You've read before the stories and seen the photos of the December 31 parties in my parents' basement. Family members actually enjoying each other's company. Doing the Cha Cha on the tattered linoleum that used to be in our kitchen upstairs. And me mixing drinks.
Why the hell was I doing that? Well, you have to understand my family dynamic. Age-wise, I was in purgatory. My teen-age cousins were usually making out with somebody somewhere in the dark recesses of the house. My mother would warn me.
"Don't go upstairs."
I did once and immediately wondered why X had his hands on Y's.... They saw me standing in the doorway. A couch cushion was tossed in my general direction.
In No Kid's Lane, I had to busy myself on the adult side of the party aisle. And, bored to the hilt, I decided to stand behind the table where all the family booze was lined up. One relative came up to me.
"Hey, make me a gin and tonic."
Huh? I was about seven years old. But, smart enough to know the names on the different bottles. I poured a whole bunch of gin into a glass. With very little tonic.
"Whoa! You put too much booze in there!"
Okay, I thought, I'll pour it out.
"No! Don't do that. We don't waste liquor. I'll drink it."
And that how's this littlest bartender single handedly sunk most of the adult relatives at that New Year's Eve party. I might have been the only sober one left in that entire basement by 1AM.
Pockets of memories across New Year's Eve. Despite my position as a one-kid island, I really cherished those family parties. Trying to avoid getting a wet smooch from some old codger. Working hard to make sure nothing on my plate had even remotely come in contact with the dreaded Vita pickled herring on the buffet table.
Fun times. And they drifted away too soon. Just like on Christmas, the family drifted apart for New Year's Eve. People stayed home. Alone. It was too much trouble to go out. Why? Most of our family lived within three miles of each other.
Of course, as I got older, I still wanted to celebrate. The passage of one year into another remained a big deal with me. And, hell, I was remembering what my cousins were doing upstairs. When do I get to do THAT?
Yeah, well...
When I should have been groping somebody on a December 31, I was actually celebrating midnight at 6PM. That was the year I spent New Year's Eve at a Tonight Show taping in New York. It was taped earlier in the day. When it was allegedly midnight, Johnny and Ed tossed confetti in the air as we pretended it wasn't really 6PM. I went home and promptly threw up. This New Year's Eve would be the first and last time that I had the flu.
More memories as one college party on one December 31 morphed into another. Playing hockey in a dorm hallway with my roommate's crutches.
There was the year where I was fresh out of college and trying to impress some girl with my ability to cook in that new wok I had just gotten for Christmas. Note to all: you really do have to chop up the ingredients or your meal can be a disaster.
There was the year where my fractured shoulder was in a sling and I could barely reach for the dice playing Trivial Pursuit at a neighbor's home. I won the game and the painkillers were delicious, thank you very much.
There was the fateful Eve when I returned from a house party to hear that my mom had just lapsed into a coma at the hospital. My first official act of the New Year was putting my John Hancock on a "do not resuscitate" order.
Yep, over time, the night of December 31 became less and less important. It was essentially forced fun. From those glorious days as a kid to less than stellar nights as an adult, the luster wore off. There was less and less pressure to have...ahem...a date. There was less and less pressure to even do something special.
Of course, I have written in the past of one magical New Year's Eve that stands out over almost all others.
1984.
Typically, I had not made definitive plans, when my good friend Glenn in New York called with a bright idea. He and his wife were going downtown to an oldies club called Shout. In the true spirit of marketing, the place played the song several times that night. My friends even had another girl going, so we could easily divide the drink bill equally four ways.
To be honest, I don't remember who they brought along, because I danced with so many people that night. The night was electric. One big hit from the 50s and 60s after another. At several points out on the dance hall, we toasted catcher Gary Carter, who the Mets had just obtained in a trade. At midnight, they dragged out "Shout" one more time. And we all did. I kissed a few of the other patrons around me. I had no clue who they were. I didn't give a shit.
It was that free.
And easy.
And spontaneous.
Suddenly, I was a kid again. Mixing gin and tonics for the family. And feeling so amazingly empowered with fun.
I've never achieved the same serendipity on New Year's Eve since.
Of late, I celebrate December 31 on the west coast which, in my convoluted mind, stretches out the outgoing year by three hours. If it's dinner with friends and maybe a glass of champagne, that's all I require.
If you look at all these New Year's Eve celebrations, they almost mirror the phases of anyone's life. From the innocence of childhood to the unabashed freedom of young adulthood to the seemingly problem-laden world of a grown up.
Okay, maybe it is an overrated holiday. But, it is still the passage of time. And one's life.
Dinner last night: French dip panini at the Arclight Cafe.
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