People have always been big into tradition. For instance, I would never knowingly write something that wasn't true, because it might make someone feel bad. Ever the model of proper journalism, I stick to the facts even when people get mad at me. Hey, it's not my fault if your husband was sleeping with Amy Fisher, so get off my back, Mrs. Clinton.
But my undying respect for tradition does not die there. In fact, it does not die anywhere, or else I wouldn't have called it undying. Each year I, like billions around the world, tune in New Year's Eve to the countdown as the mysterious Large Red Thing known as a ball descends on Times Square, hoping, as I'm sure everyone does, that the ball will break free from its supports and wipe out the crowd. Or, if we're lucky, Staten Island.
Unfortunately, the evening's events hardly ever turn out like this. But since most people stock up on enough beverages to get really drunk, sometimes even drunk enough to hit on moving subway cars, everyone consumes these beverages even though Times Square has lived to see another year. In fact, many undergraduates get so excited for the New Year they kick off their celebrations early, sometimes in January.
Don't get me wrong -- the start of each year is worthy of celebration. Who would guess that Time, on its own accord and without regard for human safety, would not freeze as Earth completes another revolution around the sun? This is something we should be grateful for. The fact that the Romans chose to end their year December 31 is not random. As our invaluable New Year's documents show, it was was the only night when the Romans could book Dick Clark without Ed McMahon. And since he signed the contract to host New Year's specials some 2,000 years ago, Mr. Clark has not appeared to age at all. Not one bit, even thousands of bloopers and hundreds of practical jokes later. However, every so often in his old age it takes him an entire day to remember his name, which delays the New Year's ceremony for a while. This explains leap years.
So, as you can see, when it comes to ringing in the New Year, there is tradition everywhere, especially if we look at history books. Those are loaded with traditional things like wars, treaties, Presidents and even blatantly racist propaganda. But we're not looking at history books now, or we would be asleep or have decided to watch TV. Instead, we'll focus on perhaps the most interesting turn-of-the-calendar ritual: the New Year's Resolution.
At the end of the year, people think about the bad things they did that year, then vow to improve on them by making general yet official-sounding Resolutions. Some examples: I Will Attempt To Lose Weight, I Will Do My Best To Not Set Fire To School Property, I Will Definitely Not Make Boring Movies Set In The Desert Starring Kevin Costner, etc. Of course, these resolutions aren't that official. After all, it's very hard to lose weight, sometimes those darn fires just start by themselves, and worst of all, they released "The Postman." If you can believe it.
I only made one resolution, and it was to stop my brain from exploding out the front and sides of my head, as it valiantly tries to do each year when I get out of bed January 1, or if it was a particularly good New Year's, January 8. I can't wait for next year, though, to see whether or not the ball will drop on Times Square. And whether or not millions of people resembling large drunken sheep will congregate under it to celebrate in ways only New York partygoers know, such as by relieving themselves in public. I also can't wait to see which area the ball will attack first if it breaks free. My guess is Long Island. Should be exciting.
