Another New Year is upon us, and with it the opportunity to wash the stain of the year's mistakes off our skin, to rectify all of the various things we've screwed up, to chart a different course: eat better, exercise, drink less, don't be a dick.

Or, you know, pretend to, until we decide that shit is just too hard.

Resolutions are usually ephemeral things, but we make them anyway. And once in a blue moon, they actually stickand when that happens, this bizarre annual ritual can almost seem worthwhile.

For this, our last issue of 2015, we wanted to share with you our resolutions for the year to comeboth for ourselves and for our community. These are broken up into two rather arbitrary categories: good and bad. Good, because we want to take care of ourselves and the cities we call home. Bad, because life is meaningless if it's not fun.

So here you go. Stay safe this weekendNew Year's Eve is the most amateur of amateur hours, after alland we'll catch you on the other side.

I resolve to:

I resolve to: Get off my ass

In seventh grade, my unpromising career as an athlete came to an abrupt end when I tripped over a soccer ball and sustained the kind of broken forearm where the bone juts up at an almost right angle. This pretty much crushed the "no pain, no gain" mantra for me, and since then, when it comes to exercise, I'm of the European persuasion that says less is more. Walk to work. Take the stairs. Swim in the ocean at the beach. Go ahead and have a glass of wine and high-five yourself for participating in life.

But I'm pushing 30 now, and it seems that dancing at the Royal James until 2 a.m. a couple of times a month does no longer a reasonable fitness routine make. I'm going to have to find some other ways to shake the -itis out of my bones and raise my heart rate that don't actually require intense physical exertion.

I live just across from Cirque de Vol Studios on Hargett Street in Raleigh, and every evening I see adults in colorful attire flying around on trapezes, walking on stilts or dancing and practicing yoga while suspended in the air from hoops and sashes. The studio's website urges you to escape the "monotonous and limited confines of the weight room" for a "low-impact, full-body workout," a perfect summation of my philosophical approach to fitness. I can train to be a circus performer or an aerial dancer; throw in a dash of what looks like hula-hooping parties, sounds like drum circles and is rumored to be naked yoga, and I'm so there. Sign me up for everything. These people get me.

I will need a backup plan, however, for the days I'm not feeling the hippie-dippiness of Cirque de Vol.

Enter Lap it Up in Durham, the indoor dog-and-activity training center. OK, so this one isn't so much for myself as it is for my pit bull mix, Bosco. Bosco has grown bored of our jaunts about Lake Johnston, and of our very light jogs/fast walks around downtown. He needs to work on his agility and his manners, so the boot camp, hoop-jumping, tunnel diving and swimming classes that Lap It Up offers are exactly what Bosco is looking for. And if I want to get in on the action, there are group activities in which we can play hide-and-seek, round robin and whatever track zoom is together.

I will be purchasing the daytime activity pass. For Bosco.

Now, for all that's great about trying new things, I think there's also a lot of value in getting back to your roots. For me, that's dancing, and not just at Royal James. After the soccer ball incident, I turned to ballet to fill my days as a highly organized middle schooler. Even now, jazz dance helps me when I'm feeling down. I want to try something new in the realm of the movement artsand also, one day, to participate in the St. Patrick's Day parade. Why not get some exercise while working toward my goals? Like any great city, Raleigh has a school of Irish dance called Inis Cairde, which offers beginners Irish dance classes on Thursday evenings. I can't think of a more worthwhile goal for the year than to learn how to riverdance.

My exercise resolutions may not be for everyone, but generally, the Triangle offers tons of ways to move for the non-physically inclined. Just in Raleigh, you could join one of the many, many intramural sports/beer-drinking teams (kickball is especially popular). Or sign on to the rock-climbing meetup or go on some group bike rides. Or visit one of the myriad yoga studios. Or explore the 114 miles of the greenway system with your bike, your dog or yourself.

