CRAPPY NEW YEAR

                            Neville Raymond

 It’s like a bucket of cold water poured on your head as you sit in a warm bath.

With just two minutes to spare to the final countdown, the network cameras swing back to Times Square.  Amidst a tsunami of revelers, a groundswell of good cheer, the glittering ball drops.  

We turn to each other to hug and embrace, full of high expectations for the New Year.

And what do we hear?  

The lilting strains of Auld Lang Syne?  

The bittersweet nostalgia of remembering old friends and past acquaintances, of celebrating the passage of an old year with high hopes for the new year?   

Oh no, no, no!  That would be out of order!

We hear the flinty voice of an old-school icon singing “New York, New York”!

Who hijacked the sweetest moment of the year?  

Here is when we clasp our loved ones in an unforgettable embrace.   

Here is when we brim with nostalgia for lost loves, departed friends, broken dreams, looking forward misty-eyed to a future where we can translate our good wishes for a happy New Year into a state of happiness for the whole human race.   

Instead, what do we hear ringing in our ears?  

A paean of civic boosterism to the home of Wall Street.

A musical tribute to the capital of world finance and central banking. 

An anthem to a city that is the epitome of the dog-eat-dog jungle…If you can make it there, you can make it anywhere. 

A valentine to a city where you are expected to claw your way up the ladder of success until you become king of the hill, top of the heap.

Forget about raising that cup of kindness to our renewed solidarity with the human race.

Forget about oozing with warmth and camaraderie towards mankind.

Here is what we’re not supposed to forget.

We are at ground zero for the Money Mafia and its financial crimes against humanity.  
   And to drive the point home we have to listen to a crooner notorious for his ties to organized crime!

They don’t waste a New York minute, do they?  

No sooner does the newborn Year pop out than they have to rush in and kill the festive mood by brazenly singing about the very thing that makes life so miserable for everyone else - the cutthroat scramble for top dog, the sleepless will to master the world.

Not content with their claims of world domination the other 364 days, they have to pick the last night of the year to muscle their way into the last sanctum of wistful longing for universal joy and peace, and shove their Crapitalist mantra down the throats of tens of millions.  

Happy New Year Everyone?  

Good luck with that. 

Crappy New Year Everyone - except for the Crapitalists?  

    You can bet on it.