Whew! What a New Year's Eve celebration! I was invited to an Upper East Side mansion, think Mr. Drummond from Diff'rent Strokes, no, think Silver Spoons in a Penthouse, to dine on Italian food catered by a fancypants restaurant, then head downtown to see friends Amy Miles and Craig Wedren (of the late Shudder to Think, and Baby) play a gig at the Living Room.  After that it was on to Seth Herzog's  annual shindig at the Bowery Bar (at the last one I went to my friend swears Bruce Willis followed me around). Seth's parties are known to be star-studded events, there was an infamous one two years ago, where Famke Jansen lost her “FENDI” bag and flipped out, another where, (as Seth told me later) Sam Rockwell was going to ask me to dance when Seth lied and told him I was a lesbian in a relationship. I still haven't forgiven Seth completely. I 've watched Billy Crudup dance his tiny cheater heart out, and the cast of Wet Hot American Summer and Stella are regulars—the list goes on and on. Who was there this year?

I wouldn't know… Instead of glamming it up and reporting back to all of you, I spent the holiday in the Bronx, in my PJ's drinking non-alcoholic sparkling cider with my cousins,

(ages: 19, 15, 9), my little sister, and my 94-year old Nonna (Italian for grand mum) the special hard-of-hearing wonder we call “Nanny.”  I didn't make it to my friend's dinner, or the show, and definitely not the party. I was torn— I missed my NY friends so much and was dying to see them and I knew it was going to be an evening to remember, but I haven't seen my family in so long. And did I mention my grandma is 94?!

When I was a little girl living in the Bronx, I spent every New Year's Eve with her. We'd play Parcheesi and when the ball dropped, we'd bang on pots and pans out on the porch to “ring” in the new year. This year Apples to Apples (a word game) replaced the Parcheesi, we sang Green Day's American Idiot instead of Auld Lang Syne. But the sparkling cider was more than I could bear. I searched high and low, the only booze I could find in my aunt's house was White Zinfandel. Desperate times, desperate measures, I cracked the sucker open and filled one of those huge red plastic cups. And despite all of our fancy cocktail advice in this week's LA Weekly, I rang in the new year with some Sutter Home. Yep, a very un-Style Council New Years—white zin, PJ's, deaf grandmas and kids playing board games.  But you know, I don't think I'd want it any other way… I'll see my friends next year…

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