Whichever mode you choose, you'll be doing you a favor in 2016. Go ahead and give yourself a high-five for participating. Jane Porter

I resolve to: Never drive to work again

For the last three years, my primary mode of transportation between my home in Raleigh and my office in Durham has been GoTriangle's commendably trustworthy Durham Express. Door to door, the trip takes exactly 50 minutes, free Wi-Fi included.

When I tell people this, they often seem mystified or concerned, as if I've relinquished my inalienable right to cart my own ass around. Actually, I think I've gained something. My primary motivation for taking the bus has always been selfish: I do not trust groggy, distracted commuters driving themselves to work. They are accidents waiting to happen. Who knows how much they've slept, let alone how they intend to navigate traffic while eating breakfast, applying makeup or shaving stubble and sending a text message.

Instead, when I slide my cash into the meter each morning, I get the feeling that I am paying for a professional service, for a driver who will do his or her best to steer me clear of a Bojangle's-eating, Odyssey-driving interstate cannonball. I am paying my way out of an untenable situation.

Still, at least once a week, I drive myself to work, using the family car that remains to get myself into the office early or back home after the bus has stopped running. But this isn't enough. By giving myself the option of driving to work when it seems necessary, I'm giving myself permission to be too good, too busy and too special for public transportation. I'm allowing my schedule to supersede a system that needs riders, revenue and warm bodies on every route more than lip service from those who demand "better mass transit" without ever seeming to use it. (I see you down there, in that Prius.)

So, next year, I'll do my best not to drive to work at all. In some cases, it may be hugely inconvenient, but in most cases, it will simply mean more planning and perhaps more time spent beneath city-owned shelters. Once I'm on board, however, I can eat, drink, browse, sleep and daydream, high above a pack of commuters I can see doing all the same things. Grayson Haver Currin

I resolve to: Never pay for parking (and apply other poor-man's life hacks)

Apart from a buffet of emotional and psychological issues we will not unpack at this time, the pointiest thorns in my side on a day-to-day basis are money and health. That is, I don't have very much money (I am a print journalist), and I am not as healthy as I would like to beI resist strenuous exercise and feel entitled to sweet, delicious treats following most meals.

Every year I have some new plan to combat these problems. In retrospect, failure always seems built into the DNA of the idea. Treadmill desk. Tutoring. P90x. Coding school. Meatless Mondays. Drinking slightly less. Crazy things like that.

This year, resolution season roughly coincides with a geographic relocation for me. I'm new herenew to the INDY, new to Durham, new to the South. I live alone in a one-bedroom apartment. I'm single. I know few people in the Triangle outside of my co-workers and those I talk to in my capacity as a reporter. I'm not drawing faces on volleyballs just yet, but it's fair to say my world is pretty small at the moment. Which means I've got a) time to think about self-improvement, and b) time to actually implement it into my life. A truly terrifying prospect.

Recently, though, I hit on an idea whereby I have been able to chip away at both issuesmy meager finances and my sedentary lifestylethrough one act. And I suspect the theory behind it might be applicable to other areas of my life in 2016. Allow me to explain.

I work in downtown Durham. The INDY has access to a parking garage around the corner from the office, but it costs something like $70 per month. I would rather eat a pinecone for breakfast every morning than pay that amount of money for parking. I realize it's not even that much money. But I was raised Catholic in the Midwest. There's no New Year's resolution on God's green earth that will ever change the fact that I am willing to suffer irrationally to avoid spending money.

As a result, I have become rather well-acquainted with the nuances of street parking. Within about a two-block radius of the INDY offices (Main and Corcoran), you can park free for an hour. Go another few blocks out, and you can park free for two hours. Travel to the real fringes of downtown, though, and there's no time limit. This is what I do. This is who I am.

Well, it turns out that I kind of enjoy the walk to and from the office. And it's exercise20 minutes of walking every dayI wouldn't otherwise be getting. I have turned a weakness (cheapness) into a strength (fitness).

