Suzanne Vega Chimes in on New Years Eve
PROOF
December 30, 2008, 10:00 PM
Notes on a Holiday
By THE EDITORS
Thoughts, recollections and a satirical cocktail recipe on the year’s most alcohol-laden day, kindly offered by various Op-Extra contributors:
Suzanne Vega, Measure for Measure:
New Year’s Eve and drinking. Sometimes they go together, but not always. I have spent many austere New Years Eves alone re-reading old diaries, making resolutions and not drinking, but I will admit those are not the most fun.
The most fun was in 1989 at a party given by the band They Might be Giants in Brooklyn. Still the best New Year’s Eve party ever. Given in an apartment over a funeral parlor. I went with my sister and my then-boyfriend. We drank and danced. My boyfriend got mad and went home early. I stayed. I danced with my sister, and we stepped on the plug to the jukebox plunging the whole room into darkness and silence for a minute. What fun! Then she went home, then John Flansburg who was throwing the party went home. Then everybody else went home, and I was the last guest to leave. The sun came up gently as a car came to get me at 7 in the morning, and I said goodbye to John Linnell’s sleepy, smiling face. What a nice memory. A lovely ride home over the Brooklyn Bridge.
The second most fun was New Year’s Eve 1999. Remember Y2K? What a scam. I bought a black silk ball gown for the occasion in case the world fell apart that night. Seemed like the right thing to do. My sister and I went to my ex-boyfriend’s house (the same man that had been my boyfriend 10 years before!) and we drank a lot and danced and had a lot of fun, until I sent her flying into the radiator under the window across the room. I let go of her hand by mistake. She hasn’t danced with me since. She says it’s because I always do the Hustle and date myself. Whatever. I still remember the snowflakes softly coming down at 5 am as I caught a cab home in my ball gown.
Well, none of us drink the way we used to since we lost our brother Tim to alcoholism at the age of 36. Lately when I go out with my husband on New Year’s Eve, some of the nightlife looks scary. I watched someone who was so drunk she lay down in the crosswalk on Houston Street while her friends tried to get her on her feet before the traffic started up. I didn’t watch to see what finally happened. I suppose moderation will be the key for me for this New Year’s Eve, and that is O.K. with me.
* * *
Glenn Eichler, Proof:
Recipe: “The Blurry Zeitgeist”
3 parts Champagne
1 part vodka
1 part strawberry brandy
1 part smugness over past year’s accomplishments
1 part regret over realizing past year’s accomplishments were actually failures
1 part momentary burst of resolve followed immediately by 1 part deflating inertia
1 part nagging fear over possibility of … what was it again?
1 part self-congratulation over successfully keeping pre-New Year’s resolution to avoid marketing exec neighbor at current party
1 part cautious optimism over Obama cabinet picks
1 part bitter disappointment over Obama cabinet picks
1 part utter disbelief at Caroline Kennedy
1 part inexplicable anxiety over not remembering what earlier nagging fear was about
1 part dawning awareness that marketing exec neighbor is approaching
1 part fleeting concern over possibly forgetting to TiVo “The Biggest Loser”
1 part sinking realization that earlier nagging fear was about odds of contracting early-onset Alzheimer’s
1 part self-pity over getting stuck conversing with marketing exec neighbor
1 part self-congratulation at not being marketing exec neighbor
1 part euphoric recollection of definitely remembering to TiVo “The Biggest Loser,” thus reducing likelihood of early-onset Alzheimer’s
1 part self-loathing over TiVo full of “The Biggest Loser”
Shake well and serve with metaphysical hangover.
Happy New Year!
Check the original link for more interesting comments on NYE drinking.
