Imagine the New Year Ball dropping in Times Square in 1966, which is pretty much like the Ball dropping in 2015, except that Dick Clark hasn't been there recently.
I attended this party in 1966 with a couple other sailors from the U.S. Navy and concluded that this was the sorriest excuse for a party I ever witnessed. The Ball drop was uninteresting in the extreme and we couldn't wait to pee in an ally and get the hell out of the shivering cold. All around us people celebrated nothing save getting drunk, while we were pretty soused ourselves, passing around a warm fifth of Southern Comfort.
Yet, people rave about these events. "Oh yeah, what a blast! I was so hammered I staggered for blocks and projectile vomited across Fifth Avenue. People were slipping and sliding on my leftover pizza--including me! Ha ha ha! Look at the lump on my forehead. Ha ha ha!"
Oh yeah, what a blast. You behaved like a hopeless alcoholic and left your mess for other people to
clean up or walk around.
Of course, when you're in the moment, the experience could be good for a life-giving laugh. Believe me, I know.
But, what are these people celebrating? A new beginning? Maybe. Getting another year older? Maybe not. Certainly not throwing out your old calendar for the new one. My guess is that they're just celebrating being all too human, the good, the bad and the ugly, mostly ugly. It reeks of mob psychology (See a classic analysis by Gustave Le Bon dating back a couple hundred years, entitled The Crowd).
But, don't watch this boring party on television with it's gathering of hired hype artists (they're paid to like it), unless you're thoroughly drunk or addicted to bygone memories. Celebrate getting the day off with someone you love. And wish them a Happy New Year.
Happy New Year!