In what other areas of my life could I be practicing this poor-man's voodoo? Food is one. Several nights a week, I sit around for far too long trying to think of places to get dinner that don't serve tacos or pizza. I just want something kind of healthy. And yet I usually end up spending $12 or $15 on tacos or pizzaor if I'm feeling adventurous, Chipotle or Indian food.

It would be nice if healthy food were cheap and easy to make. Then I could just train myself to like cauliflower, and voilà, another beautiful convergence of cost savings and health-positive living. But we live in a rotten, perverse society, where a Snickers bar is cheaper than a sweet potato. So creativity is required.

The other night, I cooked up some beans, rice and two eggs. It took me so long that I was extremely hungry by the end. As a result, I devoured the meal. An ordinary person would have found the contents of my plate bland and visually unimpressive. But for me, it was about as satisfying as the pepperoni-jalapeno-pineapple pie I almost ordered. Cheap and healthy. No guilt.

So that's a possible avenue moving forward: Starve myself and then eat like a prison inmate. It reminds me of something I once heard my uncle say about never getting premium gasoline at the pump. "Unleaded is fine," he said. "Don't let your car know it can do any better."

A preposterous thing to say. But I am beginning to understand what he meant. David Hudnall

I resolve to: Say no

When we talk about taking care of ourselves, most of us mean it in the physical sense: eating right, exercising, staying clean and well groomed. What we rarely consider, though, is our emotional and psychological self-care. Merely existing is exhausting, with balancing work and financial security with family and social lives. Everyone's always asking you for something: File this report! Rent is due! What are we having for dinner? Hey buddy, let's hang out this weekend!

These stacks of demands can lead to our self-preservation falling by the wayside. You say yes to every invitation and request because you don't want to disappoint anyone or miss out on any fun.

But in your efforts to have all the fun, you spread yourself too thin and have no fun whatsoever. You end up tired, grumpy and a general drag to be around. One small, simple word can turn this around, though: no. If you don't want to go to your old college roommate's boyfriend's birthday party after an exhausting week at work, say so. Do it with pride. You don't even need to give an excuse. Don some pj's, pour a glass of wine, crank up a Netflix marathon and pass out by 8:30 p.m. Delight in the sensation of a stress-free, full night of sleep, and wake up feeling like a whole human again. If people give you grief about it, cut them loose from your lifeanyone worth keeping around will understand that you can't come to every party.

Learning to say no seems like an obvious solution, but I've been surprised by the number of friends who've had the same revelation. The steps you take to protect your mental health don't have to be big. Even removing social media apps from your phone can cut down on the needling, moment-to-moment distractions that make you feel like you're missing out.

If you can swing it, seeing a therapist can be immensely helpful, too. Even if you don't feel like anything's going seriously wrong in your life, having a neutral party who can help you sort out your thoughts does more good than you might think. And if shit does hit the fan at some point, you've got rapport with a professional who can help you clean up the mess.

There are plenty of other ways to take care of your inner self: see a movie or a concert by yourself, take a class on yoga or meditation, read up on mindfulness practices or, even better, carve out the time to do something that you and you alone will love. It'll make a world of difference in less time than you'd think. Allison Hussey

I resolve to: Eat local

In 2016, I resolve to become a locavore.

You said the same thing eight years ago, right? In November 2007, the New Oxford American Dictionary named "locavore" (one who primarily eats locally produced food) its word of the year. And like wooly sheep, we all flocked to the farmers market.

But it didn't last. Bad news: A quarter of us abandon our New Year's resolutions within a couple of weeks. "Locavore" fluttered around the food blogosphereand then we all went back to Walmart. Good news: As we approach another New Year, there are more reasons than ever to eat local.

Let's hit the top three.

First: flavor. This is why chef Sean Brock exclusively sources ingredients south of the Mason-Dixon line for his two Husk restaurants, in Charleston and Nashville. "The ingredients that thrive in your part of the world are the ingredients that you should seek out," he writes in his best-selling cookbook, Heritage. "The rest will fall into place."

