Shinn the Writer

So I’d come home from a New Years Eve party some friends across the street were having. Good fun, met some new people and saw some old friends. But the thing with me and many others there, we just don’t stay up late much anymore. I was invited with a text that said the party would go roughly from 8:00 to 10:00.

Wait, what? Aren’t such gatherings supposed to go at least to midnight so we can toast the new year together? We had our celebratory champagne toast at 10:00, which I guess was 12:00 in Kansas and other places. The party started breaking up around 10:45 and I was home by 11:00. I puttered around for a while. When I saw the clock approaching midnight, I thought I’d do a proper toast. But all my clocks were at least a bit different.

But television would have the real stroke of midnight. Good old television with the scene in Times Square. They showed it on a delay so we here on the left coast could see the real new year come in at our midnight. My glass at the party was only about half the amount I use as a glass of wine, so I rationalized that I was still owed half a glass. I got out a wine glass and poured what turned out to be about two small mouthfuls of a red blend I had on hand.

I found the station just as the clock was counting down from 12 seconds. in it and did about the silliest thing one can do on such an auspicious occasion. I watched the electronic clock tick down: 9, 8, 7 (I could cut the suspense with a knife. It was so exciting!) 2, 1, then (are you ready for the surprise plot twist?) Happy New Year!!! As this expertly told tale reached its exciting climax. I opened my front door, drank the wine and silently accepted 2025. It used to be that a giant ball would descent in Times Square and when it hit the ground, it was midnight and a new year. There’s been other markers. 

The only one that ever had any suspense was Jan. 1, 2000, aka Y2K. The world was going to explode that midnight until it didn’t. All because a bunch of geeks like me were assigned to safeguard out computer systems, or so we like to think. But really, New Years is a letdown every year. And nobody seems to ever say, “Gee, last year was so good, I wish we could keep it!” No, we all whine about last year was and let’s just hope this next one is better. Except that it never is.

For 2025, Donald Trump will be our President. The prospect doesn’t thrill me, but I’m about 76% sure that we’ll live through it. Somehow. I’ll blame it on 2024 when Biden had his debate meltdown and we voted Trump in. But I look at gas prices, and even the station around the corner from my house is coming down to something not too hideous. $4.33.9. I filled up for the new year. I’m ready to go.

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I’ve never been a Christmas kind of guy. One major reason is that businesses keep reduced hours if they don’t close completely during the holidays. Case in point, my “new” car