The ghost of New Years past

There was a year when Phil and I drove to Memphis for New Year's eve to spend it on Beale Street. My memory of it has slipped a bit, but it seems like maybe he was 21 at the time but I wasn't (I was still in high school, I think), so we couldn't buy the bracelet that would let us into any of the clubs. It had snowed, so the entire street was covered in lovely white powder. We walked up and down Beale a couple of times before realizing that there was absolutely nothing to do and nowhere to go if you weren't drinking age. So we walked back to the car, where we had paid $5 to park for half an hour, and headed for home. We got caught in a veritable snowstorm, out in the middle of nowhere, and pulled over at 11 to watch the ball drop on a portable television we had just happened to bring with us.

The whole night was pretty much a bust, but it's one of the few New Year's Eves I actually remember.

It's funny that now, I'm several years past the drinking age, and I'm sitting just a few blocks from Beale Street on New Year's Eve, not doing shit. Well, I'm working, but we're mostly done for the night and I can't leave until midnight. Being a teenager sucked. Being an adult sucks. I guess I can still root for old age, right?

Hang on, I don't want to sound all sad and shit. New Year's is kind of a false holiday anyway, and it's not like I'd be going out and partying if I wasn't here in this practically friendless vacuum known as Memphis. But still, there's something to be said for doing nothing at home with your creature comforts instead of doing nothing at work.

Here's hoping 2006 won't be as much of a bitch as 2005 has been. Man, what a trainwreck.