Second: economy. Seasonal cooking is cost-effective cooking. Think of it this way: If you live in Raleigh, would you rather commute to Durham or Orlando? Your watery, wintery tomatoes have the same answer. Out-of-season produce takes a pricey trip to reach you, whereas seasonal foods are not only at the peak of their supply, they come from just around the corner.

Third: creativity. Head to the farmers market in the dead of winterheck, head there right nowand you'll see what I mean. There isn't much to work with. Think of this as upping the ante on the locavore challenge. For inspiration, look to Magnus Nilsson, who runs the globally acclaimed Fäviken in frozen Järpen, Sweden. Because fresh ingredients are rarely available, he pickles and preserves just about everything.

"In a way," he says, "it's kind of about defeating the seasons."

The list goes on. As Mark Bittman puts it in his conscious eating manifesto, Food Matters: "Eating locally has many more positives than negatives."

But those "negatives" are why we all cave two weeks into January, like when we buy those tasteless tomatoes because we saw Ina Garten making a Caprese salad on The Food Network. This year, then, I'm strategizing my resolution in anticipation of weak moments.

But I don't know what's in season right now, you say. Head to the farmers market. The big ones in the area (State Farmers Market in Raleigh, Durham Farmers Market, Carrboro Farmers Market) are open year-round, albeit select days of the week. To resist tomato temptation until summer, pet, smell and sample everything in sight.

But I don't have time to go to the farmers market! Sure, who does? Sign up for a CSA instead and have local produce delivered right to your door. Most farms offer a program via website or phone. Coon Rock Farm in Hillsborough, for instance, has various options: winter produce, summer produce and meat.

But I don't have time to cook my own food! OK, OK. Head to a locally sourced restaurant instead. You can't go wrong at Mandolin in Raleigh, Saltbox in Durham or Lantern in Chapel Hill.

See? No more excuses. And only 365 days to go. Emma Laperruque

I resolve to: Unplug

My first extended thought this morning was certainly a strange one: "DO NOT CALL STRANGERS BY PET NAMES." Just before dawn, that is the sentence I pondered and attempted to parse, rolling it around in my mind (and even whispering it aloud at least once, I must admit) as I stumbled around my bedroom, wiping the sleep from my eyes.

Who would do such a thing, I wondered? In what context? What even qualifies as a pet name? And what had prompted a bar and restaurant owner I'd known for a decade to proclaim such an edict through Facebook five hours earlier, sometime just after midnight? But most important, why the fuck had I spent the first 10 minutes of my day analyzing her ultimatum, wandering around my house lost in thought about this very important issue until, at last, I pulled back the shower's hot-water handle and broke the reverie?

The answer, of course, is because smartphones and social media have only exacerbated our very modern, post-industrial fear of missing outFOMO, if you like. Each morning, before I've had the coffee necessary to jump-start my own life, I open the apps that tell me what's been going on in other people's certainly more exciting lives while I've been asleep. Where did they party? What bands did they see? What did they eat? Where are they traveling? What are their hottest takes? What are their best jokes?

Somehow, this morning, "DO NOT CALL STRANGERS BY PET NAMES"a policy that seems to be a solution to a problem that doesn't exist, because there's no way people actually do that, right?is what lodged in my mind.

That's not digital exhaustion; that's digital distraction, a syndrome in which a constant stream of other people's thoughts, desires and complete nonsense needlessly divert my own attention from, well, everything else.

Next year, then, I resolve not only to fear missing out a lot less, but to do it by rerouting my gazeaway from the screens at which I get paid to stare for a beyond-sufficient span of the day, anyway, and at objects that don't make me jealous of what I don't have or things I'm not doing. No, I'm not giving up on the Internet, smartphones, Twitter, Facebook or the like; I just want to be more judicious in my consumption of it all, in hope of allowing it to affect my self-perception and attention span a whole lot less.

