-One of the consequences of turning thirty is that the drunken holidays I used to adore I now dread with a passion. On Halloween this year, my costume-clad buddies and I stood around at a party thinking to ourselves, “Are we really doing this right now? Really?” A few weeks later, I bypassed Thanksgiving Eve altogether, opting instead to experience a Thanksgiving dinner where I’m not so hungover that cranberry sauce reminds me of vodka cranberry and makes me puke. But New Year’s Eve, the granddaddy of them all, is quickly approaching, and the hype is unavoidable. As the ‘00s come to a close, I’d like to take a painful look back at my New Year’s experiences. This is my Decade in Review.

-To ring in the year 2000, my buddies and I took a road trip to Montreal. We were only twenty, but the drinking age in Quebec is eighteen. Sure it snowed like a bastard and the French-Canadian chicks didn’t particularly care for us, but once I had my first legal sip from an overpriced, watered-down New Year’s Eve open bar, I knew it would be the best millennium ever.

-In 2001, I spent December 30th in the hospital with appendicitis. The surgeon advised me to take it easy, so instead of going to a frenetic Manhattan nightclub on New Year’s Eve, I went to a raging house party instead. I didn’t drink, but my fresh scar and prescription painkillers made me the most popular guy there.

-I spent New Year’s Eve 2002 in the bathroom of the MGM Grand in Las Vegas puking my guts out while my roommate Brian held my hair back. I don’t even have long hair; that’s just how much I was puking.

-On New Year’s Eve 2005, I was in Bondi Beach, Australia. Those who’ve been to Bondi know it’s the most laid-back place on earth. At midnight, revelers converge on the beach, and between the jet-black sky and peaceful tide, it’s quite the amazing sight. I barely noticed, however, as I was more concerned with not dropping my camera in the ocean.

-2006 was the first New Year’s I spent in LA. I went to a club on the Sunset Strip in Hollywood. If you’re not familiar with Los Angeles, close your eyes and think about spending a lot of money to go to a mediocre bar in the worst part of your city. It was even more terrible than that.

-In 2007, one of my buddies got married on December 30th. It was interesting to juxtapose the wedding with New Year’s Eve the following evening. On New Year’s Eve, your buddy leaves with a chick and you don’t see him for the rest of the night. At a wedding, your buddy leaves with a chick and you don’t see him for the rest of your life.

-As I detailed in Ruminations #143, on December 31st last year I found myself alone and sprinting through a forest on the outskirts of Punta del Este, Uruguay. I eventually stumbled upon an outdoor rock concert, reunited with my scattered friends, and had probably my best New Year’s ever. It just goes to show that you don’t need to go to some silly club to have a great New Year’s. You just have to fly to South America and risk Uruguayan prison by sneaking into a concert. Nine years after Montreal, my surroundings in Punta del Este could not have been more different. The drinks, on the other hand? Still overpriced and watered down. Some things on New Year’s Eve never change.

-As always, here are some random things I’ve been ruminating about lately…

-Nothing can possibly fit in the model they use to demonstrate what can fit in the overhead compartment of an airplane.

-I had another only-in-LA moment last week when I ordered pizza from a new place. When he arrived, I asked the delivery guy how the food was. He said, “I don’t know; I’m vegan.”

-One of these days I’m just going to arbitrarily deduct a “fuel surcharge” from a bill payment and see how much these companies like it.

-I spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about how easy identity theft must have been in the 1800s.

-Thanks for taking the time to reply to each of my points and highlighting your text in red, but I’m reading this email on my BlackBerry, thus rendering your efforts useless.

-I just absent-mindedly used bottled water to make tea. Apparently, I’m a diva now.

-It’s horrifying to discover spots in your apartment that have never, ever been cleaned. I’m pretty sure the top of my refrigerator is a biohazard.

-What’s worse? The fact that my buddy in med school just called me bragging because he hooked up with an undergrad and woke up in a sorority house? Or the fact that my first question was, “Which house?”

-I think it’s safe to take the fax number off your email signature.

-Two weeks ago, I was so hungover on a JFK – LAX flight that I actually had to use one of those air sickness bags. I used it to roll into a little ball and squeeze the shit out of while I violently puked in the toilet.

-And, finally, this year I’ve decided to take a different tack on New Year’s by making no plans whatsoever. No exotic trips to Australia or Uruguay, no $200 open bar tickets to a club. I’m staying in LA and am going to wait until the least offensive option presents itself, then make a decision at the last possible moment. A part of me is actually envious of my parents, who spend every New Year’s Eve happily playing Trivial Pursuit with their neighbors and are in bed fifteen minutes after midnight. I mean, haven’t I puked enough in the past ten years? So, in the end, I guess this decade has truly come full circle. It began in snowy Quebec when I was too young to drink… and ends in sunny California when I’m old enough to know better. Fuck me.

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