Gravity Works!

And despite its commonplace nature, we rely on it to advance time.

Has anyone ever taken the time question some of the traditions that people honor as December 31st draws to a close? If an alien came to our planet on the last day of the year and used its visit has a culture study of Americans, would he become so confused that he crashes his ship into the Brooklyn Bridge? Would the people who are stuck in traffic on the Brooklyn Bridge get out of their cars to help wayward alien, only to confuse him further with their kind-hearted, charitable acts, despite being what the alien reads in the tabloids as "mean-spirited New Yorkers?" Does Condon have any idea how to effectively insert rhetorical questions into his blogs?

Um...

Well, since there aren't any aliens spending the New Year here at the Random of Run with me (just a Nordberg, and he'd just phone it in anyway), I guess it's up to me to ask the tough questions, get the tough answers, and do it before Dick Clark pro tempore gets down to 0.

Speaking of the countdown, it's not a bad place to start. Counting down can be scary. When the numbers increase, one can always have hope. Hope that the counting won't end, because there's one more place you can go. That's the nice thing about an infinite number system. It was designed by optimists, for optimists. Even if the counting tradition was finite, then at least the value of the counting increases in a direct correlation with the counter's anticipation and excitement. But no, not us. We countdown to inevitability. We start the year with a big, fat zero. Way to look on the bright side Earth. Other planets detonate explosives at zero. Do you want our alien friend to get any birght ideas?

Who's up for a rewrite? When that depressing goose egg hits our collective lips, someone (I don't know who, but someone) strikes up the band for the annual rousing rendition of Auld Lang Syne. I'm so glad in 229 years of American culture no one bothered to write a decent lyric to ring in the new year. Don't get me wrong; I like Auld Lang Syne as a song. The melody is catching, and has the perfect feel for crowd-sqaying revelry. But the title is a loosely translated Scottish phrase, literally "Old Long Since," and this makes as much sense as ABC letting Ashlee Simpson host their West Coast coverage. This may become a New Year's resolution for me: write the next bg New Year's anthem. Coming to a blog near you: December 30, 2005.

And finally, we've got to drop that ball. It's a giant mass of lights, electric current, and danger, and it sits atop the pole on top of the Cup Noodles in Times Square, NYC. We have cleverly designed its trajectory to coincide with the aforementioned countdown of doom. Does the ball rise into the sky in order to signal the emergence of a new calendar year? Nay, it plummets to the Earth in a swirl of light bulbs and confetti. Long story short, we dropped something and millions celebrate.

Do you have any idea how many things I accidentally lose grasp on and drop in a calendar year? Imagine if I had to celebrate each and every occasion my keys hit the pavement or my water bottle hits my desk? I'd have to consume enough bubbly to single-handedly keep the French economy afloat. And this is just something I am not willing to do. Sorry, Depardieu.

Happy New Year!