Enter the Pig

Happy New Year! Yes, I know we’re already into February, but that doesn’t mean it’s not the New Year. According to the Chinese calendar, the New Year started this past Sunday, February 18th. You did know this right? I mean, the Chinese only had the most powerful and dominant culture on the face of the planet for over 800 years. They had armadas capable of taking on every European power contemporary to them. And I bet you thought they only invented fireworks and ate with chop sticks.

So how did you spend your Chinese New Year’s Eve? You probably weren’t doing the same thing you were on the Gregorian New Years. I know I wasn’t. On December 31st I was a huge loser and didn’t go out or do anything. But this time around, I decided to go out and enjoy myself, which, of course, means copious amounts of alcohol. Hey, what did you think I was going to do? It’s New Years.

In celebration of the New Year, I joined a group of my Asian friends and headed out to downtown Raleigh. If you haven’t had the chance to get to know an Asian person, then let me tell you a few things about them. They like to gamble and they like to drink, a lot. Yes, I know it’s stereotyping, but anyone who likes to booze as much as I do and play poker as much as I do is perfectly ok by me. As far as I’m concerned, most Asians are good people.

We ended up going to Five Star, an Asian themed restaurant right in the heart of downtown. The restaurant stays open for late nights as a night club, and of course, they were all ready to go for the New Year. Or at least I thought they were going to be. When I showed up around midnight, the place was packed with white people. Now, being a white boy myself, I shouldn’t have a problem with that. But here I am, in an Asian restaurant/nightclub on the eve of the Chinese New Year and I’m surrounded by white people. I’m sorry, but I was just a little weirded out by that.

On the plus side it made my friends that much easier to locate. Once I found everyone, I learned the reason why the majority of the people there were not minorities. There was a cover band playing at the time that was supposed to finish up at 12am and let the DJ take over. But all of the white boys kept insisting that the band continue to play. Which for me wasn’t a big deal. That is, it wasn’t until the band played a cover of Aretha Franklin’s I Will Survive. Now don’t get me wrong, Aretha sings a pretty good tune, but this cover was awful, it was truly an insult to my eardrums. The worst part, however, was that all the white boys started jumping up and down and singing along.

Now I know by the stroke of midnight most of those guys had probably imbibed in enough alcohol to knock out a full grown horse, I’m sure. Still, that doesn’t excuse singing along to a crapped out rock version of a classic R&B song. Stupid white people.

Ok, enough with the racial partition. I’m not really sure I’m qualified to talk about that anyway. Luckily enough, the band eventually had to leave and the DJ was able to take over. Originally he began playing some recent hip hop hits, but later in the night he began to play some old favorites. Now, I’m not huge into rap and hip hop. That was always my older brother’s thing. I usually prefer the rock and roll. Hey, I’m a white boy, what’d you expect? But I do enjoy a lot of the older, classic R&B and hip hop.

As the place started to clear out, leaving a mostly Asian group behind (plus me) the DJ started playing such favorites as Boyz II Men, Blackstreet, and Cypress Hill. My friends moved to the dance floor and I adjoined to the nearby sofa to mouth off the lyrics I hadn’t heard in ages. Needless to say, I didn’t bother to get up and dance. Let me assure you, there’s a very good reason why. It’s as much for your benefit as it is for my own. Trust me, you don’t want to see me dance.

Back in college I was given the most wondrous opportunity to watch a video tape of my drunken self attempting to dance. I should probably thank my college buddies for goading me into dancing while I was severely inebriated and then recording it for all prosperity. But considering the fact that they make fun of me even to this day at every conceivable chance, I don’t think “thanks” is the word I’ll be using. Suffice it to say, I keep off the dance floor. Besides, I’m white, I’m not supposed to be able to dance.

Now knowing how my friends are, that they like to take shots throughout the night (many, many shots), and knowing that I had a much longer drive home than anyone else, I decided to be a complete and totally weenie. And you know what, I’m ok with that. I bought one drink and nursed that baby for the entire night. But my friend Kim decided I was going to take shots with her, and she wouldn’t take no for an answer. Well, not that I’m in the habit of saying no to an incredibly attractive girl who’s trying to get me drunk. Still, I attempted to put up a fight. Well, I sort of put up a fight… for a minute. Ok, maybe it was more like thirty seconds. Did I mention before that I was a complete and total weenie?

It was to no avail however. Not only did Kim manage to get me to down two shots of whiskey (I refused to drink tequila with her), but several other people forced various other forms of alcohol on me as well. It didn’t help that we knew the bartenders working that night and they were very persistent in goading us to buy more booze. Needless to say, everyone in my group was having a good time.

As the night wore on, several of the helium filled balloons that were stationed against the ceiling of the building began to float effortlessly down to us on the floor. But with only a sharp poke to the bottom of the party favor, the balloons would majestically levitate back up to join their brethren. Now, knowing that the balloon fell from its initial perch I realized that it was running low on helium. I began to wonder how little of a force was needed to get the inflatable back up to the ceiling and exactly how long it would be before gravity was able to counteract that force and bring the balloon back to the ground.

It was about that time I realized that I was being a huge nerd. And I blame this squarely on my family. Heck, I don’t even like physics. But if you grew up in my household, this sort of stuff would have brushed off on you too. My dad and brother were both mechanical engineering majors in college, my uncle runs a shop that machines industrial tools, and my grandfather flew airplanes in the Air Force briefly before joining the FAA. At Christmas time, we sit down to play some cards and I end up listening to discussions on thermodynamics and other such scientific hullabaloo. That’s about the time my brain cells start shutting themselves off in boredom (there’s a reason I didn’t follow in my family’s footsteps). And my parents wonder why I keep a fifth of bourbon at their house year round when I only visit for a scant two weeks during the holidays.

Finally, the end of the night came, the DJ turned off the music, and we were all forced to leave. You usually get the feeling you’re not wanted when people are cleaning things up all around you and stealing away the sofa you were sitting in just five minutes prior. I’d like to think I’m subtle enough to pick up on those clues. As we left Five Star, my friends suddenly began asking me over and over again if I was ok to drive home. Sure, they try to force drinks down my throat all night, then they worry if I’m ok to drive. I understand totally. Ok, maybe I don’t. Anyway, I had less than four drinks in a two and a half hour period, and on a full stomach, so I was more than ok to get the job done. Even then, I had to promise Kim I’d send her a text message to her phone when I got back safe and sound. I’m willing to bet she was fast asleep before she ever got that message, but at least I know my friends care about me.

So that was my New Years, and I hope you had a great one as well. Oh, and in case you didn’t know, it is now officially the Year of the Pig. According to the Chinese zodiac pigs are gluttonous animals that enjoy the carnal pleasures in life. So yeah, I think I’m going to enjoy this year.