When I was growing up New Year’s Eve was always a non-event.
I know I’ve already discussed how it went each year but can we rehash for a second?
- At 7:30pm we’d bake up a Boboli for dinner.
- At 8:00pm we’d chill a bottle of Martinelli’s in preparation for midnight.
- At 8:30pm we’d settle in for a long evening of John Hughes movies on TBS, interspersed with CNN’s coverage of the Times Square scene.
- At 8:32pm I’d promise myself – yet again – that one day I would move to NYC and be witness to the ball dropping on New Year’s Eve.
- At 10:15pm we’d all be fast asleep on the couch. (With the exception of my brother, who’d take advantage of the lack of supervision by doing something Terribly Bad and Not Allowed.)
Now that I live in NYC you’d think that my dream of celebrating in Times Square would finally come true. This is not the case. Why?
Because it’s flipping cold.
Here’s what we did instead. We enjoyed an Early Bird Dinner, walked around the corner, took the following picture of the Times Square madness, and then caught a cab, went home, and turned the heater on high.
Best New Year’s Eve ever.