Happy, um, whatever

Once upon a time I fully embraced the whole New Year's Eve thing.  As a kid it was a treat to be allowed to stay up and watch the lighted ball drop in Time's Square on TV.  And as a young adult I admit having enjoyed more than a few festive New Year's Eve parties.

I know intellectually that I should really try to get more worked up about New Years.  After all, I live in the modern world and it is the start of at least one of the calendars around which my life revolves.  But it holds about as much fascination for me as when my car's odometer turns over to some nice round number. 

In short, it's neat, maybe even important, to observe... but (IMHO) not really worthy of a party.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not one of those people who likes to pretend that the Gregorian calendar doesn't exist, or that it should be shunned like some form of idolatry.  I guarantee that If I look over the shoulder of some religious zealot who pretends to completely eschew the solar calendar that I won't see Kislev or Tevet printed on their car registration.  We simply can't ignore that at least a small part of our lives is tied to the secular calendar.

But I think it would be disingenuous of me to give the impression that my disinterest in New Year's was entirely a rational decision.  No, the thing that really put paid to New Year's Eve celebrations for me was an event that was shared by a fellow musician and regular treppenwitz reader back in the early '90s. 

We had been rehearsing with a '30s/ '40s-style Jazz 'Big Band' that met weekly in a studio on 42nd Street in Manhattan.  The band had the occasional gig, but its raison d'être was simply for the chance to play the classic arrangements from the swing era. 

One day the wife of the bandleader (who did all the booking/scheduling) pulled me aside and asked if I was free the evening of Dec. 31st.  It seemed that the band was booked to play a fancy New Year's Eve ball at the 'Downtown Athletic Club', and she was trying to put together the roster.

For those of you not familiar with the Downtown Athletic Club, it is a very posh private club in a stately old building near Wall Street that claims, among its many honors, to be 'the home of the Heismann Trophy'.

Although I usually got a call every year for some sort of New Year's Eve gig, I jumped at the opportunity to play such a fancy-shmancy party.  This was the sort of affair most people only see in old movies... hell yes I wanted to play the gig! 

New Year's eve arrived and I showed up early at the D.A.C. wearing my best tuxedo with my trombone gig bag slung over my shoulder.  I felt like someone had turned back the clock and I was some swing-era sideman showing up for a swanky radio broadcast on New Year's eve.  It was really exciting.

We played the first couple of sets to an appreciative audience.  The ambiance was everything I could have hoped for... elegant, festive decor... well-heeled party-goers dancing gracefully around the room or chatting in small groups... and liveried waiters passing seemingly endless trays of hors douvres and Champagne.

After the second set the band was directed to a small table in an adjoining room where a nice spread of food and drink had been laid out for us.  I seem to remember that this other treppenwitz reader (who also played this gig), and I anticipated the whole kosher food issue by bringing along some deli sandwiches from Shmulke Bernstein's, but I may be remembering that bit incorrectly.  Whether or not we had thought to bring kosher food is really besides the point of the story. 

Of one thing I'm crystal clear: We were seated with the band at this private table when the bombshell was dropped.  The bandleader came over to the two of us, and without preamble unapologetically said, "The host asked me to tell you two to take off your yarmulkes."

I doubt that the two of us were the only Jews in the orchestra, but we were certainly the only two observant ones wearing yarmulkes/kippot at the time.  We were both wearing very unobtrusive plain black kippot on our heads, and unless someone was really looking closely they wouldn't have even noticed them.  But clearly at least one of us had been noticed... and someone close to the party organizer had taken offense.

I remember inwardly flinching at being told to remove a religious head covering.  I mean, for kripe's sakes... I'd worn a kippah on my head while serving on a Navy frigate in the US Pacific fleet!  Who the hell were these people I'd supposedly been protecting to tell me I couldn't cover my head while playing their New Year's Eve party? 

But at the same time I also felt that as part of an ensemble (and as a sideman on someone else's bandstand), I really didn't have the luxury of refusing or making a scene. 

We played at least one more set after that, including an endless rendition of 'Auld Lang Syne' while confetti and balloons cascaded from the ceiling. But for me the magic had gone out of the evening. 

Instead of a 1930s-esque society party, the room had taken on the washed-out look of a cheap movie set.  The guests weren't dancing as gracefully as I had originally thought, and the quiet elegance I had seen through my rose-colored glasses at the beginning of the evening now seemed forced and contrived.

That event really finished New Year's Eve for me.  With the exception of a very pleasant New Year's eve wine & cheese party Zahava and I attended a few years ago at the home of some close friends, I really haven't marked the date in any significant way since that ill-omened D.A.C. Ball. 

Maybe that's for the best. 

I wouldn't think to make a big party out of my car's odometer turning over to show a fresh bunch of zeros... so why force a celebration out of the calendar equivalent of such an event? 

When my car hits certain milestones I obviously mark them and take stock of the car's overall condition (tune-ups, scheduled service, etc.).  A wise person would do well to mark the new Gregorian year by performing the same kind of things (physical exams, dental check-ups, mammograms or prostate exams, etc.).

So, for me there really isn't much to celebrate... but plenty to think about. 

I'm off to work today, because here in Israel, January 1st, 2006 is just another start to a busy work week... and nobody seems to mind what I wear on my head.  :-)

So, happy whatever!