This resolution is something of a personal umbrella initiative, or an overarching and ambitious ideal that I hope to achieve through a multitude of smaller, more manageable steps. Years ago, for instance, a friend gifted me a copy of Great Lives, an anthology of the "best obituaries from the last 100 years" published in the British newspaper The Times. It's always struck me as a great learning resource, a chance to brush up on the biographies of some of the century's most meaningful figures. Still, the 672-page volume has sat undisturbed on a library shelf since its arrival. And so, next year, I aim to read at least two entries per day until I'm done. (And, no, not on a Kindle or an iPad, especially since a mounting body of research suggests we retain more information from the printed page than the digital simulacrum.)

Surely, there's more there to reflect upon than an acquaintance's status update.

And, as difficult as it seems now, I want to stop looking at screens when I should be looking at people during a conversation. I'm not sure when it became acceptable for me (or sorry, for almost all of you, too) to gaze at a display while speaking to someone else, as though a face mattered less than the tweets streaming down some timeline.

Sleep excepted, the one time each day in which I'm really able to step away from the inundation of social media streams is while running. Whether it's for 30 minutes or three hours, I don't look at my phone at all. I focus on the trail ahead, and I listen to the cars or birds or quiet around me, plus the sound of my own breath and feet (and less so these days, music.) It is a wonderfully blank mental state in which to linger. I am free to accept most any input because I'm not actively directing my attention toward anything; my mind is empty but open.

Absent the ever-present glow of an always-scrolling screen, where I'm always worrying about what everyone else might be saying, finding that feeling more than once a day should be a little easier. I'd hate to miss out on that opportunity. Grayson Haver Currin

I resolve to: Abolish the ABC

We've all been there. It's Sunday morning, kickoff is a couple hours away, and you're busy collecting the necessities from the local corner store. You're reaching for your wallet at the register, 12-pack in tow, and the cashier freezes.

"Sorry, sir, we can't sell alcohol until noon," he offers sheepishly.

The cashier's embarrassed. You're embarrassed. Matter of fact, the only ones who don't seem embarrassed by this silly, ecclesiastical overreach are the North Carolina lawmakers who, year after year, overlook North Carolina's paternalistic Sunday drinking laws, the "blue laws" designed to direct your ass to church, not brunch. (In a more just world, you could buy beer at church, which might make the whole thing more entertaining.)

More than that, though, it's positively confounding that outdated local ABC commissionslong dogged by allegations of wasteful spending and cronyismendure in a GOP-dominated climate of privatization.

Experts estimate the state could reap yearly tax benefits, as well as a massive one-time windfall of somewhere between $300 million and $700 million, if it abandoned this antiquated setup. The chief opponents, Christian-based organizations that haven't entirely let go of that Prohibition thing, contend underage drinking and liquor advertising would drown our state in a pool of Jägermeister.

We've had this conversation many times in North Carolina. Back in 2009, Gov. Bev Perdue toyed with the idea to address state budget shortfalls, but eventually backed off. Before his election, Gov. Pat McCrory raved about ending cronyism in local ABC boards, but that, like many of McCrory's stump speeches, is a forgotten point in 2015.

Indeed, it seems inevitable that liquor sales will eventually be privatized in North Carolinaif not statewide, then at least locally. Some reformers have proposed giving local ABC boards the power to issue private contracts. Yet every year it seems lawmakers lack the backbone or the initiative to buck the Bible-thumpers.

No doubt, we understand the concerns over alcohol abuse. Yet we fail to see how eschewing North Carolina's outdated public system and pedantic laws will exacerbate the problem. And, frankly, from a Republican Party that obstinately opposes any form of reasonable gun reformdespite overwhelming public supportthere's something particularly galling about the public safety argument.

Additionally, given North Carolina's very public struggles to generate tax revenues, public funds come at a premium. Divert a portion of the funds to alcohol treatment centers, orcrazy thought hereshore up a public education system that lags dangerously behind the rest of the United States. But let us resolve in 2016 to impose a modern system of liquor sales in North Carolina.

