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My Old Ways To A New Year

JIm Pfiffer

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When I was young New Year’s Eve was a big event, celebrated with gusto, daring stunts, mischievous capers and too much alcohol – and that was before I left the house.

Not now. I’ve circled the sun 67 times and each time I make the trip there is less drinking and partying, and I’m glad of it.

That’s because I’m old. My mind may want to Wang Chung tonight, but my body wants to go to bed tonight. The last time I saw 12 a.m. on New Year’s Day, phones had dials and cords.

Now, when the ball is falling at Times Square I’m falling into REM sleep.

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When I was young most everything we did involved alcohol. We could drink at age 18. It was during those early years that I pickled most of my brain cells. Yes, they were fun times. I just wish I could remember them.

I remember some of them:

“Hey you guys! Look! Pfif’s up on the snowy roof. He’s trying to climb up to the chimney to get that plastic Santa Clause. He’s almost there. You got it Pfifs! Oh s—t! Wow! didn’t know a person could slide down shingles that fast and fly that far.”

I’m relieved at how age has tempered my wild side, daring vitality and internal organs.

Take hangovers, for example. As a young man I could wake up with a wicked bad hangover and recover quickly enough to be quaffing cold ones by noon and out on the town at dusk.

Today, if I have more than three drinks in one night, I need dialysis, hydration IVs and three days of bed rest.

It’s my body’s way of saying to me “WTF is your problem? When are you going to grow up and act your age, Grandpa!”

In college my New Year’s Eve celebrating began around 6 p.m. with friends getting “primed” (i.e., a card game where losers drank shots of Jack Daniels). Then it was off to the parties and the on Elmira’s two bar strips.

The Northside had Washington Avenue, home to the Branch Office, Michael’s, Stein Haus, Mario’s Pitstop, Harry Reagan’s, Rybak’s, Benny’s, Bald Mouse and several other watering holes that I can’t recall, or I got thrown out of.

South Main Street was lined with Good Times, Old Pioneer, Water Works, Carl’s Revolving Bar, The Arch, Bernie Murray’s, The 9th Ward, Boathouse, Mac’s Tavern, Lamplighter and others too numerous to list.

One year we tried to have a drink at every bar on the Southside strip, a foolish crawl that resulted in most of my brain damage.

Back then drinking and driving wasn’t a big issue. I should have been, but society had not yet woken up to the dangers.

I was once pulled over by the police for a broken taillight, speeding or driving on the sidewalk, I don’t remember. The cop knew I was DWI but didn’t bust me. Instead, he instructed me to park the car and walk home (at least I think it was my home).

Today, we all realize the dangers of drinking and driving. It’s dumb. It’s wrong. Don’t do it.

There was so much drinking on New Year’s Eves of old, that I did the necessary prep work for my celebrations, like checking to see which friends had my blood type in case I needed a liver transplant.

That’s because back then some bars got temporary alcohol licenses to stay open until 4 p.m. Just what we needed as shown by the following thought process:

“Ok, I’ve been drinking since I lost those stupid card games, been to two parties, hit dozens of bars on both strips and stopped at a buddy’s apartment to catch a buzz. I’m probably a 3.9 or 4.0. I don’t know where my car is, which is good because I lost my keys hours ago. What should I do? Let’s see. . . I got it! Let’s go to Lib’s. They’re open ‘til 4. I call ‘shotgun!’”

I’m not bragging about or condoning my irresponsible New Year’s Eve shenanigans. Yes, they were fun and memorable, but they could have resulted in my being maimed, impaled, killed or imprisoned. I was damn lucky.

I learned a lot from those exploits. That knowledge has served me well as an adult. I know my limit, I don’t drink and drive and I still can’t believe how slippery wet shingles are.

Jim Pfiffer’s humor column is posted every Sunday on the Jim Pfiffer Facebook page, Hidden Landmarks TV Facebook page and TwinTiersLiving.com. Jim lives in Elmira with his wife, Shelley, and many pets and is a retired humor columnist with the Elmira Star-Gazette newspaper.



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