NYE Dropped the Ball

me, Nesaru and Michele about to go out on the town

This NYE, as the kids are calling it (that's New Year's Eve for all you old folks or people who have been living in total isolation from pop culture for the past 18 months, ahem) was the first one that I spent on the streets of a major city. Well, other than the grand cosmopolitan metropolis of Annapolis, Maryland that is. I kind of always imagined my first big New Year's to be in the place where it's all happening: NYE in NYC. After all, it's a favorite American tradition to watch the Times Square ball drop to bring in the new year, unless by midnight we have already passed out on the couch watching re-runs of Homicide:Life on the Streets and drinking champagne out of the bottle.

You don't do that on New Year's Eve? Oh, yea... me neither. That would be like so lame, so lame.


Anyway, as this year was to be my big NYE party year, I wanted to dress the part. A disco ball mini-dress and neon pink wig were perfect for the occasion, and needed only to be supplemented with some Lady Gaga feathered fake eyelashes. But on the eve itself, I lost my nerve. Thinking it would be tacky to be dropping hot pink nylon strands in the lasagna while cooking at my friend Dan's, I decided to go with something a little more classy and less... shiny.

me and friend Dan in the metro, classin it up

But I was still fired up; as we pranced out of the metro down to the bay to watch the fireworks, I imagined noisemakers, crazy costumes, and everyone kissing. Imagine my surprise to find a polite little bunch of families dressed in their everyday jeans not even quietly sipping champagne. Sure, there was somewhat of a countdown, and a few 'Whoo hoo's were heard during the fireworks (mostly from my sister and Nesaru), but nothing like the barbaric New Year's yelps that we're used to in the States. There was an astounding lack of sparkly clothing, and almost zero drunkards yelling profane things for no particular reason. It was... classy.

I actually was joking about my disco ball dress with a Singaporean friend (who kindly agreed to be the DD since drinking and driving automatically results in jail time in Singapore, not just a little slap on the wrist DUI warning), and he could totally laugh about the tameness of it all. We decided in jest that had I worn my pink wig, I may well have started a revolution and next year everyone would don costumes.

But we won't know, because next year I'll be in the USA... kissing everyone in sight and yelling at the top of my lungs how wonderful this year is going to be. Or passed out on Anna's couch watching Homicide. In a pink wig and sequined dress.