When the Clock Strikes Twelve

In just a few short days the year of our lord 2007 will fade away and be replaced by 2008. Whooplah will be had by many (including yours truly) and we will celebrate the passing of time. Which, if you think about it, is really a bit inane. We generally don't think about it and, instead, buy champagne, act on the excuse to kiss strangers, watch fireworks and shout "woo-hoo".

Perhaps you can sense my cynicism. It is, for the most part, how I approach most things. Especially those that are revered by popular culture. I'm immediately suspect that someones having something over on me and I resent it. Regardless, I often find myself, like the sheep that I am, following the herd. In this case, I wear the party dress (Panties or no panties? You decide.), I contribute to the pot-luck with dessert because I think it's vitally important to celebrate anything with chocolate, and, yes, I buy champagne.

The majority of the 40 odd years I've celebrated New Years Eve have been in quiet reflection. In other words, I had nothing to do. I stayed home, sometimes alone, sometimes with a partner, watched that stupid ball drop in Disneyland... oops, sorry, in Times Square*, and tucked myself in by 12:05. I wake up the next morning and try to detect a change, however subtle, in the world. Usually, the only change is in the weather.

This year I will be at a friends annual New Years party with people I know, not well, but for some time. We'll drink, dance, eat, watch fireworks, and generally follow the prescribed events for this holiday. It will be fun.

And just maybe I'll be surprised by something unexpected.



*This is sort of an inside joke for New Yorkers. Or, at least, those of us that despise the demise of the real Times Square, peep shows and all.