December 31, 2004
A good, safe new year
It's a quarter after eleven, and soon in California it will be 2005. I went to my friend Arune's for a short time, and left after ten to head to San Francisco. But I decided have Rob drop me off at home instead. I dunno - I can only handle parties for so long. I know I'm in the minority, but New Years Eve is less a night of celebration than one of contemplation for me. Yeah, that can be said of me and a lot of things, but I've always tended to avoid the thump of a club or a crowd scene. Mark at first was going to come by, but decided instead to hit a party in San Jose, and so it's just me 'n Simba. And now you.
I kinda like it like this, if I'm gonna be honest at all about it. I don't feel lonely at all. As a writer and visual guy, I'm alone quite a bit, and there are times when I'm maddingly lonely. But alone on New Years is never one of them. I'm listening to SMiLE, occasionally singing along. Reflecting on this past year is a frustrating job, and the year to come seems far less certain than even 2004 felt going in - when I was still in New York. Which seems like a thousand years ago as often as it seems a moment.
It's true: the one year I lived in New York City I chose not to go to Times Square and instead, after skirting the edges of Midtown, hopped the N subway back to Brooklyn. It certainly wasn't a fear of crowds, or terrorism. I just didn't feel part of that entire...thing. The party, the reveling, the noise. Once I looked down 40th street and saw the mass of people, I just turned away. I wandered for a while, and ended up at the N/R/Q/W station near Macy's on 34th Street. The subway stations were packed with people, but they were all on the opposite track heading up toward Time Square. On the Brooklyn bound N, there were me and a few others. All but one other person got off by City Hall station. It was nearly 12.
I kept checking the time on my cell phone. The clock readout is constantly kept in sync with universal time via sattelite, but without signal, there's no clock. I could usually get a very weak signal at certain subway stations, especially downtown where they were more shallow, and I checked the display one last time at Whitehall before I knew I'd lose it in the tunnel under the river. It was 11.58. The other guy was checking his watch, too.
About midway through the tunnel, under the East River, the guy took his head phones off and called out "Hey, Happy New Year. It's midnight."
I smiled and nooded. "Thanks, you too. You goin' out?"
"Nah, headed home."
I was about to say "me too" but he'd put his headphones back on and disappeared back into that transit mental movie palace where all New Yorkers go when they put on their headphones in the subway. He got off at Court St., and my stop was next - Lawrence. I got back to the apartment on Willoughby St at about ten after. ( How funny - for the first time since I've lived in California I live near the Caltrain, which I love, and it's only now just occured to me that my stop on the Caltrain is also Lawrence).
I don't share that story much, cuz it's such an intensely personal experience. It's just a non-event to most listeners, and those I have told first want to know how on earth I could have been there and not gone to Times Square. But I doubt it would surprise any of those that know me well that it means far more to me to have left 2003 in Manhattan and arrived in Brooklyn in 2004 - that I rang in the new year on a subway, deep in the ground under the East River in New York - than it would have ever felt in the throngs at Time Square, drinking beer in front of the Virgin Megastore and waiting to see my face on jumbotron.
"But how do you know," comes the inevitable question, "if ya don't go?"
Trust me, I know. I've been doing this a while.
And that said, it's now midnight in California - SMiLE is right at the end, and I'm ringing in 2005 in my apartment in Santa Clara, blogging, and listening to "Good Vibrations." Simba's in a kittyloaf on his cat post, clearly curious at the loud reports from fireworks outside. It's raining out, but it's warm in here, with Simba and Brian Wilson.
Yes...this was the right thing to do.
My heart, thoughts, and prayers go out to everyone in Southeast Asia tonight and to everybody in Europe and Austrailia and America and Africa that died or lost their loved ones. They know of 150,000 and the counting continues. The odd and unexpected connections between people are showing now, as more and more people learned they personally know someone who died, or know of someone who knows someone. Or someone from their town who was in Sri Lanka for a wedding. Or in Thailand for the Christmas holidays.
I genuinely grieve for all of them. The sense of loss, to me, is palpable. I can tune out the news, but it's there in the rain and in thoughts of people I used to talk to online from Thailand. I feel loss in the forums that have sprung up, and how quickly they devolve into religious spitting and vitriol. I feel loss to read the comments of Americans that would rather fight a war than give aid to the millions affected by an ocean that swallowed the world on a sunny, mild, blue day in less time than it takes to write this paragraph.
By this time next year, the real scope of these past five days will be known as much as it can be. The world is already a different place, and if you don't know it or can't feel it, by this time next year, I'm betting you will. The world's priorities have shifted now, and tolerance of ignorant American policy will not be forthcoming. I don't want to be the country that couldn't afford to help an entire region because we spent our wad on a fight we didn't ask for. By this time last year, we may know that in 2004, the day after Christmas, this earth hemorrhaged millions of lives, and in the upcoming weeks would see the departure of many more. To not feel that, to not sense the collective crack in the spirtual current of the world is an anomaly to me; a dubious luxury. To seek to not feel it - to turn away and ignore it - is unthinkable and unconcionable.
Brian Wilson sings, "surf's up, aboard a tidal wave / come about hard and join / the young and often spring you gave / I heard the word / wonderful thing / a children's song"
2005 is here. It seemed odd to make it to 2001 - the year of Stanley Kubrick's monolith - and here were are half way toward the sequel. I guess I can't blame anybody for wanting to party like it's 1999. Who'd have thought a song so apocalyptic would one day seem like wistful nostalgia for peace and prosperity and a little pre-millenium tension.
