Yesterday it felt like spring. There was a warm wind, clear blue skies, bright sun and an overall feeling of newness, change, renewal - relief from a winter that has been oppressive in so many ways. I glanced at a red sign outside a bank - 15 degrees. I suppose I should have been disturbed by this apparent sign of global warming, this omen of the impending apocalypse, or something. But instead I rejoiced in it - what a perfect way to end the year. I also drank all day. I started rather early - as soon as I returned home from brat-sitting. It wasnt a conscious decision, really. There was no plan per se. I just came home and looked in the fridge and grabbed a beer and opened it and sat down and read a bit, the French doors open. Lovely. Like summer, perhaps? We always allow ourselves a beer on a hot summer afternoon. Yes. Like that. Or like the last fucking day of a weird, tumultuous year. Mmm hmm. So I bought a basilopita, basil cake. No, it is not filled with basil. Instead, its a traditional St. Basil Day cake, or New Years cake. And its not even cake, more like sweet bread. It says Xronia Polla 2002 on its top and it has a gold coin inside. Youre supposed to cut a piece for everyone at your table, plus pieces for Jesus and the Virgin and St. Basil and dead people and whoever else you can think of. And, as the flatmate jovially added, the cockroaches. Which is perhaps why its so enormous. Lordy. It feels nice to take part in random cultural traditions like this. At about 5 p.m., I solidified the evenings plans with the flatmate, Coral. She had been working all day on a simple book review, but the shit just wasnt flowing. It was literary constipation, if you will. It was making her cranky and whiney and tedious. Apparently she was also sad because half of her New Years Eve plans had fizzled. The original plan was to go out with me, her boyfriend and his best friend - a gorgeous poet, not too bad, eh? - to the main city square for the big countdown festivities then afterwards to a suburb to meet up with two other couples and go to a strip club. Nice couples activity, eh? Hmmm. The plans were foiled when they discovered the trains stopped running at 11 p.m. and there was no convenient way to get in and out of the suburbs otherwise, since traffic was monstrous and taxis were impossible to find. I regarded New Years plans with peculiar interest this year. I took note of everyones chosen way to herald in the new year as if they were deciding how they wanted to die. Wow, Coral wanted to go out in a strip club. Seemed apt. Me, I just wanted to make sure I wasnt alone. Many others decided to spend it in bed. I can identify the source of such weird thinking: Last Night. Good film. Saw it a few days ago. So what did we end up doing? Well, Coral, me and the other absentee flatmate Jane, who appeared yesterday and will be disappearing again on Thursday, all put on our coats and walked into the city center. Jane wore a little black top, jeans and an enormous silver-buckle belt almost the size as her skinny little head with painfully high-heeled boots. I wore a little black dress, fuschia tights and a Johnny-collar beige cardigan thing, with weird black and silver trainers. Coral wore her schlompiest pair of oversized khaki trousers, a maroon tee-shirt with a drawing of a bear on it, and her navy blue hoodie, with huge blocky black hiking boots and a long black overcoat. Why I feel it is important to note this, I have no idea. I guess because I think we looked an odd sight walking into the city. We left at 10:30 p.m. and walked all the way downtown - 20 minutes - buying three enormous cans of beer on the way. When we arrived at Syntagma Square, it was surprisingly not crowded. Well, it was crowded, yes, but I had been expecting Times Square-esque crowding and it was nothing like that. The place was packed, however, with a disproportionate amount of gypsies and scary-looking young men who stared at us lecherously as we squeezed by. And it wasnt all that happening. There was no ball hoisted atop a high stand, waiting to be dropped. There was only an enormous fake Christmas tree and a stage with a weird Latin band performing. I saw one mime buying a gyro from a wee little gyro stand, but that was it for other entertainment. And Jane was getting claustrophobic and skeeved out by the guys, so I suggested we head up to the Areopagus, an enormous slippery rock just underneath the Acropolis, which offers an unparalleled view of the city. I had this idea in my head that there would be a cheesy laser light show on the Acropolis at midnight, or at the very least fireworks. And I figured there would be a rowdy crew up there