I had my first message of 2011 at one pm the afternoon of New Years Eve here in LA. It was from my nephew, Mitch, in Afghanistan where 2011 arrived bawling.
I can’t remember the last time I ushered in a new year. I don’t go out and I don’t stay up until midnight.
I remember one the best New Year’s Eves. About a dozen years ago when Larry Farren had at his place in Kenwood. It was an adult pajama party and successful in its mission of keeping dozens of Larry’s friends off the road on an alcoholic night.
This year I am in LA spending the evening reading my friend, Margaret’s, manuscript about her half-decade experiment living as a communal hippie in the 60s. It is a coming of age story thinly disguised as a chronicle of one wedge of the dropout movement that sprawled into the 70s. It is a ripping good read. Cross your fingers she finds an agent because it is a story that deserves an audience.
Today she exhibits all the professional plumage of a successful woman. I can think of three other women who spent enough semesters living the hip life to qualify for an advanced degree. I wonder how many more mild-mannered, middle-aged, mates have a hippie in their closet. Anyone care to come out of the closet?
I am sure I will be asleep by midnight. And I am wondering where I will be a year from now.
I hope you have a better year than last year.