested in a New, Improved Me. And at my age, I’m basically a greased pig doing 180s on the frozen downward slope to the grave anyway.

But I am very interested indeed in a new, improved state, country, and globe, because-despite the rose-tinted images that trawled across your TV screen on New Year’s Eve-we’re rapidly turning all three into godforsaken shitholes….