New Year's Eve and keeping hope alive

New Year’s Eve promises so much—a fresh start, a blank slate, a chance to look at the tangled mess of our lives and say, “This year, I’ll get it together. No, really.”

But before we pop the champagne and make resolutions we have no intention of keeping, let’s pause a moment to honor the often unappreciated beauty of a quiet New Year’s Eve, where glitter and champagne are optional.

We’ve all been there. Midnight strikes, and suddenly, you’re promising to quit carbs, learn French and train for a marathon. It feels exhilarating in the moment, but then reality smacks you in the face and calls you Sally. And through your champagne haze you remember croissants are delicious, French is exhausting, and running hurts.

But this annual exercise of overpromise is actually an act of hope. A reminder we can still believe in the power of change.

Maybe it’s naive. Maybe it’s human. Maybe it’s the champagne talking.

As in years past, the wife and I will definitely not be spending New Year’s Eve out on the town. We’ll have an early-ish dinner at a restaurant we love in Newport Beach, and be back home with plenty of time to spare before the ball drops. Because for us, the true magic of NYE is staying in and not participating in the demolition derby that happens on the roads one minute after midnight.

Also, neither of us look good in gold party hats.

While we try to remain optimistic, sadly we face challenges guaranteed to wreak havoc in the coming year. Cadet Bone Spurs incoming administration—back for a sequel no one wanted but we’re all forced to watch—feels like a cruel cosmic joke.

But New Year’s isn’t just about personal resolutions. It’s about collective resolve. Whether you’re marching, organizing, donating, or simply staying informed, every action matters. Progress is messy, slow, and sometimes heartbreakingly incomplete. But always worth fighting for.

So let’s take the spirit of New Year’s Eve—the hope, defiance and determination to do better—and channel it into something bigger than ourselves.

Because while resolutions come and go, resistance is evergreen.

Here’s to a New Year filled with small victories, big dreams, and the strength to face whatever comes our way.

Happy New Year.

The party line

Years ago, I worked for Wells Rich Greene, one of many New York ad agencies that had decided to open a west coast outpost in Century City. It was my second job in advertising, and it was exciting. The people were smart, funny and creative. I couldn't wait to get to work every day and spend time with them.

You know, just like now.

Anyway, there was this rather dapper and flamboyant account guy named Tom Baker, and he invited a lot of people from the agency, including me, to a birthday party he was throwing himself at his house in Santa Monica Canyon.

It was a spectacular house. Literally on the side of the mountain, you had to walk a staircase halfway down the hill to get to it. Not the famous Santa Monica staircase off 4th Street where all the joggers exercise, piss off the neighborhood and congest traffic. The other one.

Here's what I remember. It was a great party. The champagne was flowing, and I had more than my fair share. A lot more. Up until that party, I'd only had a sip of champagne here and there at a wedding or anniversary party. But it tasted like soda - really good soda - and they were pouring it like bottomless drinks at Islands, so I couldn't see any reason to stop.

The other thing you should know is I didn't have time for lunch and hadn't had a lot to eat that day. I think you see where this is going.

It didn't take long for all my champagne dreams to catch up with me. I stumbled my way outside to the stairs, and just plopped down on one of them. I was sweating, holding my stomach, rocking back and forth, groaning and grunting like Monica Seles on center court (look it up). The mountain was spinning around me, and I believe if the good Lord had chosen that moment to take me I would've been nothing but grateful.

I've never been that drunk before or since.

Ann Siegel, a girl I'd been talking to at the party who also worked at the agency, had wondered where I'd gone and came outside to find me. She immediately saw the shape I was in, put her arms around me, held me as I rocked back and forth and told me over and over it was all going to be okay.

I have no idea how long we were like that, but I do remember at one point I broke from her grip, leaned over the side of the steps and projectile tossed what seemed like bottles of champagne on the side of the hill. Ann asked if I was okay, and I remember babbling on just thanking her over and over for sitting and staying with me.

To which she said, "That's okay. Just don't kiss me."

The next day, I asked her to a movie, and we wound up going out for a year. Whole other post.

Here's what I don't remember: Saying goodbye to anyone, walking back up the stairs to my car and driving home to my apartment in Brentwood.

My memory picks up again at climbing the stairs (again with the stairs) to my second floor apartment, and pounding on the door.

My roommate Ned opened the door, and when I saw him I said, "I'm really drunk." Although he didn't have to be Columbo (look it up) to notice the fine perfume of alcohol, sweat and vomit emanating from me.

He helped me stagger to my bedroom where I collapsed on my bed. The room was spinning faster than Karl Rove on election night. Ned brought me a damp washcloth I put on my head, then standing over me, arms crossed, he took a beat and said the line I'll never forget.

"So, is this what all the girls find so attractive?"