The second night of this horror fest of fake social orgasms kicks off this Saturday. This time no family are required, merely a group of friends hellbent on celebrating the fact that the Earth has rotated just one more time on its axis. Oh and that you have to write the date a different way when you wake up. Despite the apparent lack of value in New Year’s Evil a large number of people believe that there is some mystic specialness relating to it which only people who have visited Goa and have a beard can see. I have a message for those people. It’s bollocks.
By adding the words ‘it’s gonna be’ along with ‘wicked/great/awesome/the dog’s bollocks’ you as a reveller have already failed. Several centuries ago the fore mentioned expressions were identified by social anthropologists as the curse of the idiot. If you find yourself at a party this Saturday and are unfortunate enough to hear such expressions you must run very quickly and contact a real grown up, as the chance of having anything resembling fun or a good time with such morons is as likely as Fidel Castro revealing himself to be a woman.
Instead contend yourself with an altered reality for a moment. In days long gone people would sacrifice goats, virgins and encyclopedia salesmen to mark the passing of the days. Our generation have developed New Year’s Eve as a means to sacrifice our livers. The only thing more pointless that a New Year’s Eve party is the lives of the people saying it’s wicked whilst they are at a New Year’s Eve party.
Prepare yourself now for midnight by singing the first line of a song and mumbling the rest. Start thinking of a things you could pretend you want to change or give up before giving up the giving up a fortnight from now. Hone your social skills by spending everyday between now and the party drunk, and walking up to strangers and telling them that you fucking love them and that you will definitely call them. Stock up on fireworks now, because if you don’t try to blow your fingers off when the bell strikes midnight your neighbors are going to be deeply disappointed. And last but not least, steel your stomach for the quaffing of cheap unpronounceable champagne by drinking a litre of vodka now and drinking your own piss at midnight.
Wherever you happen to be in the world, wherever you go for your New Year’s Evil party, bear this one thought in mind. All over the world there are billions of people having just as shit a time as you, and some of them might be people you hate. As the wise men say, every cloud has a silver lining. Until next time, I sincerely hope each and every one of you has a Crappy New Year!
Last week I was invited to a Thanksgiving Day celebration by an American friend. I had never ever experienced any form of celebration on Thanksgiving so I eagerly accepted the invitation and set my mind to work.
I am sure the vast majority of people reading this will find it incredibly difficult to believe that I was once described by a close friend as ‘having mastered the art of being irritating’. As an Englishman abroad it was a fantastic anthropological opportunity. The only drawback was that I had absolutely no idea what to wear.
After some careful consideration I decided that my attire should be suitably respectable for a day of such stern seriousness. My contemplations made several matters abundantly clear. First and foremost I realised that I knew absolutely bugger all about Thanksgiving Day. What I did know is this – it has something to do with Pilgrims or Penguins, and people watch American Football games. So I prepared my lungs to shout touchdown as often as possible and prepared myself to partake in lots of stimulating conversations about the possible extinction of the Galapagos Penguin.
Upon arrival at my friend’s home I realised that hosting a Thanksgiving party is actually a form of masochism on behalf of the host. The man has a number of tea towels attached to his personage as he rushes around trying to raise the guests cholesterol. It’s almost like the host gets bonus points if he can make some explode via a Turkey overdose. For a basic Thanksgiving party for a few friends, its apparent that you require enough food to feed Bangladesh for a fortnight.
Another valuable lesson I learnt that night, as I became more acquainted with an old friend from Tennessee was that Americans don’t actually give Swiss Francs to each other on Thanksgiving day, every time I offered them to guests they looked at me as if I was slightly crazy. Also, I was incredibly disappointed having spent half the day before researching penguins to find that there wasn’t a single person interested in discussing their imminent demise. In fact the only penguins people were genuinely interested in talking about was the Pittsburgheon, a breed which I never even came across during my research.
In my opinion if Thanksgiving Day is to survive and perhaps even cross over into different cultures it needs to adapt to an international audience. Which means the food and alcohol should stay, but perhaps the manner and the reasoning for the celebration should change, after all there is no point having a day which no one understands. Instead it’s title should change every year, as should the rules, that way Thanksgiving Day will only be celebrated by the most devoted followers. Therefore next year rather than giving people Thanks, I shall be giving people DVD’s such as Forrest Gump, Saving Private Ryan and Big. I am certain that TomHanksgiving day will be an even bigger hit.