I was at the beginning of a long-ish Dry Spell before meeting my True Love (keep the faith). New Year’s Eve (along with St. Patrick’s Day and Thanksgiving Eve) being Amateur Night, I had declined several party or meet-at-the-bar invitations and was at my apartment alone, reading a book, drinking Berghoff beer and looking out the windows northwards towards Evanston and the Ba’hai Temple. At midnight, the usual gunfire began, but planes did not fall from the sky as the Simpsons predicted, not did my lights flicker and go out. The fridge kept cooling the beers, and I kept reading.
But more importantly: not just where were you ten years ago, but where are you tonight and where do you think you’ll be ten years from now?
Right now, I’m at Cunneen’s, having finished a slow-ish bartending shift. Only had to refuse service to one drunk in a party hat without an i.d. Made enough money to justify opening the joint tonight, and will rise early in the morning to watch Northwestern play Auburn in some Chain Restaurant Bowl. It’s been 2010 here for about two hours. Our all-night-long trains and buses are just a penny a ride, but I rode my bike to work.
Ten Years from now? It’ll be a Tuesday night, that’s all I know for sure. Peace.
10 years ago? Easy. Went to a very lame $50 per person party in the Denny Triangle at my roommate’s work; the music was canned and the bar was untended. It was near the Space Needle, where official celebrations had been canceled thanks to a terrorist threat, but the fireworks were still on. Well, when midnight rolled around, the fireworks were really lame, even by Space Needle Fireworks standards. So we went home and watched Monty Python.
In 10 years I’ll be running Denver’s best bakery, my older girl will be in high school and ready for the chastity ball, and I’ll own my own blimp.
Oh yeah, tonight I just went to my sister in law’s place. I drank some very good whiskey and some passable champagne, and everyone thought J-Lo looked hideous in her TV appearance. All in all, a good NYE.
Ten years ago, I was at Alki, shivering on the rocks alongside Harbor Ave., thinking about the tractor-trailer sized diesel generators that Microsoft had parked all over campus as a precaution. As the fireworks exploded over Elliott Bay, I observed that the downtown skyline remained electrically lit, finished my cigarette, and silently forgave myself for failing to stock up on gasoline and Dinty Moore.
Ten years later, I rolled up my jeans and waded into the warm surf of the Arabian Sea just as the fireworks went up, and joined ten thousand dark-skinned strangers exchanging handshakes, hugs, and best wishes for the new year while cheesy indo-pop club tunes echoed up & down Calangute Beach. The power keeps failing, but nobody here gives a shit.
Last night, I had planned to go out to one of our tiny town’s local bars, but the husband put the kibosh on that plan because he 1) can’t drink, 2) has asthma and you can still smoke in bars here, and 3) has been ordered to lay off soda entirely. So, he thinks he has nothing to do, and we went to bed at 11.
I hope that ten years from now that if I want to go get a drink on New Year’s that I’ll be able to do so because husband will be able to sit in a bar for an hour. Although, it is nice to not be hungover today.
Here’s another question for those who are old enough: remeber what you were doing 20 years ago? I do…
Look for your Wildcats to go all Pussy for Auburn.
Reaming the Big10 has become the favored holiday pastime for SEC teams-
we’re just bummed Ohio State won’t be on the menu again this year…
I have no idea what I was doing ten years ago, probably celebrating with my family – I was pretty miserable, though… married, unhappy, hated myself. Yesterday, I was sick – stayed home, was zonked out in bed by 11:00. But I’m single, free, and in charge of my own life. Ten years from now, who knows. If I’m lucky, I’ll be celebrating with my family again.
nice post, bro
10 years ago…
let’s see; oh yes-
I was doing community service!
The Advocate (The national gay & lesbian newsmagazine) > December 19, 2000
Journalist Dan Savage avoided a possible six-year prison sentence by pleading guilty to voter fraud charges November 7. The charges stem from an incident last year, when Savage, a Washington State resident, infiltrated the presidential campaign of antigay GOP candidate Gary Bauer and then cast a ballot during the Iowa caucus. Savage, a columnist for Out magazine, wrote an article for the online magazine Salon recounting how he had faked his way into Bauer’s office to protest his antigay platform. In the article he also said he had licked doorknobs, doormats and toilet seats at campaign headquarters, hoping to give Bauer a bout of the flu. After pleading guilty, Savage was sentenced to a year’s probation, 50 hours of community service, and a $750 fine.
Ten years ago, I lay cuddled in my friend Michelle’s bed watching our high school band perform in the Rose Bowl parade, hoping to see my boyfriend.
Lets see…my best friend got stuck at the Atlanta airport, so I kissed her through the phone. I consumed half a bottle of Jack Daniels from late afternoon to early morning. I had a minor panic attack when I learned my ex-fiance might show up. He did not. I locked myself in the bathroom and had phone sex with an old lover who is very adept at dirty talk. Many cigarettes were smoked. A few joints were smoked. I passed out while someone was watching the Sex in the City movie. Had a beer and a smoke with an acquaintance this morning, even though I didn’t really feel like talking. Watched Cabaret. Went home. Passed out again. And now I want some Berghoff.
In ten years…I’d like to be married to the man I called at midnight. Kids. Teaching. Writing. Traveling. Drinking. Hopefully another superbowl win.
Cheers.
8
get help.
don’t have kids.
try to quit passing out.
@ 5 Not exactly pussying out, but no win either. So it goes.
10
I’ll admit, they made a great game of it.
NW never quit trying and it had to be a heartbreaker to lose.
(the SEC is having a terrible year… 🙁
Hah! Cunneen’s! I lived near it while in grad school. It belongs to a branch of the family to whom my branch does not speak, for reasons I was never able to ascertain. One of those family mysteries.