Chapter 56: Happy New Year

We didn’t die yet

01 January 2026

I had one goal last year: stay alive.

I did it, y’all. If you’re reading this, so did you. Go, us! We rock!

In celebration, here’s a bit of whimsy to start the next round (because yeehah – we are on a helluva ride):

I have it on good authority (the internet…my authority is the internet) that on New Year’s Eve in Boise, Idaho, a giant potato drops from the sky to bless the Idahoians (Idahoers? Idahoites? I lived there for several years and never figured it out…) with delicious starchy tuber abundance for the coming year. The annual potato plop tradition started after I left, so I have questions. Does the potato come with butter, sour cream, shredded cheese, or is it just one giant spud? How does it get up there? Is it a spiritual spud, or an actual factual physical ‘tater? Russet, or red, or golden? Is it cooked? Baked? Hot? Where does it land - in a safety net? Or does it go splat on the ground, bursting its potatoey goodness onto the eagerly (anxiously? trepidatiously?) awaiting assembled throngs?

Not to be outdone here in the PNW, Bigfoot deigns to make an annual appearance at the stroke of midnight, coming out from wherever Bigfoot hides the rest of the time to do a quick stealthy trot around the base of the mountain named (by white people) Rainier (indigenous local populations know it as Tahoma and various other designations), checking for lava leaks while playing hide-and-seek with intrepid Sasquatch groupies determined to document a confirmed sighting. I’ll leave you to do your own fact-checking on this one.

Meanwhile, in Arizona, Road Runner has an established route that cuts straight through the desert along the I-10 (on the side roads, of course), usually carrying a sparkling stick of dynamite intended for immediate transfer to the proximity of Wile E. Coyote, who may or may not arrive punctually because he’s usually busy levitating himself from some cliff or running into a fake tunnel entrance in a mountain somewhere. Keep a sharp lookout if you’re in the area; you want to watch for the animated version, not the flat-as-a-comics-page version!

On the other hand, if you happen to be in Oklahoma, your best bet for a civilized evening is probably the Two Frogs Grill in Ardmore. I dunno about fireworks or laser shows; they seem unlikely in little old Ardmore - you might need to venture into OKC for that – but the chicken fried chicken (seriously) was very tasty last time I tried it. Unless you want to disappoint Kermit and Robin, maybe skip the frog legs and just enjoy the atmosphere.

Have you ever been in Salt Lake City on New Year’s Eve? You may need to use your imagination on this one. It can get a bit rowdy downtown, what with the seagull air force dropping live crickets on midnight revelers and all. If you get away from the city center, though, what you’ll find mostly is verrrry quiet suburbs, unincorporated hamlets surrounded by cold bored cows and horses, and random jello evangelists going door to door leaving molded tomato aspic and moon salads on the doorsteps of unsuspecting residents who had the audacity to roll up the carpets, turn off the lights, and get to bed before the devil came out at midnight. Consider yourself warned.

If you’d rather, you can go a bit north to Vancouver. Big city. Lotsa water. Boats. Lights. Big party. Stuff to do. Not much to make jokes about – just nice people and pretty scenery. Even the currency is cool lookin’. Who needs souvenirs when you can just hang onto a Loonie and a Toonie and some colorful banknotes? Yah, okay, maybe some maple syrup to go…

If you need pure chaos, you could try Main Street at Disneyland with a live top-tier pop band … Did that once, too. Holy moly, that was plenty.

Orrr just stay home. Let the air horns and contraband fireworks come to you (they will, for real). The raucous celebratory neighbors will appreciate having a captive audience, so dig out the doggo’s thundershirt, put on a noisy movie, and break out the snacks. A few minutes before midnight, switch over to whatever livestream you want to watch (big apples, potato bombs, b’sploding space needles, pick your favorite) and marvel at the forty-eleven-hundreddy ways humans find to celebrate their continued existence on this planet.

That’s what we did. I was happily cocooned and asleep by 12.03 a.m. I managed to stay asleep until the self-appointed pointy-eared domicile security squad invaded my space in search of their own party at 4.45 a.m. Woot.

So now I’m up, perpendicular, and watching the New Year Parade from London. I don’t know if it’s night or morning there – it looks dark, but nobody seems to care. Do they really do parades in the evening there? It’s probably recorded anyway, right? Whatever. It’s very entertaining; my smallest furry familiar is parked on the arm of my desk chair, watching with me. Now and then if she sees something interesting on the screen, she’ll hop up on the table and attack with a vengeance. So far, the Chinese Dragon has gotten the worst of it. She has a thing about snakes, I guess. They’ve moved on now: dozens of imported American high school marching bands (why does this amuse me so much?) and troupes of identical-hair-and-outfit cloggers and unintentionally asynchronous baton twirlers and cosplaying Star Wars jedis and storm troopers and Princess Leias and Ewoks and Winnie-the-Poohs and Indiana Jones and Doc Brown and Marty and Ghostbusters. All meandering past the iconic structures that line the streets of London. Oh – there’s Beetlejuice. Was he invited, or did he just show up?

And no commercials. Amazing.

Now the Crunchy Treat Collaborative Trust Committee informs me it’s time for breakfast. Their wish is my command. Thanks to them, I need caffeine anyway. We probably have some peanut brittle around here somewhere. That counts as food, doesn’t it?

Here’s to you, and me, and all of us. May 2026 be the year we need it to be.

Screenshot from the London New Years parade, broadcast via Cascade PBS. Save PBS, too.

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Thanks for keeping me company here! I look forward to sharing more of my random “rich interior life” adventures with you.

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Please note: All writing and photography in this post is the original work of the author unless otherwise noted, and is subject to applicable US Copyright restrictions and regulations. CJ’s Dancing On My Own Grave © 2026