The Postal Service creed claims that “Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion or their appointed rounds.” They’ve got nothing on the Times Square revelers in New York City who greeted the dawn of 2018 at 10 degrees Fahrenheit in furry hats, facemasks and fifteen layers of clothing. It was the second-coldest New Year’s Eve celebration on record. “I can’t feel my feet!” was the universal complaint and many wondered if the giant Waterford Crystal ball might shiver and crack.
Nobody had the weather report when they bought plane tickets and reserved hotel rooms six months prior. Plans made and money spent, these people were making the trip. Charlie and Edwina Polk, from Des Moines, Iowa were thrilled with their decision. “We’re freezing our patooties off, but it’s a great experience,” Charlie exulted. “There’s nothing like it anywhere in the world! After the ball lands, we’re going to get drunk and have sex!” Hopefully, somewhere inside. The morning cleanup crew has enough trouble just clearing the noisemakers and confetti off the streets.
Every year, those of us who manage not to fall asleep before midnight watch the proceedings and wonder. When and how did all this business get started? Blame it on good old Adolph Ochs, the publisher of the New York Times in 1907. That was the year the junction around Broadway and 42nd street was rechristened Times Square after its famous tenant. Until then, Adolph had been merrily launching midnight fireworks from the roof of his newspaper building to the delight of a couple hundred thousand celebrants below. When we were kids, our mothers promised us it was perfectly safe to view the fireworks from down under, but it turns out our instincts were right all along. The hot ash that rained down on N.Y. citizens in previous years caused city officials to ban the pyrotechnics from ushering in 2018.
Ochs was not a man to be easily deterred. Without the spectacular fireworks display, he would need a glamorous new concept to lure crowds away from the celebratory ringing of the bells at Trinity Church in lower Manhattan. Adolph found his inspiration at the Western Union Building downtown, where a metal ball three-and-a-half feet in diameter dropped from the pinnacle of the building to signify the time every weekday at noon. Ochs’ original ball was made of wood and iron and illuminated with 100 light bulbs. As the crowds began to gather to count down the final seconds of 1907, workers used ropes and pulleys to slowly lower the 700-pound ball down a flagpole. A sphere on top of the Times Building would mark the time when it completed its descent. When the glistening ball finally reached the bottom of the pole, the number 1908 lit up on the skyscraper’s parapet and a new tradition was born. Adolph Ochs is no more, but 110 years later his brainchild lingers on.
Those crass imitators in Boise, Idaho have take to welcoming the new year by dropping a giant spud from the sky. This seems shamefully unoriginal but Boise will be Boise. In Brasstown, North Carolina, there is a possum drop and in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, a 200-lb. marshmallow Peep plunges Earthward. In Port Clinton, Ohio, assuming it really exists, rumors persist of the fall of Wylie the Walleye. Some people have no shame.
New Year’s hijinks in Ecuador. Quito the experience.
Baby, Let Me Light Your Fire
The American celebrations are tame stuff in Ecuador, where they dispatch “los anos viejos” (the old years) by constructing very large scarecrow-like dolls—often in the images of people they don’t particularly like—and setting them ablaze. The symbolic meaning is the forgetting of the bad happenings of the past year and the hope that the approaching annum will be better. To make the effigies, people stuff old clothes with sawdust or newspapers and add a face with a mask. Donald Trump is odds-on the dummy of 2017/18.
In Naples, Italy, they take “Out with the old!” seriously. To symbolize a new start, citizens toss everything from toasters to refrigerators off their balconies. Last year, a husband got dumped. In many Hispanic countries, your fortunes for the coming year might be decided by your underwear. Looking for love? Try red. White will bring you peace. Yellow is good for wealth and luck. Maroon is downright scary and don’t even ask about black. You might want to steer clear of the Takanakuy Festival in Peru, where people beat the living daylights out of one another just for the hell of it. The word “takanakuy” means “when the blood is boiling,” but the locals swear they pull their punches. Just in case anyone gets really testy, the police are employed to referee the bouts. Can we just go back to Wylie the Walleye?
Big doin’s in Babylonia. Dancing the Akitu Shuffle.
Resolved:
Every year in early January, regulars at local gyms and fitness centers wait patiently as crowds of strangers, true to their New Year’s Resolutions, fill up the treadmills, overrun the bicycles and monopolize the dumbbells. The old-timers know this is Workout Passover, the short period of time it takes for the new element to become discouraged, let their memberships lapse and turn in their spandex. It’s an annual phenomenon. But from whence? Whose idea was this, anyway? Is there a secret race of people somewhere who actually keep their New Year’s Resolutions?
First of all, blame it on the Babylonians. They started all this business 4000 years ago, give or take a decade. The Babylonians were also the first to hold recorded celebrations honoring the new year, though due to faulty calendars this began in March when the crops were planted, leading to the expression “March Madness.” During a massive 12-day religious festival called Akitu, the Babylonians crowned a new king or re-upped with the old one. They also made promises to the gods to pay their debts and return any objects they had borrowed. If they followed through with their promises, the gods would bestow favor upon them. If not, well, you don’t want to know. There’s nothing pissier than a disappointed Babylonian god. They’ve been known to stomp around for several hours, cursing and throwing dishes at the wall, after which they turn you into a camel. It’s a frightening situation and a great encouragement to keep one’s promises. Just ask Nabu the dromedary.
A similar practice occurred in ancient Rome, after the reformist emperor Julius Caesar messed with the calendar and established January 1 as the beginning of the new year around 46 B.C. Why January 1, his subjects asked him. “Bowl games,” said Caesar. The month was named for Janus, the two-faced god whose spirit inhabited doorways and arches, which had special significance to the Romans. Believing that Janus symbolically looked backward into the previous year and also ahead into the future, the Romans offered sacrifices to the deity and made promises of good conduct for the coming year. It was due to the overwhelming influence of Janus that he was allowed to steal an extra calendar day from Februarius, who was a punk.
