A Personal Ban On New Year’s Eve

Rain pounded in sheets on the last night of 2018. Shannon and Charlotta traveled to a Fellini soiree on Park Slope. I had planned to spend the evening with Doctor Nepola, except on Sunday I discovered my old college friend invitation was for Christmas Eve.

“Opps.”

Geoffery invited me to a Lesbian party in Bushwick.

“There might be ten people there.”

“Food?”

“Pizza.”

“I like pizza, but the only pizza in that neighborhood in Dominos. Drink?”

“Shots of Bourbon.”

“Jack Daniels almost killed me in 1970.” Foreign consprators had tried to the same to Cary Grant in NORTH BY NORTHWEST.

“It’s a ten minute walk from my house. The B54 runs to my corner. That’s your bus, right?”

“I’ll think about it.”

I hung up and popped the cork of a bottle of Frexenet sparkling wine. I liked how Spanish had Xs.

The dawn was breaking on Sri Racha and Wat Singh. I called my children in Thailand. I wished my wives ‘Sawadee Pii Mai’ and

My daughter was born on January 1. She was named after my mother.

I have loved her from day one.

Angie’s fifteen.

I am lucky to have her in my life.

Same as my son Fenway.

Noy

Noy.

Flukster.

And crazy little Pen.

“You go out tonight?” asked Mem.

Nu asked the same.

I told them the same thing.

“I’m staying home. Kin Khao Kundeo. Dim Kundeo. Mii Monsoon.”

“I hated winter rain.

I phoned Ty Spaulding in Hawaii. We had met in the Himalayas in 1990. He was going to the movies in Honolulu.

I told him about the rain.

I wished it was snow.

I come from Maine.

When I was a young boy, winter was winter.

Not anymore, but no one now wants to here that.

“Is it snowing.” Ty wassn’t a fan of snow.

“Not at all. Rain and lots of it. I’m not leaving the house.”

“”Harder than Oahu.”

“Yes, and colder.

Ty loves his island.

So do I.

What was there not to love?

It’s New Year’s Eve 2018.

The rain has not let up.

A half million people awaited the dropping of the ball in Times Square.

I might have seen it once, maybe twice.

I remember being with the Prince of the Night.

Arthur Weinstein.

We were in the MTV control room two stories about Broadway.

A top executive sneered at the hoi polloi below him and Arthur said out the side of his mouth, “Without them you are nothing.”

Only the executive and I heard those words.

The exec cringed with rejection.

Arthur’s club THE WORLD was the best in the city. He knew cool better than anyone. The executive knew nothing but profit.

The rain has not stopped tonight.

Hundreds of thousands of people are stuck inside the police cordons.

There is no leaving for security reasons.

Drones float overhead. Cameras study the crowd. No drinking allowed.

Yet at ten seconds to 2019 the masses count together.

“Five-four-three-two-one.” The voices of the people.

Happy 2019.

One and all everywhere in the world.

And I am happy.

Because I am not wet.

Good night and sweet dreams.”

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