New Year's Eve

A Time of Lowering.

We’re coming up on New Year’s Eve, a time when Americans traditionally express our hopes and dreams for the coming year by getting hammered and watching things descend. The most famous descending thing, of course, is the big ball in Times Square, but there are also “drops” in many other cities, including Miami, where there’s always a festive crowd on hand at midnight on Dec. 31, when we traditionally lower a personal-injury attorney into a vat of Cheez Whiz.

I’m joking, of course. That would be a waste of Cheez Whiz wrong.

But here’s a New Year’s Eve tradition that I am not making up: For several decades, the city of Tallapoosa, Ga., has been celebrating the new year by lowering a possum named Spencer. Spencer was discovered many years ago on the side of the road by Bud Jones, a professional Tallapoosa taxidermist, who, in a 2018 NPR interview, recalled that historic moment: “He wasn’t hurt at all, except he was dead. So, I said ‘Well, he’ll make a nice mount.’”

So Bud mounted Spencer (get your mind out of the gutter, you pervert) who became the centerpiece of Tallapoosa’s New Year’s possum-drop celebration, which was inspired by the fact the city’s original name was Possum Snout. Bud passed away in 2024, but Spencer is still Tallapoosa’s celebrity spokespossum, as well as continuing to be dead. In fact, if you go to the official Possum Drop website, you’ll find this statement prominently displayed:

This appears to be a veiled reference to the city of Brasstown, N.C., which used to welcome the new year by lowering a live possum in a Plexiglass cage from the roof of a convenience store. Brasstown officials insisted that they always lowered the possum very gently and later released it unharmed. But over the years there were rumors, totally unfounded, that people were throwing live possums off the roof, which of course would be hilarious wrong. Needless to say this came to the attention of PETA, which looked into the matter and decided it was no big deal.

Ha ha! Again I am joking. Nothing is “no big deal” to PETA, which threatened legal action on the grounds that the Brasstown celebration, even with the gentle lowering, was emotionally traumatic for the possum, according to (I am still not making this up) “preeminent opossum experts.” Eventually both the North Carolina Wildlife Resources Commission and the state General Assembly got involved in this issue, and finally, after continued lawsuits and protests, the live-possum drop was dropped, which I would imagine has put a damper on the once-vibrant downtown Brasstown nightlife scene.

It’s different story in the Wisconsin city of Prairie du Chien, which is French for “Prairie of the Chien.” On New Year’s Eve, as part of Carp Fest (”Fest du Carp”) they lower a frozen and tastefully decorated carp, which was previously caught (Don’t tell PETA!) in the Mississippi River. They use a different carp every year, but they always name it Lucky.

Lucky the Carp

After Lucky has been lowered, people line up to kiss him. Seriously. They do this because in the Chinese culture, carp are said to bring good luck. At least that’s what the people of Prairie du Chien have been led to believe, although you can’t help but wonder if they’re the victims of some kind of prank, given the old Chinese saying:

他蠢到连死鲤鱼都会去亲

Which means “He’s so stupid he would kiss a dead carp.”

Spencer the possum and Lucky the Carp are just two of the many, many things that Americans, often while consuming alcoholic beverages, lower on New Year’s Eve. Wikipedia has a comprehensive list of the cities that hold these celebrations, including:

-- Lebanon, Pa., which lowers a massive bologna, which is “attached to a lit disco ball for visual appeal.”

-- Key West, Fla., which lowers a giant red high-heel shoe containing (it goes without saying) a drag queen.

-- Bradford, Pa., which lowers a gazebo. Yes: A gazebo. It is not clear why. Maybe Chinese pranksters have convinced them it’s good luck.

-- Eastover, N.C., once known as Flea Hill, which lowers a large, 30-pound replica of a flea, possibly because if they lowered an actual flea, (a) nobody would be able to see it, and (b) they would get in trouble with PETA.

Of course the big one, as I mentioned earlier, is the lowering of the Times Square ball in front of a massive festive throng of revelers who are celebrating the arrival of the new year by peeing into diapers:

The problem is that New York City has one working public toilet for every 2.4 million residents, and that toilet has been out of order since 1973. I have been in Times Square on New Year’s Eve, and I can truthfully say that it’s a once-in-a-lifetime experience, in the sense that I would never do it again, even if the alternative was kissing Lucky the Carp. In fact I’d be willing to let Lucky the Carp get as far as third base before I’d do Times Square again.

In part, this is because I’m old. At my age (137) pretty much your entire goal on New Year’s Eve is to go to bed. For the past few years, Michelle and I have spent New Year’s Eve babysitting our grandsons, Dylan and Kyle; last year our entertainment was a magic show performed by Dylan, who received a magic set for Christmas and was eager to demonstrate the various baffling illusions but had not felt the need to read any of the instructions, the result being that the show went like this:

DYLAN (holding out a deck of cards): Pick any card.

ME (taking a card): OK.

DYLAN: Is it the three of clubs?

ME: No.

DYLAN: It’s not?

ME: No.

DYLAN: Are you sure?

ME: Yes.

DYLAN (taking the card back): Wait a minute. (He spends several minutes fiddling with the cards, then holds out the deck again.) OK, pick any card.

ME (taking a card): OK.

DYLAN: Now is it the three of clubs?

ME: No.

DYLAN: It’s still not?

ME: No.

DYLAN (taking the card back): Wait a minute.

And so it went for five or six scintillating hours, until midnight finally arrived and we were allowed to go to bed.

Of course New Year’s Eve is about more than just partying. It’s also a time when we reflect on the events of the past year, both good and bad, as described so poignantly in the lyrics of the song we traditionally mumble along to:

Should old acquaintance be forgot

And something something mine or possibly mind

Should old acquaintance be forgot

And something something something

In the spirit of that song, next week’s Substack will be my annual Year in Review, during which I’ll look back at the events of 2025 in what I hope will be a humorous lighthearted fun manner that will not cause the comments section to become a festering cesspit of rage. The Year in Review is quite long, and after it’s published I’m going to take a couple of weeks off, so if you’ve been relying on this Substack to keep up with current events, you should seek professional help will have to look elsewhere.

And now, speaking of needing professional help lighthearted fun, let’s hear from you paying subscribers.