January 1, 2000,  2 AM

New York City - misty but clear - Orion high in the sky, mild weather.  Stood
at the north end of Central Park's great lawn, with a wide open view south.
Fireworks good, but .... not .... millenium-worth.  (What could be?)
Vodka-breath (curfewed to 9:30 PM for 30 days) was with us, plus my sister
from Virginia and her family and friends.   The towers of the San Remo and
the Beresford pinged pink and blue and white in the sudden explosions.

We could also see, down the slot of Seventh Avenue, as the fireworks in Times
Square exploded among the searchlights there.   The glassy-cube of Jim
Polshek's new planetarium, at 81st and Central Park West, shone through the
trees to the left.

Walked home with sparklers along the dark bridle path.  Sang Loch Lomond,
Auld Lang Syne, and Rock of Ages - then a final game of chess (V-breath beat
me), then to bed.  The digital readout on the fancy push button stove (bought
in 1995) has gone all beeping-screwy - had to throw the circuit breaker to
quiet it down - kitchen all dark.

The Real Estate Section for Sunday was delivered with the paper on Friday
morning, 12.31.99.  It has an article about a west side landlord who fled
Vienna as a teenager in early 1939 and later worked with Churchill, but whose
parents were gassed at Riga.  It bore the date 1.2.2000  Does that mean I was
the first - or the last?

Sign me,  Stone Aged