New Year's Eve
Since I've gotten married and settled down, (both literally and figuratively), my interest in and sentiment towards New Year's Eve has waned. I think the nadir was reached a couple years ago when we conciously decided to not even try to stay awake. Call us jaded, but never late for dinner.
The truly insane thing was that I taped Dick Clark's ball drop and watched it the next morning, as if that moment were transferrable, as if it wouldn't be harmed by the violent ripping from context. There I am, Jan. 1st, fast-forwarding through the 5-minute, 1-minute and 20-second warnings. Yeah, yeah, drop the ball! Silly!
I wonder if the waning of sentiment is a good or bad thing or merely a natural result of the aging process. I used to get stirred up by the old Irish rebel songs, ready to fight the bloody British with a glass of porter in my hand. Now I'm more blasé. Is this the stony sleep Yeats accused us of, and if so, is it a negative?
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