December 31, 2012

New York City. December, 2011

I’m not a big fan of New Year’s Eve. I don’t like to be told when to be festive and merry based on the calendar. I don’t like driving when there are so many drunks on the road. (My friends, once heavy drinkers now in recovery, refer to December 31 as “amateur night.”) But I do like that it signals the coming end of the holiday season. And I like my own traditions that I follow on the last night of each year. As I used to do with my friend Nick and his parents, I jump off the couch into the new year at exactly midnight (if I’m still awake.) I write down a list of resentments -- against people, places, things -- and throw the list into the fireplace before midnight, hoping that these won’t follow me into the new year. Lately my lists have mostly contained things about myself that I’d like to shed. I guess that’s progress.


  1. It's always about you.

  2. New Year Eve is my mother's birthday! I always looked forward to it, because we went to the finest restaurant in what ever town we were in. As children, we were rarely included in fine dining, so this was so special to us! Our first escargot, sweetbreads, vichyssoise, and as fine dining changed from mainly French to broader influences, we all enjoyed trying the new creations. Then we would all go home and struggle against the urge to sleep, bringing in the New Year with a sip of Champagne! Happy Birthday, Mom!

  3. That's funny ... I was sure it was about me, not you. Harboring resentments about myself, I mean. Anyway, I'm staying in tonight. Too many amateurs out and about.