drinking in darkness. So we climbed up through Plaka, which was eerily deserted. We walked by ancient monuments dramatically lit up, past a pair of street musicians playing a gorgeous mournful tune on an empty street corner. As we got to the top, others came out of nowhere, mostly foreigners (including three German guys, one very cute), and followed us to the Areopagus. There were about 30 motorcycles parked at the base of the rock and the sound of plenty of people up top. We were worried it would be too crowded, but it wasnt. It was perfect. We got a choice spot near the edge and settled down, cracking open our beers. It had been about 11:30 when we left Syntagma, and it seemed that midnight would be approaching any minute. We wondered how wed know. Coral was the only one with a watch, and not a very accurate one at that. The rowdy crowd of young Greeks and random foreigners was not very organized. One especially drunk group started into a long, painful rendition of an Ole ole cheer as Corals watch struck midnight, but everyone else was silent. And there were no fireworks. Then a large group of tourists started a countdown (at 50) and we doubted that was accurate, but as they screamed One! fireworks sprang out of the roof of Parliament. Amazing! We clinked beer cars and lit sparklers I had brought and watched as about 15 separate fireworks displays lit up the sky. We could see for miles, into suburbs 40 minutes from the city center, all the way to the sea and the mountains. The main Athens display was by far the best, but there were also some pretty red flares going off in Kifissia, and Patissia, and ooooh look at that one in Pireaus! It was fantastic! And just as the fireworks ended, the church bells began to peal all over the city, which was also a fantastic effect. We stayed up there for about half an hour - no laser light show at the Acropolis, unfortunately - during which time the cute German tried to chat us up, but Coral was terribly rude. I gave him a sparkler, which he waved around a bit with a forced smile and said This is fun! Ha! Then we headed to Psirri for a drink, weaving around ancient sites again along the way. Psirri is this hip area, set in a restored red-light district. We had been there several times on hot summer evenings, when the sidewalks and parking lots and streets were overflowing with café tables and fashionable youth. There are several innovative tavernas there, and an area rocket salad specialty. Anyway, it wasnt as fun in winter; all the tables were inside and hardly anyone was outside, even though it was practically sweater weather at 15 degrees. We ended up at this tiny place, hidden behind a parking lot, where we had gone out for drinks with an older American woman this summer. We were told there was a 10,000 drachma ($25) minimum, set menu for the night, and that all restaurants were doing that. We decided to splurge. Good excuse to eat and drink a lot, anyway. We got a table wedged between this silent family - mom wearing a scary black dress with spider-style sleeves - and a punk couple. The other room was filled with older women in slinky sequined dresses and fur coats and their heavily-cologned husbands. Behind us, there were a few anorexic girls in mini skirts and shiny tube tops. Coral, dressed in schlompwear, beamed at the spectacle. There was a live band playing traditional Greek folk music, and the old ladies were clapping and swaying and singing along in glee. Despite the size of the place and lack of vacant floor, I knew there would be dancing by the end of the night. We did not have to wait long. These two old ladies kept jumping up and dancing for the benefit of the entire establishment. I hoped they were really drunk. At the end, even the young girls were dancing, and we commented on the weird traditional Greek revival among the youth. At one point this young gypsy boy pulled up a chair and plopped down on it, hugging a little drum. The kid couldnt have been older than 10. But he was fucking incredible! A lil prodigy drummer boy. Everyone looked on, astounded, as he bent over his drum and whacked away. He had this world-weary look. He looked like a little man as he bent over and then sat up and glanced at the ceiling in almost studied indifference. The kid had attitude. And in the break he reached down, pulled up a bottle of Coke, and dramatically took a swig as if it was beer. We giggled. It was adorable. Then he disappeared after only three songs and we sadly commented on the fact that he was probably called downstairs to do dishes or something. Three hours and two carafes of wine later, we headed home. It was 4 a.m. and there were no taxis in sight, so