New Year's Eve: The Epic Adventures

My new year started with fire.

Sadly, my New Year’s Eve had no such luck. I started the eve in East Williamsburg, Brooklyn. In a warehouse.

For every previous New Year’s Eve, I chilled with my high school friends, whom I rarely see. While said parties are nice, that wasn't what I wanted this year. It’s the end of a decade, the decade of high school and college, when I (mostly) grew up. I wanted to go to a real, raging party. Fortunately, I heard of at least 60 options. Cross-listing by coolness and price range, my friends Desiree and Cal chose New Lost City.

The description of New Lost City reminded me of a Mucca Pazza party-- the venue featured three brass bands. Also gypsy funk, techno, "hobotech," crazy jazz, and circus. 9PM until 7AM.

I got incredibly excited, of course. Brass bands _and_ techno? Perfect.

When I got off the L train, my path intersected with a pack of circus folks, carrying hoops, poi, and staves. I grinned, thinking they’d be super-friendly, and tried to chat them up. They replied in monosyllables and monotones.

But no worries, I thought.

In my head, I imagined New Lost City as a giant open space with a large stage where the brass bands would be kicking ass. The crowd would be fun, tipsy and dancing. Not so.


After paying, I walked around the space, which was a set of warehouse units, separated by a block covered in slush. There were about six performances spaces most of which were on separate floors, connected only by the fire escape stairs. The first time I climbed the stairs, I felt elation, seeing over all the rooftops into the hazy distance. As the stairs became more crowded, the allure faded.

None of the bands were playing.

Some spaces had DJ’s rocking out, but the crowd seemed aversive to movement. They stood around, drinking, talking and texting. What were they waiting for?

In the second space, a block over, I checked my coat. Might as well get comfortable, I figured.

The coat check dude and I spoke for a few minutes, mostly about how much it sucks to work tonight, dealing with drunk impatient folks who don’t understand organization. He was sincere, charming and already a little bit tired, his eyebrows semi-permanently raised. I tipped heavily.

The band space was completely empty. The lobby of the second room had a wheel of fortune, with a barker wearing tight pleather pants, body glitter and goggles. I crowd-watched for a minute. It was an odd mix of normies, hipsters and the burner crowd.

I saw someone who looked like Basil, his face angular and confident. I felt an overwhelming urge to walk up to him, or one of the other dudes with facial piercings and hug them, screaming, “Ignore the pearls and the black dress! I’m one of you!”

There were circus people, but it seemed in poor form to ask one of them if I could spin their props to vent. And while they may have been circus people, they weren’t one of my beloved carnies.

I looked at the clock. 10:40. Cal and Des were arriving at 11:30. The worst kind of loneliness is when you're in public, totally surrounded by people, but still completely alone.

My mood tanked.

I called Yoshi, and spilled my thoughts. Yoshi, as ever, was deeply supportive and caring, despite my crazy insecurities. Alright. I would make the best of it.

On the line to get back in, a drunken couple stopped making out and started fighting, seemingly instantly. When I took a step back, the person in back of me pushed me back. I sighed and called John. No response. I left a cheerful message.

The rooms were filling fast, guests holding (and spilling) cans of PBR and Stella. A twee boy spilled his drink on my back as we crammed into the dance room. He glared at me, his pinched cheeks covered in glitter.

The DJ was good, I realized, though so loud that I plugged in my earplugs with more furious precision than ever. I started to groove. It was slightly salsa-flavored, and the light were all bright red, deepening the white walls. For a few minutes, the space seemed warmer.

The boy next to me moved frenetically, and we made eye contact after we kept accidentally kicking each other. He had blue eyes. At some points, we’d purposely kick each other’s feet, ska-style. Then, his girlfriend came back from the bar, passing him a can of Miller. Beer in hand, they started to grind.

The boys next to me were fairly drunk, screaming the words to the song buried beneath the techno. The dark-haired one moved against my back, which was somehow comforting until he grabbed my hips and pulled me closer. When I tried to spin around, he kept me firmly in place. He reeked of cigarettes, his fingers were fat, and he didn’t grind with the beat. At the end of the song, I pushed away from him, gesturing to the door, yelling, “It’s really hot! I need water! Bye!”

He followed me into the hallway, where I explained, “I have to go!” and “I think it’s too warm in here.” He didn’t really seem to get anything except the phrase, “Look, I have a boyfriend.” Then, he left in a hurry.

The hallway was jammed. “Maybe the bands are playing now,” I hoped, the last bits of optimism clamoring for attention. On the fire escape, I heard one of the party organizers say to a bouncer handling the congestion, “We need you by the elevator, immediately. I’ll take care of this area.” “Sure,” the bouncer said. Despite my best interests, I was curious, and took a minute to duck back in.

