I am outside a bottle of Champagne now. . .it is nice. GA safety mavins are boring and confused; we've been slowly, slyly, infiltrated with these human speed bumps, these wrteched little imps, mini-effing vampires, who work to suck the soul from aviating. So, I resolve in 2018 to fly lightly dressed in extreme cold, pour the fuel drain fuel back in the tanks, rely soley on professional meteroligists (who will always be better at weather than me), continue to fly unstablized approaches, and snicker at that silly azz ORM nonsense. I further resolve to scare the blue **** out of myself at least twice this year, either by pushing my minimums, or by sustaining my profound ignorance of Lycoming and Continental internal workings. . .I'm also gona take off, level off low, unload, accelerate, and then zoom climb, regularly. In the dark. Maybe naked. Let's see if the NTSB figures that one out. Or not - who gives a rats azz? I've memorized the bold face (undue USAF influence in my youth) - but resolve to respond intuitively, instead, if/when the airplane bursts into flames or the mill stops. I never notice potential forced landing oppurtunities, either. For God's sake! It's a effing 172! Put it on an effing orphanage roof or in a McDonald's drive through. . . Supposed to be fun, a little scary sometimes, and it will kill a few of us, now and then. Secret, secret, secret - that's how it should be, else buy a drone or a boat or kiss your sister. . .