The last few hours of a year can be an awful ordeal, when the balance inside the heads of Gentlemen and Scholars tips towards the Savages and Ignoramuses lurking in the basest synapses of our labyrinthine psyches. When one surrounds them themselves, like I do, with self-proclaimed Artists and Professors of Enlightenment, who instead are thinly-veiled drunken Malcontents & Ne�er-do-wells, things can quickly careen out of control, and the Public Forum that is a New Years Eve engagement can turn shockingly sour.

The cast of Character last night included the usual list of alleged philosopher-poets: including Mike (Ryu, clad in Japanese traditional dress) and Mary; Tyler and Angie (showing up at 5 and leaving before 10); Vicki (Jon�s sister). Laurie�s presence, ostensibly as Greg�s girlfriend, brought in a contingent that included friends from high school and their hangers-on. This bastion of depravity was sent to a frothing broil when the Jen contingent began to trickle in: her blonde buxom friend Amber, the infamous crying guy (Brian), a former roommate of Jen, some guy named Mike Cameron (but having no affiliation with the Seattle Mariners), the �wormy looking guy with glasses who had intentions on Amber� another guy named apparently named Tom, and a student of Economics at UW of dubious social heritage named �Travis.� There were a few more people thrown in, of course, but I don�t remember exactly.

The early theme of the evening was apparent: the usual quasi-apocalyptic �fuck or die� instinct which seems to consume people this time of year. The end of another typically desperate year consumed by existential angst, forcing people to follow their reptilian minds, and engage in bizarre acts of human courtship. As DanG put it: �show up, get drunk, pair up, head home.�

Between the bizarre pills to be found in the pockets of Mike Cameron (no affiliation with the Seattle mariners) and his attempts at bizarre energy-drink based mixed drinks (made amidst the complaint of our kitchen lacking �adequate mixers to make drinks for the ladies�), and the blatant displays of quasi-lesbianism so eagerly exhibited by Jen, Amber, and sometimes Vicki, along with the groupings of people from harshly differing social background, there was a disturbing vibe in the air which drove me on the porch to smoke (I don�t smoke normally) and upstairs to seek refuge. I began realize that even a veteran of deranged alcohol-inspired behavior like myself had no recourse in such an environment, and I quickly took to documenting as much of it as possible, struggling through the veil of my own inebriation.

I had kicked off my own festivities about 5 with my first glass of scotch and commencing my commemorative viewing of �2001.� As the earliest guests sauntered in the door near the end of the movie, things began to move, food was acquired, ping-pong tables set up, and already nursing a good �party buzz� I decided to partake in unusual rituals involving stuffing a yo-yo down my pants, and impersonating a cat underneath the table.

By the time things were in full swing, I was consumed by an anxiety over my house being full of people I didn�t know at all or were only slightly acquainted with. My default setting is fear and loathing, and it mixed with the Scotch in a discomforting manner.

The Porter was met with mixed, but mainly positive, reviews. This bit of anxiousness was largely relieved, and I would consider myself free of this burden as a contributing factor in my interpretation of the evening�s events.

As the evening wore on, antics began to wear on my soul. I found myself seeking something a little more compelling and real. I ignored a four-person groping session on the couch, despite pleas in my direction to take a digital photograph. At some point I was relieved by the arrival of Dan Studley, someone who I don�t communicate with nearly enough.

Midnight rolled around, with the usual hooting and hollering, exchanges of embraces and kisses, along with the groping to keep in the spirit of the evening. I noted a particularly lingering romantic encounter between Amber and �wormy looking guy with glasses.� I was the last in, standing barefoot in the middle of 41st and Interlake, dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, kept warm by the bellyfull of Scotch and the 22 of my Porter I finished off.

Things quickly degenerated. Mike and Mary left. The CD player malfunctioned, and the drunk got drunker, the depraved more depraved, and the house was full of Reptiles, squirming and darting about the pool table, kitchen, and living room. Rich announced he had threatened �Travis� with a hefty Toss Down the Stairs if further touching of Julie�s ass ensued. This individual had distinguished himself as a potential Hazard earlier in the evening, and was now puking in the kitchen sink.

I jumped all over the opportunity to express my frustrations. After some spraying with the hose, I wrestled Grabass into the back bathroom, and proceeded to look for something to wedge the door shut with. Indulged in this quest, I noticed Sink Puker had escaped from is commodious cell, and was staggering about the laundry room. I calmly escort him to the back door, gave him an encouraging pat on the way out, and locked the door and turned off the light behind him. He was seen by witnesses, including Rich, staggering into the street and off into the darkness of the Wallingford Wilderness.

I escalated things by declaring that Rich was �greenlit� to kick his ass, where I was intercepted by Laurie in the upstairs computer/TV room. After an extended conversation, I lurched back downstairs to find that an extensive search party had been launch to see to Travis�s retrieval. I continued to shit-talk about my hopes of his hypothermic demise and started a definitive atmosphere of negativity. At this time, a remarkable and thorough kitchen cleaning party, led by Greg, was sprucing things up.

The Search party returned to the sound of my taunting, and some of them reacted with alarm and disgust at my glee. Amber was in the back toilet and �wormy looking guy with glasses� was overseeing her puking (I was later made to understand that this individual cleaned the bathroom, huzzahs to him!).

The Party began to trickle out, and Rich later regaled me with tales of their entertaining journey into various vehicles. Greg attempted to wrestle me up the stairs so I wouldn�t further add to the negativity with my �Ali� inspired yelling, and we ended up engaging in a weird �wrestling moves vs. guy squirming� match. It was quite fun, and Greg would later compliment me on my squirming ability. I did manage to get in some words out the door, succeeding in Making Things Worse. I received and accepted an apology from Mike Cameron (no affiliation with the Seattle Mariners) who had Amber puking in a plastic bag in his front seat. He asked for, and I gave, a roll of paper towels, and he responded by throwing four dollars up the stairs.

I immediately felt guilty from my excessive �jaking,� clued by the somewhat detached �good-bye� from Jen and the gentle lecturing from Greg. I attempted to smooth things with a couple quick emails (one of which, for the record, was sent before Greg�s words) while also uploading the first official Picture Othe Day.

After some further debriefing, a snack, and a lot of liquids, I hit the sack.