Happy New Year!

As yet another year fades into memory, I can't help but think about all the ways I could make the new year a better one, full of hope and wonder, with less anger and violent behavior. My yoga teacher says I should breathe when something ticks me off. That's good advice, but in all honesty, that's April's answer to everything. If you ask me, there's way too much breathing going on in yoga. But I digress. Like most people, I feel the best way to start the year off right is to make a list of resolutions that you can refer to as the months go by. That's how you keep yourself honest. And that's how I intend to keep my blood pressure down. Please allow me to lead the way by sharing with you my personal list of resolutions for 2010.

For starters, I will stop slamming my fist into the wall every time someone mentions Jay Leno. When the man slipped those five hours of prime-time real estate into his cashmere-lined pocket, I'm sure he had no idea how many people he'd be putting out of work. Jay was probably just trying to stay relevant. It wasn't his intention to destroy an entire network with his misguided attempt to stay in the public eye. The real villains here are the suits that run NBC. After all, it was their idea to reinvent the programming wheel. Jay shouldn't be held to a higher standard just because he has more money than the entire country of Peru.

There's also no need to go ballistic when young clients show up at my office asking why I can't get them auditions for movies like "Paranormal Activity." Rather than scream obscenities into their terrified faces, I'll explain how the two actors in that film worked eight solid days with no script and very little compensation. I'll ask my clients how they would respond if I asked them to go in for a project like that, with no hindsight as to how it would eventually turn out. And when they nod their empty little heads in understanding, I will give them my warmest smile—just like the peaceful warrior my life coach wants me to become.

The time has come to stop hunting managers for sport. Sure, it's been fun watching them run as I blast away with my high-powered rifle, but it's not very sporting and it might even be illegal. So I will give up my lease on that island where I keep the cages and I'll allow the managers to return to their home offices, where they can continue doing their jobs, whatever those jobs might be.

2010 is the year I embrace the charitable part of my personality. The next time former SAG president Alan Rosenberg jumps in front of my car and offers to clean my spotless windshield, I will not burst into hysterical laughter. My therapist has taught me there's really no need to mock a broken man. Statements like "AFTRA really kicked your ass, Rosenberg!" serve no real purpose. Instead, I will allow him to wipe away and learn the pleasure of a job well done.

When I drop clients who really have it coming, I will no longer trick them into stopping by my office so I can do it to their face. Sure, it's more entertaining to watch an actor cry in person, but my sponsor at Alcoholics Anonymous claims that a phone call is probably the more humane way to do it.

So there you go, gang. An old year ends; a new one begins. Seems like a fair trade. And remember, if you want to make God laugh, tell him all about your plans.

Secret Agent Man would like to wish all of you a productive and rewarding 2010.