In December of 2004, I resolved to lose weight. Sure, it's a vague resolution, but I did it. I have to confess that I did not do it all on my own. It was my friend, Crazy Jack, who helped me realize that you have to pick your battles.

_Crazy Jack is not really crazy, just eccentric and maybe a little bit psychic. A big, balding lunk of man who took a piece of shrapnel in the head while in the service, he knows who is calling before he picks up the phone and can predict the weather by the way his ears feel. I think of Jack as a sort of urban version of Carlos Castaneda's Yaqui Indian friend, Don Juan Matus._ Crazy Jack lives by himself in a simple, frame house tucked under the big water tower by the Mall and I often drop by when I have a puzzlement or life question. He rarely fails me and always has some wise, albeit often cryptic piece of advice for me to chew. He popped open a couple of beers and we sat on his porch.

I complained, " Jack, I'm weak when it comes to things like driving past Baskin and Robbins or the extra helping Potatoes Au Gratin. C.J. swigged from his barley pop and replied, "It is simple enough to eat what you need...drink more water and never eat from 7 to 11." (I said he was wise, but his name is 'Crazy Jack', after all. I could not decide if he meant after seven o'clock, or just not to eat food from 7/11).

I pondered this for a bit, but before I could ask him how I should resolve to stop getting mad at other motorists, he said, "You should swear not to swear, ever again." He read my mind! Still, this advice seemed redundant, but I knew not to push him. I also wanted to ask him how I might earn extra income. I waited while he cogitated again.

_He stared into the side of his half empty beer bottle like it was a brown crystal ball, and then sprung up and grabbed a mason jar off of the shelf by a dusty, stuffed Bobcat head. "Take this home and put it in your icebox."

Before I could tell Jack that people had refridgerators now, he said, "Each time you need extra money, find a piece of paper and write the amount you want on it and put in the jar...close it up tight!" Jack punctuated the last words with a waggling finger. This advice sounded good, if a bit nutty, (why not just put dollars in there?) but since I did ask for his advice, I couldn't ignore it in good conscience._ I thanked him and headed for the door.

Just as I began to close it, I heard him shout, "Listen to your dog...he's trying to tell you something!"

The upshot: I did lose five pounds, I got a good carpentry job that I made a profit on and I haven't uttered a bad word through my windshield at a motorist in the longest time. The only resolution I really didn't see come to fruition was my desire to make time for fun. The part about my dog still doesn't make sense either..he just keeps dropping the stick at my feet and wagging his tail.

Dogs..what do they know?