The Everywhereist

In my younger years (of which I have increasingly more and more … TIME, SERIOUSLY, CUT IT OUT) I often dreamed of spending New Year’s Eve in Times Square. I’d be huddled alongside the masses, and it would be cold and clear and wonderful. The ball would drop, the crowd would cheer, and I’d have someone to kiss.

But as the years passed, and I actually spent some time in Manhattan, I realized that my dream New Year’s Eve, much like my girlhood vow to marry Charlie Sheen*, could not stand the test of time.

This year, we found ourselves in Jersey at the end of December, and we were contemplating going into the city for a few days. We had different agendas: some of us wanted to shop (okay, fine. It was me), some of us wanted to eat cupcakes (also me), but we all agreed on one point – we had to get out of the city by New Year’s Eve. Because it was going to be a madhouse.

And boy, were we right.

We could barely walk through Bryant Park. There were people everywhere.

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It is the first Monday of the new year, and I am sure many of you, like me, are in the throes of a rather nasty vacation hangover. I can picture you, wherever you may find yourself (at the office; in a minivan full of children you don’t really know or like; in central holding as you await bail for a crime that you are fairly certain you didn’t commit), an errant piece of tinsel still in your hair, a few crumbs (remnants of a long-ago eaten holiday treat) grazing your lips. You whisper, “I do not want to be here,” but no one responds. Your current fate is now more tortuous than watching a Nick Cage movie marathon.

Or perhaps you are of one the lucky few who has woken up, bright and early, bursting with energy and excitement about all the new year has to offer. In which case I don’t think we can be friends, because you probably also enjoy tetanus shots, jogging, and eating an apple for dessert.

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I am officially phoning this one in. I know, I know – it’s completely and utterly lame of me, but let’s be fair: no one is really working this week, unless eating Christmas cookies and shopping can somehow constitute work  (it sadly does not, otherwise I’d be making overtime). So rather than post something brand spanking new, I’d like to highlight some old posts from Decembers past.

“But Geraldine,” you cry, “I’ve read all of your archives numerous times! I’ve memorized everything you’ve ever written.” And in reply I will simply smile and ride off on a winged pony.

Yeah, I know. I don’t have a winged pony. But no one’s read all my archives, either.

Anyway, please enjoy. I’ll be back tomorrow with an all new round-up, and reflections on the year that was. After that I’ll be offline until January 2nd, working on a secret project codenamed “Eating Cookies.” (Spoiler: the project consists mostly of eating cookies. Also, drinking milk.)

• On a freezing cold night last December, Rand and I strolled through Chicago’s Millennium Park.
• While visiting my aunt and uncle for the holidays, I decide to clean out their medicine cabinet. Two words: Corn Salve.
• Twilight board games, drunk dancing, and the magic of last Christmas.
• In case you needed definitive proof that my family is crazier than yours.
• 10 photos from Seattle’s 2010 SnOMG snow storm (yes, we called it that. Forgive us.)
• I found last year’s holiday decorations in San Francisco’s Union Square to be baffling, at best.