A quiet new year's -- which is generally my preference. Perhaps my favorite memory if the eve is listening to the radio in my UWS apartment with some aquavit and the window open to listen for the distant explosions. Or in the apartment overlooking Cluj, Romania, watching the immense display over the city severally launched from each neighborhood or backyard, with the immense Hungarian church lit at the base of the hill.
Was going to walk through the park, but there was fencing, and closed off areas. And the traditionally free concert at the immense Episcopal cathedral north of the park is apparently no longer free. So I bought a pocketful of discounted Christmas chocs, and walked down along the river and out onto the piers. Passed 42nd Street just at midnight, and saw the fireworks in the distance "(it's a surprisingly wide island). Interestingly, just after midnight, it appears there's a custom for all manner of large boats, but especially harbor cruise boats, to circle the island, against the clock. Counted at least a dozen from the piers in Chelsea, before the parade stopped in front of the large sports complex so a few boats could blast out the "macarena." Then down into the WV, with the partying NYU kids and FiDi workers -- their cast of mind is utterly alien to me. It's bit like a party in the hills at my undergrad, making my way through all of the stoned folks with a humble Milwaukees Best in my hand. Children of the new world. Lo, the poor Indian.
The present equivalent of Nietzsche's horse might be watching some young Muslim guy in a Santa getup pedaling a cab brightly lit for Instagram and blasting a Christmas carol, madly circling the lane at the stoplight, so the customer doesn't stop the $10/minute meter, as I watch from the marihuana-scented curb.
The deal seems to be that so long as industrial prosperity makes it possible to pretend that things are as they appear to be, it's a fatal solecism to think or speak otherwise. This is the vibe of both the WV crowd and the greedy midtown tourists.
As for me, I will continue to understand how things are, and how they hang together. Even if it means waking up on a parkbench in a blizzard from time to time. The way is steep, but the mountain is real. (Pining a bit for the Bulgarian mountain stay of a month or so ago.)
Given under my hand, on the turning of the year of our Lord 2026, and of the Republic, the 250th.