Oddly enough, tonight as I write alone by myself, I feel more strongly connected to humanity than I have in a long, long time. Dante said that no man is an island, but what's become clear is that we all live on one. I'm grateful to be alive, and here in California, and reasonably healthy at 30. I'm grateful, and now unquestionably humbled, and for a while, sad.
So here's tidings of comfort, safety, hope, and peace - so that we all see a joyous day again.
I kinda like it like this, if I'm gonna be honest at all about it. I don't feel lonely at all. As a writer and visual guy, I'm alone quite a bit, and there are times when I'm maddingly lonely. But alone on New Years is never one of them. I'm listening to SMiLE, occasionally singing along. Reflecting on this past year is a frustrating job, and the year to come seems far less certain than even 2004 felt going in - when I was still in New York. Which seems like a thousand years ago as often as it seems a moment.
It's true: the one year I lived in New York City I chose not to go to Times Square and instead, after skirting the edges of Midtown, hopped the N subway back to Brooklyn. It certainly wasn't a fear of crowds, or terrorism. I just didn't feel part of that entire...thing. The party, the reveling, the noise. Once I looked down 40th street and saw the mass of people, I just turned away. I wandered for a while, and ended up at the N/R/Q/W station near Macy's on 34th Street. The subway stations were packed with people, but they were all on the opposite track heading up toward Time Square. On the Brooklyn bound N, there were me and a few others. All but one other person got off by City Hall station. It was nearly 12.
I kept checking the time on my cell phone. The clock readout is constantly kept in sync with universal time via sattelite, but without signal, there's no clock. I could usually get a very weak signal at certain subway stations, especially downtown where they were more shallow, and I checked the display one last time at Whitehall before I knew I'd lose it in the tunnel under the river. It was 11.58. The other guy was checking his watch, too.
About midway through the tunnel, under the East River, the guy took his head phones off and called out "Hey, Happy New Year. It's midnight."
I smiled and nooded. "Thanks, you too. You goin' out?"
"Nah, headed home."
I was about to say "me too" but he'd put his headphones back on and disappeared back into that transit mental movie palace where all New Yorkers go when they put on their headphones in the subway. He got off at Court St., and my stop was next - Lawrence. I got back to the apartment on Willoughby St at about ten after. ( How funny - for the first time since I've lived in California I live near the Caltrain, which I love, and it's only now just occured to me that my stop on the Caltrain is also Lawrence).
I don't share that story much, cuz it's such an intensely personal experience. It's just a non-event to most listeners, and those I have told first want to know how on earth I could have been there and not gone to Times Square. But I doubt it would surprise any of those that know me well that it means far more to me to have left 2003 in Manhattan and arrived in Brooklyn in 2004 - that I rang in the new year on a subway, deep in the ground under the East River in New York - than it would have ever felt in the throngs at Time Square, drinking beer in front of the Virgin Megastore and waiting to see my face on jumbotron.
"But how do you know," comes the inevitable question, "if ya don't go?"
Trust me, I know. I've been doing this a while.
And that said, it's now midnight in California - SMiLE is right at the end, and I'm ringing in 2005 in my apartment in Santa Clara, blogging, and listening to "Good Vibrations." Simba's in a kittyloaf on his cat post, clearly curious at the loud reports from fireworks outside. It's raining out, but it's warm in here, with Simba and Brian Wilson.
Yes...this was the right thing to do.
My heart, thoughts, and prayers go out to everyone in Southeast Asia tonight and to everybody in Europe and Austrailia and America and Africa that died or lost their loved ones. They know of 150,000 and the counting continues. The odd and unexpected connections between people are showing now, as more and more people learned they personally know someone who died, or know of someone who knows someone. Or someone from their town who was in Sri Lanka for a wedding. Or in Thailand for the Christmas holidays.
I genuinely grieve for all of them. The sense of loss, to me, is palpable. I can tune out the news, but it's there in the rain and in thoughts of people I used to talk to online from Thailand. I feel loss in the forums that have sprung up, and how quickly they devolve into religious spitting and vitriol. I feel loss to read the comments of Americans that would rather fight a war than give aid to the millions affected by an ocean that swallowed the world on a sunny, mild, blue day in less time than it takes to write this paragraph.
By this time next year, the real scope of these past five days will be known as much as it can be. The world is already a different place, and if you don't know it or can't feel it, by this time next year, I'm betting you will. The world's priorities have shifted now, and tolerance of ignorant American policy will not be forthcoming. I don't want to be the country that couldn't afford to help an entire region because we spent our wad on a fight we didn't ask for. By this time last year, we may know that in 2004, the day after Christmas, this earth hemorrhaged millions of lives, and in the upcoming weeks would see the departure of many more. To not feel that, to not sense the collective crack in the spirtual current of the world is an anomaly to me; a dubious luxury. To seek to not feel it - to turn away and ignore it - is unthinkable and unconcionable.
Brian Wilson sings, "surf's up, aboard a tidal wave / come about hard and join / the young and often spring you gave / I heard the word / wonderful thing / a children's song"
2005 is here. It seemed odd to make it to 2001 - the year of Stanley Kubrick's monolith - and here were are half way toward the sequel. I guess I can't blame anybody for wanting to party like it's 1999. Who'd have thought a song so apocalyptic would one day seem like wistful nostalgia for peace and prosperity and a little pre-millenium tension.
Oddly enough, tonight as I write alone by myself, I feel more strongly connected to humanity than I have in a long, long time. Dante said that no man is an island, but what's become clear is that we all live on one. I'm grateful to be alive, and here in California, and reasonably healthy at 30. I'm grateful, and now unquestionably humbled, and for a while, sad.
So here's tidings of comfort, safety, hope, and peace - so that we all see a joyous day again.
