Dec 30, 2016 3 min read

So this is New Year’s; another year over, and a new one just begun. I was so busy making plans for Christmas, I didn’t make any plans for New Year’s Eve. I admire people who make party plans well in advance. You have to be serious about parties to get it together during the hoopla of Hanukkah and the chaos of Christmas.

When I was younger, I wanted to go to Times Square to watch the ball drop. Recently, I learned that once you enter Times Square for the holiday, you have to stay until the New Year begins. The square is then divided into different viewing sections referred to as “pens,” where attendees are directed sequentially upon arrival. Talk about herding people like cattle. I’m surprised they’re not branded with a hot poker and sold at auction. Moo.

There are no public restrooms there. Some people are trapped there for eight hours without access to a port-o-john. That doesn’t sound like a party to me. I’m not going to feel very festive if I’m walking around with a full bladder. When I’m deciding to find someplace fun to hang out, my first question is always, “Does it have a decent bathroom?”

It’s why I no longer go to concerts and/or sporting events.

Once you get in there, you do get a party favor, a glittery foil horn or a noisemaker. Big whoop. Actually, that should be the brand name of the party favor: The Big Whoop!

Every year, a celebrity or political figure is in charge of the grand descent of the big, shiny ball. An unusual number of special guests have been given the job of Head Ball Dropper. Lady Gaga and Cyndi Lauper have been among the small number of people who have pressed the button that “activates” the ball drop. Actually, the button is just for show, like the buttons on a Fisher-Price Busy Box. There’s a control room where the ball is monitored and controlled so it drops at the precise second. Pressing a button at the precise moment is a lot of pressure for a celebrity. You can’t give that job to a rainbow-haired singer or a musician who wears a meat dress. Besides, you don’t want to start 2017 at 11:58.

Imagine the disappointment if people were counting down and the ball dropped prematurely. The crowd would say, “Ten. Nine. Eight … oh wait … the ball has already descended. Um. Happy New Year … I guess.”

I know a lot of people who won’t make it till midnight. They’ll wake up on the couch and find that “New Year’s Rockin’ Eve” has rocked out, and only the D-Listers are performing – entertainers so third-tier that they’re not even considered for the inauguration.

“Let’s go live to Ian Ziering and Jaleel “Urkel” White, where they’re going to ring in the New Year with Vanilla Ice in Indiana at midnight – Central Time!”

But I digress, like I do. Where will I be for the beginning of 2017? That answer still eludes me. More importantly, who will I kiss at midnight? You’d better pucker up, just in case.