It’s January 1st here, readers. That’s right: 2014.
In case you want some perspective on that, 2014 means that it has been 10 whole years since Facebook launched, 9 years since Lance Armstrong won his 7th Tour de France title (read: “won”) and 8 years since High School Musical came out (don’t act like you are too cool to care about that, readers. There are only two kinds of people in the world: people who can sing along with at least one High School Musical song, and liars.).
I’d make a joke about not having written to you guys since last year, but every time someone near me says something like “Oh, my goodness, I haven’t seen you since last year!” when I literally saw them yesterday, I want to roll my eyes so hard it is physically painful.
But in actuality, it has been a good while. I got caught up in the crazy whirlwind of merriment, tinsel, and passive-aggressive family gatherings that surrounds Christmas and couldn’t find time to write. Besides, nothing had happened in my life that I thought anyone would care about. Until yesterday, that is.
I love being an Idahoan, readers. I really do. I look at everything about the great state I grew up in with an immeasurable sense of pride. But last night really took the cake.
Or should I say ‘potato’?
It’s no secret that Idahoans love potatoes. But what would happen if you combined that starchy adoration with Idahoan’s insatiable need to party? Well, you get my New Year’s Eve Celebration, for one.
The situation was this: 11:50 p.m., a fiberglass potato the size of a Buick was raised, via a crane, high above the heads of the thousands upon thousands of people ready to ring in the New Year. It was supposed to be reminiscent of the New York Ball Drop, only so much more…Idaho. And, as we bade farewell to 2013, it was dropped.
Growing up, there are certain things that eventually you just have to come to terms with that you are never going to be able to see. Included on this list are such things as a dog that shoots lasers out of its eyes, mermaids, and a non-embarrassing picture of yourself during puberty. Until last night, a 16-foot long potato flying down from the sky, like a delicious beacon in the night, was on that list. But, I’m so, so, glad I was wrong. Yes, it was freezing, yes I couldn’t feel my outer extremities, and yes I was elbowed in sternum/eye/back more times than I could count (I blame my short stature. Thanks, genetics), but it was so much fun to celebrate the end of an amazing year with such a unique experience.
There were also cupcakes, music, and a handful of reunions with fellow C of I students who had stayed in the area over break. And silly hats. I’m a sucker for a silly hat, readers, and that’s a fact that I will never feel bad for admitting.
I’m currently in denial about my imminent return to campus. Not because I am not excited about it, but because all the stuff that I brought home with me at the beginning of break is currently strewn about my house and I know it’s going to take me a good chunk of an afternoon to gather it all back up again. Packing is not skill I possess, ladies and gentlemen, nor will it ever be.
Until we meet again,
Ashley A. Miller
Ashley is a sophomore creative writing major from Payette, Idaho.