No matter how genteel-y and sophisticated-ly I try to rationalize it, staying home on New Year's Eve, 1999 feels like missing the prom. So with as much chagrin as optimism, I slip into the Last Vintage Cocktail Dress I Shall Ever Wear and venture out into the night to do pretty much what I've always done on New Year's Eve in this city: manage to have a randomly fun evening, despite my dashed hopes of having the best evening of my life.
First stop: All aboard the Cha-Cha! It may be the same old people, but tonight the same old people have cameras, which means it's the same old people, but with lovely, smiley faces, and arms around each other's shoulders. Someone's even getting proposed to, which is both horrible and sweet -- but hey, aren't those usually the kind of marriages that stick? Luckily, I know enough to get out before the brown-leather-jacket-wearing people start showing up.
The Showbox: Though I love the folks at the Showbox, I have to say it warms my heart to see tumbleweeds blowing through the joint on New Year's Eve. I get a perverse joy out of the fact that between the two bands, Murder City Devils and Maktub are getting 15 grand to perform tonight, but at $45 dollars a ticket, most people opt to find cheaper entertainment. This means the crowd consists largely of guest-listed people, and the aforementioned same old smiley people, so when the Devils destroy the stage in a blithering, drunken display of "Fuck You" punk rock attitude -- hell, I'd have paid $45 just to see those priceless looks plastered on the Maktub fans' horrified faces.
On to the Breakroom, and by now, it's becoming woefully apparent that the money laid out for Ecstasy was money I might just have well thrown in the gutter. Midnight comes 20 seconds early, but since I'm getting kissed, I decide to let this sloppy attention to detail on such an important occasion go by, tirade-free. I begin to loathe karaoke the exact moment a bunch of chuckleheads begin to belt out "1999," but I keep my mouth shut, thanks to the bad Ecstasy -- or maybe it's the dawning of a new, more tolerant me? I ask for a glass of champagne and I get a whole bottle -- people are so friendly! This bottle lasts until I swipe another out of the refrigerator at a party where I don't know a soul. I entertain myself by hollering that the place smells like dog -- so much for keeping my mouth shut -- until I find the same old smiley people again. Happily, the champagne lasts clear through the next party I crash (an artsy-fartsy, yet fun affair next to Home Alive), where I realize I haven't paid for a drink all dang night!
Now, with another New Year's Eve drifting into day, I drift off to Nick Drake's "Pink Moon," warm in the arms of my favorite same-old smiley person, thinking that sometimes, dashed hopes make for the best memories.
