It’s the biggest, worldwide party every year and you’re invited. You may call it New Year’s Eve, but let’s face it, it’s my birthday and that’s why you’re celebrating.
When you think about it, calendars are pretty arbitrary. Why is January the first month of the year? The old Roman Julian calendar put New Year’s day on March 1st. Think about the names of our current months. October? “Octo-” Latin for eight. Which made October the eighth month of the Roman year, not the tenth. Same goes for December. “Deca-” Latin for ten. December was the Roman’s tenth month not the twelfth. Somewhere along the way, we switched them all around to the current Gregorian system.
A calendar is no easy thing to change. The French tried to use a metric calendar (along with a metric clock) after their revolution in 1793. It failed miserably and was abolished in 1806. Nevertheless, there are dozens of different civil and religious calendars in use today.
Personally, I like the proposed calendar that has 13 equal, 28-day months. Every month starts on a Sunday, so every day falls on the same date. Plus you get a couple of extra leap days or “party days” each year. Plus, New Years Day would fall on the Vernal Equinox. That makes more sense than some arbitrary day in January. Squeezing lunar-based months into a solar-based year has its problems.
As we move out among the stars and settle other worlds, our Earth-centric calendars will have no relevance to the stellar pioneers. I wonder when New Year’s Day 2107 will be for the colony on the second planet from Epsilon Eridani. (If you leave a comment about Star Trek because of that last sentence, it’s a foregone conclusion you have no date for New Year’s Eve and are probably living in your parents basement.)
But enough about calendars. This is about me and my birthday. Here’s the part where I slip in the PSA and encourage you to drink responsibly, but you know what? I don’t care. Drink until you puke on your date’s shoes and pass out. As long as you don’t drive, I don’t care. If you wake up in a strange mobile home, married to some hairy dude name Rufus, that’s your problem not mine.
Since you probably won’t be the one who gets my special, midnight New Year’s kiss, I’ll leave it to your imagination to dream of me while you’re kissing the one closest to you.
Tell me how you’re going to celebrate my birthday. Gifts are completely optional.