My favorite days of the year – every year – are December 27 – 30th. I’m usually home from whatever obligatory travel I had to make, and most of the time, Mike has off work. I love going to events during this time; nothing really gets crowded and people do only exactly what they want to do. The world slows down. Agendas get dropped. People who really want to dress up because they love it do that. People who don’t enjoy their pantyhose and ties the rest of the year put on baseball caps and sweats and go out in public for the only time that year. They mix. They mingle. Nobody gives a shit what anybody else wears, because for the most part, people go only exactly where they want to go during that time.
For three days a year, America becomes laid back.
This promptly goes to hell on December 31st when the last bout of quiet holiday desperation sets in (do I have someone to kiss? I should be at the big party – not I “want to.”) By January 2nd, we’re all hung over and ready to take up the slightly hostile rat race that defines our nation.
Those three days are magic. It feels like every person is at their best, just because they finally stop trying so hard. People are so much more likable when they’re not fronting some image.
Last night Mike and I went to the Dakota Jazz club to watch the New Standards. It’s my first visit, hopefully I can go more in the coming years. I drank two overpriced martinis, ate some bad cheese and still enjoyed the hell out of myself and Mike. Also, Mike looked fine last night: ((Not the jealous type, here. Appreciate, but respect!))
I suppose I should have warned him I was going to use flash.
So, I got in my three best days of the year, with a perfect cap to them.