When it comes to New Year's — bogged down with all its requisite parties and resolutions — I've always subscribed to one of my favorite literary cynics, Oscar Wilde, who insisted, "Good resolutions are simply checks that men draw on a bank where they have no account."

I've never been much of a New Year's person. And I know it's not any less arbitrary than any other holiday on my Pirelli calendar (kidding), but it's always felt a bit more contrived, a little less meaningful, than most. Besides, one of the worst dates I can remember was a New Year's Eve disaster.

Yet I could never help but get swept up by resolution mania. Never mind that a paltry 8 percent of those who make some kind of life-changing vow as the ball drops actually lives up to it. Hell, a quarter of people fall out after just the first week.