And while we're at it, let's resolve to do something about the ridiculous Sunday drinking laws, a preposterous example of government overreach. Then maybe we can get past all this Sunday morning awkwardness at the grocery store. Billy Ball

I resolve to: Eat meat

We know ourselves by heart, which is to say, imperfectly. Ethics forged in a fire of conviction cool into hard, blunt habits of mind, unconsidered and automatic. From there, belief and action begin to uncouple. Once you've decided you're a good person, you can let yourself off the hook for almost anything.

I became a vegetarian a decade ago, when I was changing a lot of things in my life. I wasn't exactly giving up the bar scene, but I was probing for something more conscious beneath it. I put down my postmodern fiction, which was starting to feel wan, and read a lot of Carlos Castaneda. I played Tibetan singing bowls in country fields under the stars. I traded my Speed Stick for deodorant made of lavender and hippie tears. Stuff like that.

Of course, it was all tied up with a new girlfriend, who stuck around for seven years. She was a vegetarian, which made me feel self-conscious about carnivorousnessa way I was finally ready to feel. I'd grown up eating flesh, including the ghastliest fast food, so that seemed normal to me. But it was one of those sporadic, heightened moments in life when normal things seem to reveal themselves as arbitrary, barbaric or perverse. A few choice documentaries about factory farming (ever seen live chicks being dropped down chutes by the handful in Our Daily Bread?) sealed the deal. I haven't eaten meat since.

Well, that's not true. I've dabbled in fish. In some kind of fit of nostalgia, I ate microwave bacon at my grandmother's house one Christmas morning. It was good. Once in a while, I miss almost-burned bacon, or the prosciutto I ate with tomatoes and baguettes on Sicilian beaches, or the hamburgers my mom wrapped in foil in the oven on the Fourth of July. But mostly, I have happily subsisted on soy proteins and leafy greens, and lots of potatoes and cheese, and cereal and milk, sleeping the sleep of the just.

But over the course of 2015, one of those years when I found myself looking for petrified fossils of belief, something was stirring in my mind about my diet. As I pieced together my vegetarian meals from the increasingly enticing offerings of Durham restaurants, I could no longer remember exactly why. I never had a problem with the food chain, only with animal cruelty, unhealthy processing and disconnection from my food. The first two, at least, are much easier to circumvent in the Triangle now than they were when I quit meat.

It's not that there aren't good reasons to abstain, or at least to practice moderation. The World Health Organization seemed to be trolling when it announced this year, with barely suppressed glee, that bacon causes cancer, a prospect so unthinkable that the Internet refuses to believe it. And even humane local dining has complex social and environmental consequences. But I realized I had settled into a thoughtless and ethically inconsistent binarymeat from anywhere, no; eggs and dairy from wherever, sure. With this oversimplified razor, I didn't have to think about worker conditions or provenance or anything else in a more than superficial way. My vegetarianism's moral center had become muddled.

Now I'm wondering if eating meat again could be the same route to mindfulness that giving it up was 10 years ago. The key is the change, the hard reset. I have a fast-paced job; I'm very busy. Eating right is complicated, and you get discouraged. You fail. But maybe the really ethical choice is to make a choice, case by case, wading into the dilemma rather than self-deceivingly opting out. Maybe eating meat responsibly would refine all my eating habits, and who knows what other areas of life. I think I'm ready to try it in 2016. Brian Howe

I resolve to: Legalize weed

Gather 'round, childrener, grown adultsfor another discussion about why marijuana should be legalized in the United States. The tide has turned sharply over the past decade, with some states fully embracing the bud, while otherslooking at you, North Carolinahave yet to hip themselves to the shifting public opinion. Opposition down here seems to come mostly from conservatives, but since when are they in favor of big gubmint telling people what they can or can't do with their bodies? (Except for, of course, women and their uteruses.)

