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Another new year’s is come and gone — for those who remember it

Seen late last Monday night during the holiday, all within a few minutes of getting downtown: Women in very short black dresses and no coats and at least one guy sporting a short-sleeve polo shirt, despite sub-zero temperatures; A woman eating popcorn in an accidentally sexy and open mouthed way; actual stolen coats and accusations of other stolen coats; guys holding each other up to keep from falling, with arms wrapped around one another as they skipped merrily along; a busy bartender saying she needed to make time to pee (good luck with that); a tiny T-shirt that had been used to wipe up some spilled beer, then was left laying on the floor; a woman who was asked to push onward through the crowd, despite having big “2013” glasses obstructing her view; an idiot guy I did not know, who was wearing even bigger glasses, asking me to stop following him (I have no idea what that was about, and he’s telling me I’M the creepy one?); much more blocking of doorways than you normally see by people who come out once a year and don’t know how to party in a respectable way; and finally, little girls who push through such clogged areas with the strength of an Adrian Peterson, simply because they’re hot and they can get away with it.
Welcome to yet another New Year’s Eve.
There were some astute things going on, however. For example the all-night chess session at Dibbo’s (how many games can you squeeze in by about 5 a.m.?) and the debate in the back room in the wee hours over which “Phantom of the Opera” was best done.
And some interesting conversation: After having spent $5 on a cover charge _- in the Twin Cities of course, not here — a friend of mine said there are two possible but opposite ways to be a fiscally responsible drinker, (1) don’t buy anything additional that’s more than you have to, and (2) buy a whole bunch of drinks to get you money’s worth. Once hearing that gem, I felt I had to respond with something at least partially witty, if not my own intellectual property. I ventured onto the very crowded dance floor at Dick’s Bar and Grill and told my friend, “If you don’t see me by the time of the Packer-Viking game, call National Camera Exchange.”
After venturing through what seemed like miles of swaying arms and no cameras in sight, I encountered pizza king Rich, with plenty of hot dogs and hot sandwiches in sight. He was stationed in the back restaurant area, and since it was around 2 a.m., said there at this point were only two types of people left: Those who need to go home, or those who are too blitzed to get there. Rich, also a part-time standup comedian, agreed that now as the night waned, he could probably get away with using a pen to make two slashes and change the $3 charge into $8 for his best sandwich, and no one would know the difference.

 

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