A New Year

Before we left town for New Year's I wrote briefly about our record of fabulous New Year's festivities, reminiscing about fireworks in London, New York, Rochester, Montreal.

But this New Year's Eve was different. I learned a simple but important lesson: it's not necessarily your surroundings, but the company you keep.

We cruised down to the city on the morning of the 31st expecting an evening similar to the one we celebrated in 2006: a few random house parties where we reconnected with old RIT alums, cracked open PBRs on the subway, and watched fireworks across the city from a Brooklyn rooftop.

But you can't recreate nights like that. People grow, things change, friends and circumstances come and go.

The evening began at Randall's apartment, where we accomplished our main task of the trip: recording the Director's Commentary for John's film, EVERY GOOD THING to RUST, soon to be distributed via online DVD at IndiePix.net. I wasn't expecting to participate, but at the last minute John pulled up a chair for me, too, and Randall, Holland, John and I watched the entire film while cracking open beers and shootin' the shit. It was too much fun, and I suspect the Commentary might be more fun to watch than the film itself, given its seriousness.

But we were off to a good start, and the boys reported that there were oodles of parties to choose from. Bri - Holland's girl and my dear friend and former boss - knew of one in particular.

We parted ways with Randall, heading down to Park Slope to meet Bri for dinner. Despite the hugs and kisses, upon meeting up with her I could immediately tell something was wrong. She was tired, not planning on drinking (perhaps too much indulgence over the holidays) and appeared to have had a rough day at work. The two of them walked ahead of us and seemed to have their own issues to sort out. We went to a delicious dinner at Anthony's where I welcomed a plate of homemade Gnocchi to my gut, but even then conversation was slim. The two of them were quiet, and John - being his buzzed, jovial self - drove the chatter.

When we returned to Holland's apartment to meet up with the rest of the gang and get ready to go out, even there things seemed strange. Friends were standing around awkwardly, others were eager to leave, and most people were watching a rerun of Family Guy. It felt like a family reunion... everyone fond of memories past, but now standing side by side and wondering what to say to each other.

Half of the group went to one party, and three of us couples, including Holland and Bri, went to the party Bri had heard about - supposedly a house party with live bands. The group was quiet: our friends seemed to be in a funk, I was feeling weighed down and tired from the mountain of Italian food, and only John was still in good spirits... but soon his non-stop jokes and caffeinated chatter were grating on all of our nerves.

When we arrived at the party at 11:30pm to find a trashy houseful of strangers and loud, ear-searing noise-rock, we all gathered outside, defeated.

John tried to make everyone laugh, but no one would have it. We called Marianne, our friend who'd gone to the other party, and got directions. If we hurried we could make it before midnight.

So grumpily, we rushed back to the subway. One person in our group lost his ticket, so we missed the first train. Now it was 11:45. Only three stops, but each one seemed to be miles away. We deboarded and rushed down the street, now no one talking but each us checking our watches and phones to see the minutes tick by. Somewhere three blocks before we reached the party, we heard the sound: the faint pop and crack, followed by flashing light and more pops, cracks... it was 2008. The New Year had come, ready or not, as we power-walked down some side street in Brooklyn. Our friends barely flinched, but John - not to be brought down - scooped me up on a street corner for a smooch. And he continued down the street happily, proclaiming "Happy New Year!" to strangers we passed, all of whom returned the greeting with smiles.

I wish I'd realized it then, but there was still more to learn for me as my sour mood hadn't quite dissolved. We arrived at the doorstep of the party, fireworks still sounding around us, to find that the door buzzer was broken. Holland rang Marianne, but there was no answer: clearly, they were celebrating upstairs and couldn't hear the phone. We all stood on the doorstep, looking at each other, again defeated. Now what?

And suddenly it didn't matter. On a rooftop, in a subway, on a street corner... it was New Year's Eve. And we were all together.

"I'm opening a beer." Holland said decidedly.

And we pulled out the six-pack of Stellas we'd been carrying and distributed them, each taking a swig and marveling at the reflection of fireworks in the apartment windows around us. John bellowed, "MARIANNE!!!" up at the third floor apartment, and finally she realized we were outside.

And with that, the night changed for us. Our friends were waiting upstairs and this party was more our pace: intimate, chilled, with good music, food, and drinks. We stayed here for a few hours... catching up, dancing, no longer checking our watches. We left sometime around 2 or 3, and went to a bar in Brooklyn Heights before heading home, not ready for the night to end.

When we finally returned to Holland's apartment, and I curled up with a plate of leftovers and a Heineken in our friend's living room, the conversation now not dying until sometime around 6am... I realized it. It doesn't matter if you're drinking wine in a bathrobe overlooking the Montreal party district, or listening to bagpipes at a London pub, or toasting under the fireworks and stars. While all of that is lovely, what really matters is the people around you, the spirit inside you, and the faith that this year will be better than the last.