New Years - 1977

20 years ago, I asked a woman at an office Christmas party what 'type' of man she liked. I was new and she was in her mid 40s, single and manager of a division I worked with. She said, "I like any man who likes me."

33 years ago I threw a kit bag of clothes in a white '68 Dodge Charger and headed north on I-95 from Ft Bragg for a rendezvous in Reading, PA with a girl who 'liked' me. She was a singer with dreams of opera. Her brother, a voice and piano teacher, performed with the NY Met.

We shared New Year's Eve together in a tub drinking Cook's champagne out of plastic coupes. The next night her brother drove us around Manhattan as we lay in the back of his hatch back and looked up into apartment windows. We held hands and talked of living in the city. She would sing at the Met and I would...I would do whatever the world wanted me to do.

I liked any job that liked me.

I was asked how I celebrate the 31st. I don't like crowds. FPE's (Free Public Events) and rows of porta-toilets are the stuff of my nightmares. My plan with the Golf Foxtrot this year is take out Chinese, the last bottle of Billecart and a fire while we watch Casablanca. I don't expect either of us to make it past 11. But I'm in that apartment I dreamed of 33 years ago. I'll leave a window open so I can hear you drive by.