Somehow, I ended up going to this show solo, on New Year's Eve (or Day, technically) of all eves.
My suburban friends stayed in the suburbs and my city friends went to a rooftop party in the Bronx. I almost joined them, but I couldn't muster the motivation. I almost stayed in and did nothing as a silent protest against the incessant imperative to party.
But I ultimately decided that, if nothing else, it was best to start the year off right by sticking to my original plans.
At approximately 10pm, I hopped on the train to the heart of the beast - Times Square.
It was a bit surreal sitting in a bar just a couple blocks from the so-called biggest party in the world.
There were about 30 people there and there was free champagne at midnight. I left shortly thereafter to score tickets to the sold out show.
Since they were still clearing the area, and I didn't have a ticket, the police wouldn't let me cross through at 42nd st, where the club is located. So I had to go a few blocks downtown and wrap around.
I was able to buy a ticket pretty easily out front from a group of Jersey heads thanks to one of their friends forgetting to pace herself. For lack of a better option, I decided to hang out with their crew for a bit and hit it off with one of the girls.
A guy behind us on line told us that the greatest writer ever was Tom Robbins, who I had not heard of at that point, but is now one of my faves as well.
The rest of the night was a delightful drunken bar. I remember dancing with my new lady friend and many other lovely people to sweaty breakbeats that only The New Deal can properly deliver.
At one point, I think I got into a verbal altercation with a bartender for reasons I cannot recall.
It was one of my most memorable New Year's and the fact that I had to go at it alone and nearly sat the night out just made it that much more of a triumph.
At some point, I guess I headed home.
Here's a classy shot of me decompressing the next day:
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