We are aiming for quality over quantity for this party. It will be fun, and you will meet someone new, and you will be kissed by a stranger, and you will be frightened, and exhilarated, and leave as dawn pinks the sky, your hair smelling faintly of gunpowder, tiredly smiling, aglow with the realization of what is possible and if that is not the best way to start a new year off right then eat some glass or move to Massachusetts, cause you have no hope.
But instead of mashing lips with a stranger, I'm sitting in my apartment, eating a cheeseburger and fries and drinking beer. How did this come to pass, you might ask. After bathing and shaving and brushing and flossing and perfuming and dressing, I headed out to the party. I arrived at Franklin and Bergen a little after 11 and saw several dozen people waiting outside to get in. The venue, or, I should say, the planned venue, was a converted warehouse turned artists' loft space. It didn't look like much, but hell, all it had to do was hold a party. As I neared the door, a man left the building, saying, "They can't let anyone in yet. There's a problem with the permits. You might as well wait." At that point, police and fire arrived. Cops and firemen shoved into the building and revelers hung out, waiting to see what would happen. I finally made it inside, but still only into a little holding area in the front. An organizer said, "Move into the next room if you want to get into the party. The people in there were the first ones here, so if you want in, get in line behind them." I followed her orders. I also made sure to stand near four hot young women who seemed unaccompanied, so that when it came time for kissing, I'd have my pick of the litter. We waited and waited and waited. Finally, another wave of cops came inside. Next I knew, one of the organizers came downstairs to where we were and said, "I'm sorry, the party's cancelled, you'll all have to leave." I went outside and pondered what to do next. A beautiful brunette approached and asked what was going on. I explained what'd happened. She thought for a moment and said, "Hmmmm, plan B, plan B." I was almost shameless enough to say, "Can I be your plan B?" Almost. I then left, wondering what my plan B was. I went to the C station at Franklin. On the way, I heard a woman explain, "They were busted because they didn't have the right lighting permits." This was a party with a pyrotechnic display, an open bar, food, a DJ, and a dance floor. And they were busted for having the wrong lighting permit. I entered Franklin station and waited on the platform with about fifty other disappointed wannabe partiers. We piled onto the train. A group near me announced they were heading to the High Street station and walking across the Brooklyn Bridge. "Everyone's welcome!" I thought that sounded good, especially since I thought one of the women in that group was pretty cute. But then, when the train pulled into Hoyt-Schermerhorn, a wave of partiers left. On the platform, one pointed ahead of him and shouted back to the train, "Party at that guy's place!" The Brooklyn Bridge kids followed the Hoyt crowd and I thought about following also. I thought too long, for the doors closed before I could move out. So I sat, pretty much alone, on the train. When it pulled into Jay St.-Borough Hall, I crossed platforms and waited for a Brooklyn-bound F. When the F finally arrived, I looked at my watch: 11:51. I knew I'd be seeing in 2003 on the F train. I entered the train and saw a family of six seated around and across from a couple. Nearby sat a pretty blonde. As I walked on, they were conferring about the time: "I have eight minutes 'til." "I have six." "I have seven." I sat near the hot blonde--of course--and sort of made eyes at her. I think I was hoping--hell, I know I was hoping--that at the stroke of midnight she'd suddenly want nothing more than to kiss a bald man. Alas, she exited at Carroll Street, at approximately 11:58pm. Right as we pulled out from Carroll and started above ground, the conductor announced, "Ladies and gentlemen, it is now 12:00. Happy New Year!" The family and the couple let out a cheer and began clapping. Prospect Park was supposed to be having a fireworks display, so I got up from my seat and looked over in that direction. To my right, the mom had a couple of her kids at the other window and was pointing out to them the Statue of Liberty. Right then, we heard a loud crack and saw a white fountain of fire cascading up from direction of Prospect Park. Everyone started smiling and clapping. All in all, I guess it wasn't a bad way to bring in a new year, even if it's not at all what I was hoping for.