New Years, 2016

I don’t understand why people celebrate New Year’s, or for that matter, I don’t exactly understand party culture as a whole. Everything else in your life can be shit, but you have the freedom to bust moves on the dance floor like it’s nobody’s business, and get freaky any way you like, but if capitalism gave you such stress to begin with and then offers you another opportunity to blow your stress away with another product, and if you’re only going to do it again next week, what’s the point?

I’ve been an Uber Black Car driver for about a month now, and driving around on New Years it doesn’t look like a lot of people are happy. I was driving these college kids around and one girl said to me that she wouldn’t be surprised if there was a terror attack that night at the club she was going to. Well one, why are you even going? But two, what kind of happiness is that? What kind of partying exists at the same time as the fear of terror attacks? And this brings up another question: what do people have to celebrate exactly?

I’m not saying that there’s no reason to celebrate at all. Maybe you improved yourself/burned your copy of The Secret and picked up Existentialism for Dummies, then good for you. Or if you had a really big obstacle in your way and now it’s not there any more, celebrate. It’s celebrating about something. But I don’t think that’s what mainstream partying is about. It’s celebrating without an object worth celebrating. And you can tell just by being there. A lot of these parties don’t really seem like a relief. No, these parties usually end in frustration, couples and friends fighting with each other, and vomit.

Another customer was telling me that New Year’s is like a reset button, and I think that’s correct. You start the year off optimistically, you set goals for yourself, and the multitudes of corporations will want a piece of you, and it can get very frustrating to keep your head above water. But hey, here’s New Year’s, let’s see how things will be better next year.

But these are the thoughts of someone who’s only stepped into a club less than 5 times in his life. So, food for thought.


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