Happy New Year. Yeah, Whatever.

I'm not exactly what you'd call a partier. I was perfectly happy getting home last night a little after 9pm. The train, which is usually nearly empty, had almost every seat filled with people dressed up fancily, complete with too much cologne. The homeless people who "live" half a block from me were replaced with a couple wearing lit-up dragonflies. The bodies of the dragonflies were red and the wings manically flashed blue.

The view of the Bay and the Bay Bridge from my apartment are pretty spectacular. The street in front of my apartment was filled with cars and limos. At midnight all those cars were blowing their horns. People had gotten out of their cars and stood on the roofs screaming. People were standing in the middle of the street, a busy street in a major city, to watch the fireworks. It blew my mind that it was okay to do that. And it really was. People just walked around in the street, taking pictures and running around. For a solid half hour, all the traffic was at a dead stop with everyone watching the firework display. People on the street were yelling up to the people in my building who were out on their balconies.

As exciting as it was for me to watch the celebration from the distance of my bedroom window, I couldn't really understand it. As fun as it was to see people happy and celebrating, I was happy to be far enough from it to be uninvolved. I sort of understand why it all seems like fun for the other people, but it's not something that seems like fun for me. It's as if traditional fun isn't fun for me. So, happy new year. Or, whatever.