The ball drops... and so do our standards

Bob Dumas

"An optimist stays up to see the New Year in. A pessimist stays up to make sure the old one leaves."
-Bill Vaughn

If you’re reading this, congratulations: you survived another New Year’s Eve, the annual global festival of sequins, hope and inflatable glasses.

New Year’s is the only holiday where we celebrate the passage of time by staying awake. Midnight arrives, and suddenly we’re older, disoriented and holding a glass of champagne that tastes like it was originally intended for industrial use. But we do it anyway, year after year, as if our collective resolution is to pretend we can drink Prosecco on a weeknight without any consequences.

Resolutions, of course, are the annual lies we tell ourselves to prove we’re still dreamers. “This is the year I run a marathon,” we declare, conveniently forgetting we get winded bending down to tie our shoes. “I’ll get organized,” we proclaim, while our junk drawer forms a new ecosystem. That drawer doesn’t need cleaning; it needs a National Park designation. By the time you read this, most of you will have already broken yours.

Some people go full throttle into the holiday spirit and decide to celebrate in Times Square, which is the world’s most efficient method to learn about suffering. Every year, thousands of people voluntarily jam into a freezing corral for 10 hours, wearing adult diapers and cheering like escapees from a psychology study.

You stand shoulder-to-shoulder with 10,000 strangers, most of whom have been consuming street vendor hot dogs with odiferous consequences. Your reward for enduring this? A two-second glimpse of a giant glowing disco ball descending at a speed that can only be described as a turtle on Ambien.

Imagine explaining this tradition to aliens:

ALIENS: “What is the purpose of the glittering orb?”

HUMANS: “We drop it. Slowly.”

ALIENS: “…Why?”

HUMANS: “Because the calendar changes.”

ALIENS: “We regret initiating contact.”

There are simpler ways to celebrate. Staying home, like me for instance, offers many advantages: access to indoor plumbing, the ability to adjust the thermostat and not being licked by the wind like a frozen treat. Plus, the TV lets you experience the ball drop while comfortably wearing pajama pants with dubious elasticity.

I have learned over the years that at-home New Year celebrations fall into categories. There’s the “Small Gathering with Friends,” where the host spends 12 hours making appetizers that are vacuumed up in 45 seconds. Everyone promises to help clean but vanishes at 12:01.

There’s the family party, where small children insist on staying up until midnight, fueled entirely by Christmas sugar cookies and seasonal delirium. At 11:50 p.m., they achieve a level of hyperactivity that violates international law. At 12:01 a.m., they are unconscious on the carpet and drooling like a St. Bernard.

And then there’s the “Quiet Night In,” which is essentially a competition to see who can lie the longest about not being tired. At 9:30, someone declares, “We’ll make it to midnight easily.” At 10:15, that person is asleep but sitting upright like the prescriptions have finally kicked in. They awaken briefly at 12:07 when fireworks outside confuse them into thinking the house is under siege. This is the one I have experienced the most.

No matter what type of party it is, the countdown is the main event. We all chant as the seconds vanish, and when the clock hits midnight, we engage in a flurry of celebratory activities: kissing loved ones, toasting the future.

The next morning, New Year’s Day arrives with the subtlety of a marching band. Your head feels like a John Bonham drum solo. The living room looks like a confetti bomb detonated. The dog is wearing a party hat and refuses to elaborate. You check your phone and discover you texted “HAPPY NEW YEARRRR I BELIEBE IN U” to your dentist.

Then it’s time for resolutions. Common resolutions include:

• Get Healthy: This usually lasts about 36 hours, until someone offers you room-temperature leftover cheesecake. It is medically impossible to resist leftover cheesecake.

• Save Money: A great goal—until you remember you need coffee. And groceries. And rent.

• Be More Organized: Excellent in theory. But first you must buy planners, markers, motivational stickers and a storage crate for your motivational stickers.

Despite our shortcomings, I still like New Year’s. It doesn’t demand gifts or costumes. It simply asks us to believe that tomorrow can be kinder than yesterday. That we can grow. Improve. Become slightly less weird.

So, this year, I resolve to be gentler with myself. To celebrate small victories. To clean at least one corner of that junk drawer habitat. And to never, ever, ever go to Times Square on New Year’s Eve.

Unless they finally install heated seats, bathrooms and personal space. Then I’ll think about it.

But probably not.

Bob Dumas is editor-at-large for Halston Media and has remained hangover free for 10 straight years now. His resolution is to end that streak one year. Have a crazy New Year’s Eve adventure to share? Tell us about it at dumas@halstonmedia.com. Cheers!