We tried to go out last night–really we did. We’d heard good things about the Madagascar Institute’s parties, and we’d heard that the NYE one would be the last for a while. (This is the “D. & L.” we, not the royal we.) So we drove out there about 11:15, and found a fire truck and some police cars parked out front, and a sidewalk filled with desolate hipsters. We drove around briefly in search of something enticing-looking, dodging speeding vehicles with furious drivers trying to get somewhere before the stroke of midnight, gave up, came home and ate marzipan.
The parashah has now reached the Clash, appropriately enough. L.’s listening to London Calling in the other room, and I’m filing CDs and attempting to come up with New Year’s resolutions. Just cooked a giant vat of “Dancin’ John”–Crescent Dragonwagon’s veggie equivalent of Hoppin’ John. Pleasant and date-appropriate, if a little bland.