When 1999 became official, I was sitting on the roof of a garage/room in the middle of Albuquerque, New Mexico. The symphony of guns and firecrackers began in the Northeast Heights and swarmed around me until everyone in the South Valley had emptied their last round minutes later. The Wild West attitude is still prevalent in my home town, and I could feel nothing but peace in the controlled lawlessness.

Not ten minutes into the new year, the question arose. "What are you going to do next year?" It was as if what I just experienced didn't matter. What mattered was next year. I had no answer for people. I didn't know what I was going to do the next day let alone a year from then. And thus began The Year of Hype.

We're going to kick out our impeached president (we didn't). We're going to sit outside for a month to get tickets to Star Wars (I watched it twice on the opening day and didn't wait in line for tickets). We're going to Mars (we're just not going to land on it correctly). We're going to have gun control to keep Columbine from ever happening again (ummmmmmm, talk to the NRA). Y2K! WhyTooCay! WyToKay!

Everyone made extravagant plans for the new year only to pull out after discovering that any place will be the place to be.

And, of course, there's the terrorists. Everyone who has been bold enough to suggest what will happen on New Year's has said the same thing. "I think most people are going to behave themselves, but there will be a few nuts who will pull off something." I've always believed that could be said of any day of the year. The government is telling everyone to stay calm, yet cautious. Again, I thought that's how we were supposed to be all of the time.

Basically, what we're proving at the end of the twentieth century is that we know how to deconstruct and fret over any and every big event, and when it comes down to enjoying ourselves during the actual moment, we come up short. Every New Year's, there are people swarming around cities looking for the perfect place to party until it's 11:59 and they're in their cars with a bottle of Schnapps.

So where's the place to be? What's the thing to be doing? How should we act? Wherever you want, whatever you do, however you feel.

I like new years. Three hundred and sixty-five days is enough time to lump together in one big bundle. Now we have a new century coming, and a new millennium as well. Everyone who hasn't found renown yet can have their name associated with a different chunk of history. When people ask what you did in the twentieth century, feel free to tell them what I will. "I was just warming up."

But more than anything else this week, there is one message I want to convey--Have a great New Year's. Whatever happens happens.

Chris Jungle leaves the twentieth century with no regrets.