Houston, relax, 'cause for once we don't have a problem

T minus ten and counting . . . to the ball drop on Times Square and the symbolic official beginning of the New Year, at least for those of us in the Eastern Time Zone in the U.S., who pay even scant attention to what goes on in New York that doesn't involve someone running for president.

For the rest of you (us? me?), there's always the giant wrench that is dropped from the top of the fire station tower in Mechanicsburg, Pa., or the giant sardine that is dropped from a tall structure in an obscure village in Maine, one my Mom, Vivien Leigh, heard about earlier today. I don't know if there's anything in particular that is dropped from a high place in Pittsburgh on New Year's Eve. The price of domestic steel circa 1983 perhaps?

Lest the North Carolinians among us forget, there is also the giant acorn that hurtles toward earth from the top of some nondescript office tower in downtown Raleigh. Really, Raleigh, an acorn, of all things. I know you pride yourself on being the City of the Oaks and all, but kicking a giant representation of the byproduct of oak tree fertilization over the ledge of the [insert corporate banking entity here] tower while thousands of (sadly) sober North Carolinians scream themselves silly (no doubt to ward off the 20F weather and wind chill that was in abundance the last time I was among the throng) just isn't my idea of fitting tribute to the old and a warm embrace of the new. But I'm like that.

So what is my idea of a good way to spend New Year's Eve? Right now, writing one more blog entry before the year ends. As a couple of you told me, I owed you one, being that I had only written one other entry for the month.

I owe you more than one, actually, as I had a number of events and thoughts, both happy/sad and bitter/sweet, to relate this month. You may read about some of them yet. I think I also owe the Spice Girls at least one full blog posting, rather than merely some vague allusions in my previous entry. In addition, my take on Rudolph the Pink-Nosed, Tinsel-Donning, Personal Friend of Dorothy should see the light of day at some point, even if I retroactively date the post to December 25th, a belated Christmas present for you all. (You're so welcome! And it's just the right size!)

Thus, this blog entry = payback for all of you who think that I've abandoned Blogtucky to play online Scrabulous via Facebook. I have a little but not completely. So fear not--it's just that during the frenzied holiday season, it's easier for me to come up with single words like "qat," "taiga," "guano," and "orzo" over the course of several days than it is for me to pull together 500+ of them at one time, strung together with ornament hooks and popcorn garland into a reasonably coherent and desperately funny 'tis the season presentation. And perhaps after two years of blogging and more than 100 entries, I may just pull off that feat one of these days. Just don't expect it this go 'round.

Surely I have more going on than liveblogging the New Year, though, right? Well, maybe, maybe not. I have an invitation from my friend Fouchat to join him for a holiday outing or inning, depending on our mood, and there are always a few public celebrations I could glom onto, if need be. However, given previous New Year's (ref. giant wrench, giant acorn above), little sounds more appealing to me this year than staying home, fixing a nice dinner, and watching back-to-back episodes of season 1 of Kids in the Hall and SCTV Network 90, both of which I purchased this afternoon at a still have-a-happy-holidays-or-else-dammit! Monroeville Mall.

After a few turns around the living room with the Chicken Lady, Edith Prickley, and Lola Heatherton, I'd like to continue the good start to the year, perhaps with a little midnight yoga and meditation, which should go well as long as my neighbors bypass their usual clogging practice or riverdancing or high-impact aerobics with weights or whatever it is they do upstairs by night. Then I would sleep peacefully while a goodly portion of the rest of North America tries to get in one more sexually transmitted disease or naked, drunken photo shoot for their MySpace page before the year is over. Yes, I am middle-aged; hear me go gently into that good night.

Despite the cynicism and sarcasm (they are as natural to me as air and water, as Earth, Wind, & Fire, as Donny & Marie), I have had good New Year's Eves before. I remember one particularly lovely one spent with my parents and sister at the beach in North Carolina, watching fireworks explode over the Atlantic. I remember another spent with friends at Candlelight Coffee House in San Antonio, listening to a strong band, noshing on excellent food, laughing it up with (and, it must be said, at) friends, then toasting with champagne (or a reasonable facsimile thereof) at midnight.

But this New Year's Eve will be different, and I'm fine with that. For you see, if there has been one overriding theme for the year, it has been exhaustion. Exhaustion from work and from life, from death and grief and moves and fresh starts and trips and packing and unpacking and happiness and regrets and dreams of the future. I'm tired, folks, and I'm ready for some downtime, however minuscule between Christmas last week and the trek back to work this coming Wednesday.

Exhaustion has been part of the year's mood, but so has another feeling: Thankfulness. I haven't ever really said this, and now is as good a time as any, especially if I want to start off the New Year on the right karmic foot (no doubt bent behind my head in yet another failed yogic moment): Thank you for reading. Thank you for being my friends and my family, the two major groups in my life for whom I write and upon whom I rely, perhaps more than you'll ever know, which is unfortunate, because you really are very important to me. If I had another idea on how to spend New Year's Eve, it would be this: thanking each and everyone of you for your friendship, kindness, and love this past year with a hug and a wish that we all might move forward together in the next and the new.

So no big finish, funny or otherwise. That's it. A quiet New Year's Eve and a tender word.

Blogtucky will return in 2008, the gods willing, and I hope you'll be there right along with me.

Happy new year.