we walked all the way back. Along the way, we stopped at an ATM and withdrew our very first Euro bill! It was crisp and clean and so weird-looking. Coral squealed with glee. I was a bit disappointed the ATM was working; I had been expecting some awful week-long Euro-introduction disaster that would rival the Y2K scare in form and scope, and was a bit disappointed that things were going smoothly so far. Ah well. Then we passed the city hall, where I noticed three freakish looking camels standing near an enormous nativity set. I had brought my camera along for the evening, but had yet to use it. So I begged Coral to go pose with the camels, and of course, got more than I bargained for. For, after pretending to mount a camel, she ran into the nativity set to pose with the baby Jesus and announced with a devilish glint in her eyes that I couldnt expect her to enter a nativity set and not take a souvenir. Oh dear. She started to shove baby Jesus in her bag, but I screamed, Not Baby Jesus! Thats sacriledge! Not like Im religious really, but I couldnt help but remember two years ago when I was a reporter in a small town in Massachusetts and the cops reported that Baby Jesus had been stolen from the town nativity set and everyone treated it as if it were the worst crime ever. People are really attached to their Baby Jesuses. I remember the huge sigh of relief when Jesus was returned after a town-wide plea was issued. Anyway, I convinced her not to take Jesus. Instead, she picked up a sheep and started to run in the direction of Omonia Square. A sheep! The size of a very large dog! Under one arm, casual-like. Jane had been off staring at the sky, waiting us to finish with our funny photos, mindlessly listening to two Greek girl gossip when suddenly the girls stopped, started giggling insanely and pointed in the direction of the fleeing Coral. Jane looked up in horror as she realized her flatmate was running off with a nativity sheep, and started running after me, who was walking briskly in the opposite direction. Ha! The three of us congregated again in Omonia Square. We actually thought we had lost Coral and the sheep - how this is possible I do not know - when we saw a little sheep head pop out from behind a kiosk and look in our direction. I almost peed my pants. We started walking along Omonia, haven for 4 a.m. activity and drug transactions, as casual as possible. A few people stared, sure. One druggie approached, saying nice doggie, then drew back in horror realizing it was in fact a large fake sheep. Poor dear probably thought he was having hallucinations. Amazingly, we got the sheep home without incident, even pausing for a few photos. We named him Angelis, after angel (since he was, after all, rescued from a manger) and what we guessed was the greek word for sheep. Angelis has a patch of loose wool at the very top of his head - he seems to be wearing a piece - and one of his hooves seems damaged. His wool is a bit dirty. But hes a good lamb. His new home is the corner of our living room, near the door. He has this look about him, as if he is in motion, approaching you from across the room, maybe coming in off the balcony. He looks up at you. Very life-like. Its uncanny. Ive already had two scares when I walked to the bathroom, forgetting he was there, and felt his eyes on me. Eeps! We might move him around the apartment at random, like we do with this little fake caterpillar in the kitchen. Gives him a bit of life and excitement, and spices up our holdrum home life. Before going to bed, we cut the New Years cake. Coral cut eight pieces - one for each of us, one for Angelis, one for Jesus, one for the Virgin Mary, one for the Father and one for the House. So far, none has gotten the golden coin, but Coral says the Virgin always tends to get the damn thing. Overall, a pretty good evening Id say. For exclusive photos of Angelis the Sheep: www.geocities.com/dahling007/photos8.htm You will also be treated with a rather frighening photo of yours truly, ass-poppin' style. Don't say I didn't warn you. Hope y'all had a nice day and a super duper year to come. What ever happened to that bowling tournament? I wanna know ho the sini bowling champion of the world is! Ken? MWAH! ~dahling _________________________________________________________________ Get your FREE download of MSN Explorer at http://explorer.msn.com/intl.asp. +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the Sinister mailing list +---+ To send to the list mail sinister@missprint.org. To unsubscribe send "unsubscribe sinister" or "unsubscribe sinister-digest" to majordomo@missprint.org. 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