The party was packed from the driveway to the stairs, where the clarion sign hung with more promise than the prospect of a New Year: “Beer.” Where were you ten years ago, arose the question, when the world was worried about Y2K?
At home, watching TV.
Smashing Neil Diamond records against the wall and lighting off illegal fireworks inside.
I was in middle school ten years ago.
Running around a campsite naked.
The last day of the decade and I went to the dump, digging through the detritus of the aughts. Cashed in a gift card at the stupidest restaurant in Petaluma. Picked up and began acclimating to my first-ever pair of eyeglasses. Hung out with Matthew & Kerri and their new baby boy, Cassius.
And then the party—StarSkate in a ridiculously small living room where the ghosts of Lindauer and Courage sleep. Shadows jumping around the ceiling in rhythm. Oneness. Outside, Nick with scarf, Dean with owl, Susie with Maryland, Celeste with the story of Rod, the tree-feller. Flasks, cups, hearts. A night to love Santa Rosa.
Back by midnight to kiss my girl. Rihanna looking ridiculous on TV. Dick Clark aging out, a sad tinge. Up until 3:30 reading about 1989. Twenty years ago burned into my consciousness. The golden years? I slept like a log.
First record of 2010: The Fastbacks, Very, Very Powerful Motor. Off to loan an amp to Guy and see what the new year brings. Glasses are weird. I’m still not used to them.