From the Crow’s Nest
by CLINT YOUNTS
I don’t know what day y’all are reading this here column, but it is just past sun-up here on January 1, 2011, and I’m sitting at my computer, sipping hot coffee, wondering how other folks celebrated New Year’s Eve last night. I reckon lots of you can’t recall much of that night due to too much cheap champagne on top of really cheap tequila. While I’m pecking away with my two fingers on this keyboard, waiting for my coffee and Advil to kick in, half of Hays County is still asleep while some folks are making resolutions to drink less tequila and champagne.
If you are wondering how I rang in the new year last night, thinking I was out partying all night, full off beer and mischief, I hate to disappoint you. After spending all day repairing an old screen porch, I took Maw out to dinner at a fancy restaurant and treated her to dessert. Luckily she had room on her tray for that slice of cake. After dinner, we drove back home and settled in front of the TV to watch “Friday Night Lights”, but were disappointed that it was bumped from the schedule for some stupid New Year’s Eve special concert. Luckily there was a college bowl game on; I think it was the Slim-Fast Bowl which selects two teams that had lost a lot of games during the regular season. The trophy goes to the team that loses this game, too.
I lost interest and consciousness around 7:45 and ended up in bed before 9 p.m. The hours of physical labor and a tray-full of vittles that I had put in during the day caught up with me, and I slept right through the annual dropping of the ball, although I did see a wide receiver drop one right before I slipped into my coma. I had originally planned on staying up and ringing in the New Year like I did back in the 90s, when I still had energy and good knees. Nowadays, if I can stay awake long enough to see the ten o’clock news, it’s a miracle. The last time I saw my clock strike midnight was on my trip back to bed after relieving myself of the beer I drank while watching “Monday Night Football.” The only time I even drink after midnight is when I have a slug of Mylanta after the chile relleno I ate for supper has caught fire in my gut.
You know, having to wait till midnight to celebrate the New Year is discriminating toward the older generation. It’s geared to the younger folks who get up after dawn and can stay up long after dusk. New Year’s Eve celebrations aren’t for the folks who wake up before sunrise, work hard all day, and then have to pretend they are still young enough to go out to late-night parties. No sir, it’s just not fair to us old coots, and I’m not going to take it any longer. Starting on December 31, 2011, I propose that all citizens over 49 years of age can legally celebrate New Year’s Eve at twelve noon instead of twelve midnight. That way, we of silver hair and creaky joints can celebrate like we did back when our spines were straight and brains were mold free.
By ringing in the New Year at noon, we can put in a good half-day work and still have the energy to party hearty into the wee hours of the afternoon. No need to drink a pot of coffee after supper to keep us awake till midnight; by noon, we still have caffeine left over from the morning brew. Celebrating New Year’s Eve at noon will allow us older guys with deteriorating eyesight to get to and from Party Central in the daylight. No more driving in the dark, straining to see deer and drunks crossing the road. Partying in the light of day will keep an inebriated husband from having to persuade his angry spouse that it was dark out on that patio and he thought he was kissing his wife.
New Year’s Eve parties held in the afternoon would be more fun. Instead of sipping nasty champagne, you can have a delicious frozen margarita. In place of a tray of hors d’oeuvres (thank goodness for Spell Check), we’d have a pile of brisket and sausage. No need to get all dressed up for our New Year’s Eve party. Since it only gets cold here after dark, you can wear jeans and your Hawaiian shirt that won’t show the mustard stain from your last hotdog.
Instead of playing “Auld Lang Syne” at midnight, we’ll have “It’s Five O’clock Somewhere” on the jukebox. No more long waits at the restroom door, hoping your bladder isn’t as weak as your arthritic knee. In the daylight, you can go out behind a tree without worrying about tripping over an armadillo. As for watching fireworks, we can go out back and blow up Aunt Beulah’s fruitcake with an M-80, although her latest cake might take two or three firecrackers.
The best part of celebrating New Year’s Eve at noon is after a couple of hours of ingesting barbecue and beer, I can take a nap in the hammock and be rested up to stay awake during the 10 o’clock news. Heck, I might even have the stamina to see the ball in Time’s Square drop at midnight, EST. So next year, if you are interested in attending a New Year’s Eve party for old coots, give me a call. I’ll throw another link on the grill and have my famous Geritol punch chilling on ice. We’ll show those youngsters how to party in style.
Clint Younts used to party hardy, but now he goes to sleep early and works at a veterinary clinic, all the while running cattle on his property.
