New Year's Eve

No one much likes New Year's Eve. More specifically, no one much likes New Year's Eve parties, either giving them or going to them. Yot every year there it is (December 31), there it is (the party), and there you go (to it). You think that if you get drunk enough you may be able to enjoy yourself, but usually the dread is too much to overcome. The dread, that is, of funny hats and noisemakers, of everyone gathered around the television (someone always turns it on) at five minutes to midnight, of sour saxophones playing "Auld Lang Syne," of another year down the drain. If there is a worse way of starting a new year than with cheap champagne, forced gaiety, a throbbing hangover, and an endless procession of college football games, it is hard to imagine what it would be. And yet the pressure is so great to partake in all of it that we usually give in without a third or fourth thought.

The alternatives, of course, are even more chilling. To spend the night by yourself is unthinkable and perhaps even suicidal. To spend it among strangers at a lounge or a nightclub with a manic emcee at the helm is desperate and expensive. The only way of getting around the problem is to be madly in love, a prospect that is chancy to say the least.

The trouble with neurotics giving the party is that they take New Year's Eve too seriously. They cannot imagine that it is just another night and just another party, no matter how often they tell themselves that this is so. It's got to be a memorable time and everything has to go perfectly or all is lost. If anyone is having a bad time or is visibly bored, the neurotic host is personally responsible and the party (maybe even the whole coming year) is a washout. If anyone leaves early it is a slap in the face and may (probably will) trigger a landslide of early departures. Is the music not right? Change it constantly. The food not being eaten? Bring out more and more and more. No one dancing? Begin badgering close friends.

At the stroke of midnight, when everyone is shouting and kissing and guzzling bubbly, the neurotic host or hostess can be found off to the side of the room, accepting a few perfunctory pecks, but with eyes fixed on the guests, certain of the hollowness of the laughter and cheers, promising never to go to or hold a New Year's Eve party again. And thinking that it would be better to clean everything up before going to bed than it would be to face this mess in the morning.

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