Once upon a time, a long time ago, I lived in Kings County. Brooklyn, that is. It was so long ago that Brooklyn was still affordable and a peasant like me could live in a very large loft-style apartment that overlooked the East River. Because of its size and my lack of furniture, it was the perfect place to throw a really big party. A New Year’s Eve party in particular.
My legendary New Year’s Eve parties were so big and out of control that my status as an upstanding resident of 28 Old Fulton Street with my neighbors and the building manager was tainted for much of January and sometimes solidly into February. Wood floors and lots of loud music will do that. And, well, there was the dancing.
To my credit, I did invite all my neighbors above, below and to the left and right of me so that the complaints would be more forgiving but no one ever came. Whatever. I don’t let other people’s lack of participation get in my way.
well said. 