Since Jesus was born on Christmas or according to Wal-MArt and the pope he was and my birthday is the 29th by the time New Years rolls around it feels anti-climactic; typically I feel like sitting at home or small gatherings or the ocean or maybe the space station and letting the old year be scrubbed away; there is a sense of renewal and being able to rebirth parts of your own life. The past few New Years have been quite a drag. I’m trying to remember the highlights of the 41 I’ve experienced in this lifetime:
2012 — Saw yet another excellent film at Film Forum, Otto Preminger’s noir Laura; great acting and Wildesque dialogue.
2011 — at home with pink eye in both eyes watching old movie with a friend. My one ey got jealous and gave it to the other.
2010 — sleeping on my friend’s floor with the flu, part of an eight month homeless span.
2009 — sitting home alone crying after a falling out with a friend. That was fabulous.
2006-2008 — One of these years I spent at a friend of a friend’s apartment. Maybe 4th of July. Same thing, at least that year.
2005 — Wandered here and there with friend.
2004 — Spent it at a party at a man’s apartment in the West Village who apparently co-invented computers or something only Al Gore could have invented otherwise. I met a woman there who I went out with a couple of times. She was taller than me. Damn splendid.
2003 — Locked myself out of my apartment in Bay Ridge and climbed five flights up a fire escape to break back into my own building. Lucky I wasn’t busted .
Before that, is San Francisco and before that, Iowa and before that, New Jersey and the New Years 1992, the year my brother got so drunk off our homemade ripple he puked in the sink and clogged it. He bearhugged me and I almost thought I was inflatable as my brother outweighed me by a hundred pounds.
Before that, the best New Years was when I was ten and stayed up to watch old Twilight Zone Episodes, around 1980.
New Years 1972 I was one year old and dodged the draft by hitching a ride from my crib to Canada, i/e. the other end of my crib. And then I pooped myself to prove I was unfit for battle.
New Years, 1971 I was three days old and have no idea where the hell I spent it; perhaps in the hospital or a large room with forty other babies waiting to be fostered. Very odd I’ll never know where I spent my first one.
At the end of the year now I review my last year listing everything I’ve done to remind myself I have not been static. And list what is to come. Which is a wallop this year. Time to step out of the biosphere cocoon I’ve been living in for what feels like a decade. Since I’ve been isolated the Kardashians have come to power.
Happy New Year to everyone. I am ready to party, to cease abiding by my Unibomber’s Guide to Socializing. I also wish to announce I’m dedicating my eye floaters to the candidates for President. I figure if they go away, so will my eye floaters or vice-versa.