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.

A glimmer of it

I was a little worried this morning. I was feeling something I hadn't felt in a very long time. Since November 9, 2016 to be exact. At first I thought it might be gas, but that wasn't it. I had my flu shot, so I wasn't coming down with anything.

Then it dawned on me. It was hope.

It crept up on me right after I grabbed the clicker (you heard me) and turned on the TV. On every channel I turned to was the familiar Breaking News banner emblazoned across the screen. Only instead of being the end of a high-speed chase (I wish) or another show biz name being outed for sexual misconduct (Louis C.K., Matt Lauer and Brett Ratner walk into a bar...), it was a ray—well, alright, a glimmer, but still—of hope in the form of Michael Flynn pleading guilty to lying to the FBI.

I haven't cheered out loud for anything like that since Springsteen extended his Broadway show until June.

Of course, Flynn is the disgraced former National Security Advisor in the Trump administration (I just threw up a little writing that) who was fired after just 24 days on the job. Before that, he'd been an integral part of the vile, vulgar, racist, misogynist Trump campaign. In on every meeting and decision at the highest levels, he knows where the bodies are buried.

And he has no intention of letting his become one of them.

So, rather than roll the dice on getting charged with treason for being a spy and agent of the Turkish government, Flynn struck a plea deal with Mueller to the lesser charge of lying.

Wondering about that singing you hear? That's Flynn ratting out everyone from Kushner to Priebus to Bannon to Pence to Miller to Trump to Trump and to the other Trump.

Hope. It's a beautiful thing. Even in small doses.

As we head into the weekend, I can only wish each and every one of those traitorous dipshits is charged, then forcibly removed from the people's house. In orange jumpsuits. Leg irons. And handcuffs.

If Trump really wants to draw a big crowd, that's how he'll get one.

And all the simpering, sniveling, ass-kissing Republican cowards who were supporting him until they got their tax reform that favors millionaires and billionaires at the expense of the middle class—seriously, a deduction for private jets?—your day of reckoning isn't far behind.

Can you say midterms?

The glimmer of hope I have today is we'll be able to get back to and rebuild our democracy while there's still a shred of it left. That we can regain our standing in the world as a beacon of freedom, a nation of laws and eventually elect a leader with character, a firm moral compass, a compassionate sense of decency. Someone who will serve as an accurate and proud representation of all we truly are, and aspire to be.

I also hope he doesn't get us all killed before it happens.