Let's start with the physiological facts: Weed simply doesn't have the wild-card effects on your body that alcohol does. Pack a bowl, roll a joint, take a few bong hitsyou won't feel compelled to get behind the wheel of a car or fight anyone you think is looking at you funny. Drink too much and you could end up dead; smoke too much and you'll just sleep like it.

That said, setting something on fire and inhaling it into your lungs isn't great for you, but it can't be all that worse than the gunk that's rolled up in cigarettes or whatever science-experiment chemicals make up vaping cartridges.

And yeah, getting stoned out of your gourd is plenty fun, but research has steadily shown that marijuana is useful for helping people cope with pain and anxiety, among many other ailments. Why get in the way of improving someone else's livelihood if it's no skin off your back?

Perhaps the most compelling argument to make to our dear state legislators is money. Between January and July of this year, Coloradowhich legalized marijuana for personal, recreational use beginning January 2014pulled in $73.5 million of tax revenue for the state. North Carolina has nearly twice the population of Colorado, so that number could, in theory, be much bigger for our state's raided-for-tax-cuts coffers.

Also, let's not forget North Carolina's history as a major moonshine state, which all happened less than a century ago. We broke Prohibition the first time around, so why are we so fussy now about a product that would be more regulated and cause less damage? Hell, we even got a major sport out of it: NASCAR and stock car racing were born thanks to bootleggers souping up their cars to avoid authorities.

So, North Carolina, the weed-laced cookie is starting to crumble across the country. What are we going to do about it? Do we really want to be dragging our feet when there's so much tasty greeneryof the dank and the dollar varietyat stake? It's high time we got with the program. Allison Hussey

I resolve to: Drink better (and more local) beer

Surely you've seen the bumper sticker: Support your local brewery. Around here, people do. And, happily, there are more and more breweries to support.

"Eight years ago there were 85 breweries," says Beer Study manager Taylor McAdams. "I think there are 127 right now."

Which makes the "drink local" mantra a bit of a challenge. There are too many options. I'm not just talking about beer. We have local distilleries, cider makers, crude bitters ... you can't spit without hitting something made locally. (Note to self: locally made spittoons.)

But one reason, an obvious one, to drink locally is because "it supports the local economy," says McAdams. But it's not just that: "There's a lot of good shit."

This is true. We are surrounded by good beer, and we're a wee bit spoiled because of it. From the far reaches of the Triangle (Hillsborough's Mystery Brewing to Smithfield's Double Barley Brewing and all points in between) stretching to Charlotte (NoDa Brewing) and up to Asheville (Wicked Weed Brewing), there is no shortage of great beer in this state. And it is surely a reason for major craft breweries like Sierra Nevada, New Belgium and Oskar Blues to build breweries in the Tar Heel state.

North Carolina is the East Coast epicenter of craft brewing.

"You have a lot of North Carolina beers winning medals at festivals," says McAdams. "Which means people aren't just drinking it because it supports the economy or that it is fresh, they are drinking it because it is good. Our N.C. beer is not just standing up to beers at the Great American Beer Festival. They're beating some of the best."

So your goal, dear readers, should be to drink more fresh, good, locally made beer in the next year. As for me, I'll be working on a patent for a spittoon. Greg Barbera

I resolve to: Eat dessert first

Oh, dessert. Is there any more reveredor contestedcourse in the American diet than the daily dose of post-meal sugar? Let's take a moment to set the record straight: Dessert is amazing. Dessert teaches us how to spell (two S's for the thing that you want twice as much of, one S for the sandy, inhospitable place). Dessert bonds us to our grandparents, who first stuff us full of cookies and later teach us how to make them. Dessert tells stories about our culture, values and traditions. What's more Southern than Mason jar banana puddin', or more American than apple pie? Dessert teaches us about who we are and where we come from.

