As a kid, New Year’s Eve fascinated me. It was a night when grown-ups dressed up, drank fancy cocktails and danced across ballroom floors. Granted, my parents only went out a time or two, but I had seen the movies. Most adults had the times of their lives and I couldn’t wait to join them.
Once I hit drinking age, I spent several New Year’s Eves at college bars or block parties trying to join the excitement. I rarely found any. Most the celebrations were overcrowded nightmares of sweaty throngs and queasy drinkers. Hardly the tuxedo-clad soirees I had imagined as a lad.
Eventually I figured out why I didn’t care for New Year's celebrations: They are filled with people who say "WOOO!" I don't like being in places where people say "WOOO!" The revelers aren’t actually having fun, but trying to convince everyone around them that they’re having fun.
Like a weekend in Las Vegas, most NYE revelers are trying to force themselves to have a good time and failing. And what are we even celebrating? An arbitrary hour on an arbitrary calendar first accepted in the U.S. in 1752. There aren’t even any presents.
Tonight I’ll enjoy another quiet evening in, playing board games with the family and watching queasy drinkers shout “WOOO!” on the TV. I’m confident that many readers will roll their eyes at grumpy introverts like me and enjoy far more exciting celebrations. What do you think: Is New Year’s Eve overrated or do you have an evening planned that will change my mind?
New Year's image via Shutterstock.
Two days ago, the left was apoplectic over Megyn Kelly’s scurrilous allegation that Santa Claus is white. (A white Santa?! What a crazy woman!) Not since George Wallace stood in the schoolhouse door has our nation suffered such an assault on racial harmony.
Yesterday, the pretty blonde elf ethnologist was relieved to learn that the offense furies had found a new mortal to torment. In an interview with GQ (that’s still around?), "Duck Dynasty" patriarch Phil Robertson revealed the shocking secret that he’s an old-school, Bible-believing Christian. Maybe Esquire will report that he has a beard and likes hunting.
With a week to go before the big day, I’ve need to get something off my chest: If I hear Paul McCartney’s “Wonderful Christmastime” again I’m going to convert to Norse paganism, grab a battle-ax and lay waste to the local all-holiday radio station.
The choir of children sing their song!
Ding dong! Ding dong!
Ding dong! ding Ahhhhhhh…
"SECURITY! A Viking just killed the board op!
Save us from the wrath of the Northmen!"
The ex-Beatle abomination is number one on my list and I can’t even bear to embed the video. But there are other horrifying songs that litter airwaves, malls and waiting rooms in an effort to ruin this time of year.
For years, conservatives have warned of voter fraud and pushed for stricter voter identification laws. Democrats hate these efforts because cheaters, convicted felons, and the deceased tend to support liberal candidates.
Instead of admitting their Dig Up The Vote strategy, the Democratic Party offers a nuanced argument against voter ID advocates: “YOU'RE RACIST!!!” It’s time to turn the tables.
The GOP should introduce the Nelson Mandela Voter Protection Act.
As you can see in the photo, the lionized founder of modern South Africa is a big fan of voter identification. Strict ID requirements are the law of the land, helping to minimize voter fraud from Cape Town to Pretoria. Mandela understood that this simple law ensures that every voter of every race can make their voice heard on election day:
We all know the pre-flight drill: Place your tray table in the upright and locked position. Make sure your seat belt is fastened. All electronic devices must be turned off.
(For me they add, “for the last time sir, put away the bottle of Maker’s Mark.” Between swigs, I reply, “can’t you see I’m trying to put it away?!”)
At last, the FCC is considering getting rid of the cellphone ban since there is no evidence that their use causes any safety issues. Seeing the nanny state rolled back even a little is a welcome sight, albeit a shocking one.
Unfortunately, the party that is supposed to stand for liberty and personal responsibility is standing in the way:
Like many 11-year-old girls, Madison Root has braces. Wanting to help her parents’ pay the orthodontist, Madison decided to sell little pieces of mistletoe she clipped off bushes at her uncle’s farm.
Last Saturday morning she stood at the well-trafficked Portland Saturday Market and sold the holiday favorite, each hand-wrapped and tied with a red bow. That’s when security personnel arrived.
A private security guard told Madison that her entrepreneurial initiative was a crime. The market is held in a public park and Portland city ordinance bans little girls from selling mistletoe without proper approval from city bureaucrats.
Little Madison committed the shocking crime of practicing capitalism without a license.