For early Christians, the first day of the new year became the traditional occasion for thinking about one’s past mistakes and resolving to do better in the future. In 1740, the English clergyman John Wesley, created the Covenant Renewal Service, most commonly held on New Year’s Eve or New Year’s Day. These included readings from Scriptures and hymn singing and served as a spiritual alternative to the raucous celebrations normally held to acknowledge the coming of the new year. Despite the tradition’s religious roots, New Year’s Resolutions today are mostly a secular practice. Instead of making promises to scary gods who could punish you, most people make resolutions only to themselves. About 45% of Americans contend they make resolutions and only 8% claim they are successful. Those sorry statistics are not enough, of course, to keep us from trying. This year, for instance, I resolve to climb Mt. Everest, speak ill of no man and eat two maple-frosted doughnuts every Saturday morning. I have full confidence that I will be more than 8% successful.
Bath Safety: Your life depends on it.
The Glories Of January
Okay, you’re cold, we get it. January is not your favorite month. All it leads to is February, which at least has the decency to be short. In January, we have to chip ice off our car windows every morning, worry about errant icicles piercing our skulls, renew our frostbite insurance. And worse, we have to learn to stop writing “2017” at the top of our checks for the first two weeks. It’s a mess, so we just go back to bed, pull the covers over our heads and wait for March. This is a grave dereliction of duty. There are important things happening in January and not just those 750 football games. January, for instance, is National Bath Safety Month. What could be more important than bath safety? Sure, we know most of you are evading your bath responsibilities by resorting to those cursory showers, but you can’t hide forever. Soon enough, you’ll have one of those achy, creaky days where your bones are weary, your muscles whining and your joints on fire. The only answer is a spectacular elongated bath filled with Epsom Salts, surrounded by relaxing scented candles and spiffed up by the gentle power of the jets. You’ll be better in no time. Unless, of course, you foolishly neglect to practice bath safety.
Step Number One: Water Monitoring. There are some people, usually called men, who simply turn the hot water on until the tub is filled up to the desired level and then jump in. This is bad bath practice! If the offender has a decent hot water heater, the temperature of the bath will be somewhere around 300 kazillion degrees, enough to fry an oyster, and to drive any sane person screaming down the corridor. It is a certified fact, however, that many men regard Tub Abandonment as a breach of the macho tradition. They will sit in there until their fingertips begin to smoke and their eyeballs become glassy. This is the time when a good companion, practicing proper bath safety techniques, must promptly pull the plug and dump a pail of ice water over the head of the offender. On these occasions, it is acceptable to hurl usually inappropriate insults like, “ Boy howdy, Roy, if you had a brain you’d be dangerous!”
Step Number Two: Personal Health Care. Keep all sensitive body parts away from the snarly jets. Sometimes, we don’t get second chances.
Step Number Three: Exercise Caution While Dismounting. Ask any ER worker. The hospitals are full of people who didn’t escape from the tub. At least they don’t have to cut their clothes off. This is why wise bathers attach handles to their walls. A tight grip on the handles while disembarking prevents life-threatening falls, the breakage of flimsy hips and ass bones. Clever manufacturers of progressive bathroom materials are currently working on tub ejector seats which pop bathers out of the water, run them though a car-wash type blast-drier and dump them into tubside netting. All the better homes will have them.
Philly cheesecake & kazoo bands. One-stop shopping.
January also features several important days worthy of recognition. January 1st is National Hangover Day and all citizens are encouraged to participate. Logically, January 3rd is Festival of Sleep Day. When you wake up, try to remember it is also Fruitcake Toss Day. If you’re embarrassed by all this foolishness, you”ll be glad to know it is also Humiliation Day.
It’s National Spaghetti Day on January 4th and Bean Day on the 6th. January 8th is Bubble Bath Day (see above). On the 10th, we celebrate Houseplant Appreciation Day, so how about a little Debussy for your loyal greenery? The elevator/escalator fanciers abhor the 10th, which is also National Take The Stairs Day, an excellent opportunity to reconnect with all our homeless friends. The 11th is National Step In A Puddle And Splash Your Friends Day, which is not celebrated in Tucson and Phoenix. They tell us that the 13th is National Skeptics Day, but I doubt it. The dogs, cats and marmots will be hiding on the 14th, the better to evade Dress Up Your Pet Day.
January 16th is Appreciate A Dragon Day. And we’d be the first to throw a ticker-tape parade if we could just find a dragon to ride on the float. The 19th is National Tin Can Day, the only day of the year where it is against the law to smash an empty beer can on your forehead. The 20th is Penguin Awareness Day, so be careful at those penguin crossings in Duluth. And, as everyone certainly knows, January 23 is NATIONAL PIE DAY, when all residents over five years old are required to consume a pie of their choice within 24 hours, no excuses. Just to illustrate there is no favoritism rampant in the day-naming business, January 27th is Chocolate Cake Day.
Everybody’s favorite, National Kazoo Day arrives on the 28th, with giant Mummers Parades in Philadelphia. Bubble Wrap Appreciation Day is always the last Monday of January, this year the 29th, which is also Alice (the Republican’s) birthday. Alice would like a lot of presents this year, having made it to 75, so just send them here and we’ll forward them on. In return, Alice will send you an embossed, personally-signed thank-you card, a color photograph of her latest grandchild and a discount pass to the Richard Nixon Museum in Yorba Linda.
We can hardly wait for February.
That’s all, folks….