But in this topsy-turvy, politically correct world, dessert has gotten bad rap. A 2015 study released by NPD, a market research group that has studied American eating patterns over the last 29 years, states that only 12 percent of home dinners include dessert. That's down from nearly a quarter in 1986, and it means that 88 percent of us are not experiencing the exquisite flavor ordare I sayhealth benefits of a daily sugar dose. Just like a glass of wine is apparently equal to an hour of exercise, research suggests that sweet treats aren't the boogeyman they've been made out to be.

"While there is no special physiological benefit to eating dessert, there may be mental benefits. In fact, some evidence supports improved diet success from having flexibility in what you eat, instead of rigidly controlling your diet," says Molly Marsh, a cheerful clinical dietitian at Duke University Hospital with a slew of professional acronyms following her name. Eating dessert simply feels good, and those positive feelings can give you the boost you need to stick to a diet or exercise plan.

"Personally, I feel food is meant to be enjoyed, whether it's kale or cookies," adds Marsh. "Plus, dessert is delicious."

She's right. Dessert is so delicious, it's come to represent an entire philosophy of prioritizing the things that bring joy over less exciting options. You've probably seen Ernestine Ulmer's quip, "Life is short, eat dessert first," in bakeries or on Pinterest boards, but what you may not know is that the saying holds truth beyond its ideological implications.

According to "Dessert Before Dinner," a research paper published by dental surgeon Howard Raper in 1962, eating dessert first is actually a smart move. By beginning your meal with the sweetest of snacks, you leave less sugar in your mouth once your meal is complete. In other words, the rest of your dinner brushes your teeth for you.

I asked David Nightingale, a Raleigh-based dentist with an impeccably white, very trustworthy smile, to confirm or deny this theory.

"The mechanical action of chewing your food can aid in removing particles that are stuck to the sides of teeth, so it's plausible for this to reduce sugars in the mouth," Nightingale says. Translated from dental parlance: There's reason to believe the theory.

However, Nightingale adds this caveat: "The kicker is probably what follows the dessert, or any sugary snack. It would not be helpful to follow a Milky Way with raisins or dried fruit that can stick to tooth surfaces and allow the bacteria in your mouth to have an additional food source."

So, go ahead and enjoy dessert for the benefits it providesjust don't follow it with raisins. Sounds like a piece of cake to me. Tina Haver Currin

I resolve to: Watch more television

Oh sure, you can pretend that you're actually going to go to the gym every day, or that you're going to eat right and cut back on the booze, or that you're going to quit smoking and go to bed early, or that you're going to read more or go vegan or drink red wine instead of vodka. And you might, for a week, maybe a month. But by February, you'll be right back where you are today.

That's a scientific fact, my friends, and you should embrace it. New Year's resolutions are for suckers.

But since we all make them, I would prefer mine to be somewhat realistic. So here goes: In 2016, I resolve to sit my ass on the couch and watch more television. It's not just that I'm lazy; it's also that there's so much good shit out there, too much for even the most ravenous TV binge-watcher to consume.

On Netflix alone, you have Jessica Jones, Daredevil, Narcos, Master of None, Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt. On Amazon Prime, The Man in the High Castle, Transparent. On HBO, Last Week Tonight With John Oliver, The Leftovers, Game of Thrones, Show Me a Hero, repeated sessions of The Wire and Six Feet Under. On basic cable, The Expanse, Mr. Robot, Star Wars: Rebels (shut up, it's good sometimes), Better Call Saul, Doctor Who, Orphan Black, Fargo, The Americans. Even on the networks, there's the occasional gem (e.g., Bob's Burgers, The Flash) to be found amid the deluge of CBS procedurals and dumb-sitcom mediocrity.

Long story short: It's a glorious time to be a television watcher. Commit to it: three hours a day, every day. Pick a show. Follow it to the end, even if it starts to suck. Be a completist.

Go on, haters: Brag to your friends about how you don't even own a television. Spend your time at cocktail parties asking, "What's a Hulu?" Pat yourself on the back for being more erudite than the rest of us.

Good for you. Me? I've got a well-worn chair and a Twin Peaks marathon to keep me company tonight. Jeffrey C. Billman