Now that we are safely a full week into the month of March, I have a confession:

Long ago I resolved that if I heard anyone say “the days are getting longer” before the end of February, I would sucker punch, deck, pounce on, and continue to pummel him or her until he or she or anyone else could stop me. Or until I became hungry and went to make a sandwich.

Every New Year’s since, it has been added to all my usual, obligatory, laughable resolutions–losing weight, exercising more, learning German, reading War & Peace, trying to reason with people who fall for simple-minded crap like “Make America great again” and “cancel culture”–that disappear as soon as the next morning’s hangover wears off.

Maybe I’m guilty of selective hearing–as many ex-girlfriends, employers, co-workers, neighbors, students, editors, readers, musicians, artistic directors, a few cousins, two of my parole officers, and at least one state representative have claimed–but it remains a punch I’ve never had occasion to throw.

To be honest, I’m glad I’ve never had to follow through and hit or hurt anyone, especially myself. Still, I remained resolved. Until now.

In addition to punishing someone for stating the painfully, aggravatingly obvious, I had an ulterior motive:  To be taken to court where my defense would be that I was doing the world a favor by punishing someone for stating something painfully, aggravatingly, maddeningly, intolerably, unforgivably, excruciatingly, gratingly, insipidly, agonizingly, and so on and so forth obvious.

Yes, I’m fully aware that small talk is the lubricant for big talk, the first gear that takes us to the full throttle of thought and action.  James Madison, for instance, would have never written the First Amendment had he not first said “Hello Tom!” and “What’s up, Alex?” to his collaborators and asked about Jefferson’s inventions and crops, Hamilton’s Broadway blockbuster and bad luck with a pistol.

And then there is the First Amendment itself which guarantees everyone’s right to say something stupid.  After two books, 500 newspaper columns, and 200 blogs, I’ve had way more of my share of 1A protection for stupidity alone.

For example, I have claimed that the nearest state highway to Plum Island is numbered 1A because I live here.  Now, I’m old, but not that old, so the claim is as stupid as it is false.  The point is that I can say it on the chance someone might laugh.

Worst that can happen is that they’ll roll their eyes–like when I say that my street, Jackson Way, is named for me but will be changed, thanks to the November election, to Tubman Way.  Not true, but there’s some truth to it, so it is worth a laugh and not just an eye-roll.

That was the problem with watching someone look out a window on Groundhog Day or Valentine’s Day and announce, “Oh, look, the days are getting longer!” as if its a miracle on par with a Massachusetts driver using a directional signal. No only is there no laughter, but it forces agreement. Don’t know about you, but I have a hard time saying yes while rolling my eyes. Like taking a turn with my knees on the bottom of the steering wheel while eating a burrito and drinking a beer. What directional signal?

But I relent! No more does anyone have anything to fear from me if he or she remarks aloud on a February sunset as if it’s the second coming of Benjamin Franklin. In fact, I’m joining the ranks of those who state the obvious. Not only that, but I want to recruit you–yes, you with the two eyes and one nose!–to do the same.

This is something that the November election actually did change, and its aftermath has made that more and more, well, obvious. To wit: The denial that Biden won, the denial that it was a fair and clean election, the denial that the pandemic exists or that masks and distancing are necessary, the denial that the rioters were, in fact, Trump supporters, followed by the downplaying of it as not all that serious an event by Republican senators no more honest than emails from Nigeria or robocalls from the FBI and IRS.

No telling what it will take to counter all that, but it appears that the only way to begin is to state the obvious.

So I’m sorry for ever having thought that I might jump someone for such an innocent observation. With luck and pluck, I now resolve to redeem my repentant self by reiterating repeatedly, relentlessly, redundantly, and, most satisfyingly of all, obnoxiously the obvious to the obtuse, the oblivious, and the uber-observant.

Ob-la-di, Ob-la-la-di-da!

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