“Get him under control!” a man screamed. The crowd drew back and a muscular dude, flanked by two bouncers reached out, pushing and punching and kicking. About five feet from me, he dropped to the floor, spasming, and the bouncers picked him up, carrying him away.


I decided to get the hell out of there.

Jon Good. Standing, miraculously, on the second floor landing. I screamed and hugged him. You know that profound, exuberant relief you feel when you see your significant other after weeks apart? That sense of, “God, everything is okay now. A person I trust is here.” I nearly cried.

He had a posse with him: cool Obies who I like, but don’t know as well. I convinced him to bail with me to go to the other space, where I had my bag and coat. We crammed out and walking in the slush, I felt triumphant. A long, thick line wove around side of the warehouse and down the block. And waiting in front of the door, off the line, were Cal and Desiree. They looked fantastic: Cal like a steampunk David Bowie God of Rock, Desiree like an Old English Master of Grooviness. I hugged with furious thankfulness.

Cal and Des are my heroes.


At Oberlin, they produced “Over Her Dead Body,” an “independent, black and white, student-produced, -filmed, -edited, -acted, and -scored lesbian zombie-vampire silent horror film.”


As grads, they’re superheroes. By night, Des works for The Nature Conservancy; by night, she has crazy adventures, with costumes, dancing and shenanigans all across Gotham. Cal is probably the most badassed person to ever live. Since graduating, she’s worked across the rural Northeast, raising awareness for the environmental effects of coal mining, and played professional women’s football.

After joyous greetings, we said:
“I don’t want to stay.”
“This line is ridiculous.”
“It looks impossibly packed in there.”
“Great,” I said, “I’ll go get my coat and bag!”

I did not expect the coat check line from Hell. While earlier, we had cued up in a neat line. Now, a crowd bulged around the tiny doorway. As Kevin said, it was more packed than a clown car up Hitler’s ass. I thought about the coat check dude, who had looked nervous hours ago. It was 11:45.

Though I hate line-cutting, I squished in at the front, behind a super-tall impatient man, who was exerting 6’4’ of importance on the crowd. I was jammed beside a couple bitching about how spending this moment in line was an audacity. Since high school, I’d never had my person around for New Year’s. I wondered if having them around would’ve redeemed this shindig.

‘Please don’t leave!’ I texted to Cal.

At 11:55, I got to the head of the line. The coat check dudes were going a mile-a-minute. The younger one, with the scared eyes, nodded his head when he saw me. “Miss,” he said to the girl next to me, “You’ll have to move back, there’s no space.” She shrieked, “They’re pushing! I can’t go anywhere!” The other one saw my number, and got me my clothes.

“This is crazy,” he said to me; I nodded furiously and said, “I have no idea how to get out of here.” He gestured me to follow him. We walked through the back of the coat check, past rows of scarves and heavy parkas. Each garment was packed tight, like a laundromat. I thanked him repeatedly.

In the back room, I saw the circus folks practicing, some soaking their props. If I hadn’t been so rushed, I’d have sneaked to see what system they were using. Can take the girl outta the circus, but can’t take the circus outta the girl.

As I left, I heard one of the circus folks yell, “Get the fuck out of the way! This shit is going to be on fire!”

And there was Cal, Des and Jon, waiting where they said they would, at the end of the sidewalk. “I didn’t think you’d stay,” I blathered. “I mean, it’s nearly…”

“Oh hey,” Cal said. “11:59…. and… Happy New Year!”

And it was. We sang Auld Lang Syne (Jon harmonized) and as I was breathing, feeling calmer. There was still a huge line behind us, snaked around the warehouse. In the open air, the party-goers seemed less threatening and obnoxious. Just silly for waiting.

Yelling behind us, and a rush of bodies running to the street, bearing poi and staves and torches. One of them poured a line of clear liquid across the street, dropped a match and ignited a trail of fire. The group lit up and started to spin, right in front of us.


Fire. The best way to start the year.

I cried. The happy tears. Everything was okay. The fire spinners weren’t very good, but they were honest, and they reminded me of home. Of friends and lovers, of performing and perfection. Of Yoshi, Liz, Izzie, Ma’ayan, Amanda, Basil and Jim. Of warm spring nights and crowd control. When I wiped the tears away, there were more.

The night blurred together in a happy montage: leaving with Cal and Des, dancing in a smoke-filled, gay-friendly goth club. Military Fashion Show. Mad World. My phone dying. Cal’s grin, Des’s sleepy smile. Creepy giant latex-covered man-devil approaching me. Me, having learned my lesson from the previous giant latex cat-boy, rebuffing him. All-night diner. The folks next to us asleep in their booth. Peach crepes. Company. Happiness.

The 5:30AM train. Sleep. A new year. It took a long time to come.