Ten years ago on New Year’s Eve, I stood in a hotel room in the Mirage preparing for a night of Las Vegas revelry, a process that consisted for me at age 23 of putting on a flamboyant cream and gold Jordan Brand button-down and drinking Tanqueray out of a water glass. My friends and I had a hip-hop station on the clock radio, and right before we departed for the Strip, Eminem’s “Lose Yourself” came on. That was incredibly meaningful for me at that moment, because I felt I was on the verge of something I hadn’t quite figured out yet.
Back on July 4, I stood on a balcony in Union City and watched the fireworks over the Hudson with my friend Sam Reiss. I had gotten engaged to a wonderful girl four days ago, the possibilities seemed endless, and life was good.
Five months later, IÃ¢â‚¬â„¢m typing this while lying in bed with my fiancÃƒÂ©e, resting up before we ring in the New Year on our couch. On our bedroom television, the Real Housewives of Orange County are screeching at each other at decibel levels that could drown out a jet engine.
And I absolutely couldnÃ¢â‚¬â„¢t be happier.
Programming note: I realize there was no Ã¢â‚¬Å“The Afternoon AfterÃ¢â‚¬Â this week. The reason is simple: I didnÃ¢â‚¬â„¢t see any games except for some of the Thursday night Dolphins win over the Panthers, and even that was in a bar, so I didnÃ¢â‚¬â„¢t get as much out of it as usual. Especially considering the Patriots-Saints Monday Night game, thatÃ¢â‚¬â„¢ll be back in business this week.
Thanksgiving is not my favorite holiday, to say the least. IÃ¢â‚¬â„¢m not a big eater (though, you know, IÃ¢â‚¬â„¢ll have some turkey and stuffing) and donÃ¢â‚¬â„¢t generally prefer pies. I just donÃ¢â‚¬â„¢t even get it. The only thing we seem to be celebrating in earnest is gluttony; nobodyÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s sitting there with their gravy-soaked meat discussing the pilgrims or whatever.