How could so many calendars be so very wrong?

Ten years ago, my best friend and I celebrated the Turn of the Millenium together. (For purists who insist that the millenium did not actually change until 2001, I applaud your attention to detail and hope your sense of superiority makes up for all those swirlies you got back in grade school.) Standing on a rooftop landing on the Upper West Side, our group of celebrants shouted Happy New Year to the other revelers we could see in neighboring buildings. It was a wonderful night, and a wonderful night to be a New Yorker.

I can scarcely believe that ten years have passed since then. Tonight the Better Half and I will probably head for bed well before the shiny ball drops over Times Square, several states away from our home. Our biggest source of joyful celebration will probably be related to whether or not the Critter sleeps through the night after having a yuletide monkey wrench thrown into his schedule. I seem to have morphed into the sort of person I used to make a lot of fun of, back when sleep was something I was willing to sacrifice in the pursuit of merriments and entertainments of various sorts.

So, as I return to reading the news after a brief hiatus with the family (three days hardly counts as a vacation, if you ask me), I wish you and yours a wonderful, safe, happy and prosperous New Year. If you are awake for your respective midnights, may you delight in whatever you are drinking and whoever is handy for you to kiss. I hope to be unconscious, in pursuit of a new decade of well-restedness.