Since the beginning of time, or so it seems, people have two choices on New Year’s Eve. One is to go out and drink until it seems like pissing on a police car is funny and you end up in jail and on the sex offender list for public exposure. The other choice is to settle in and watch Dick Clark count the seconds down, saying goodbye to last year. Well, that second choice has lost a little magic. Since Clark’s stroke in 2004, it just isn’t the same. His speech is slurred to the point it makes me sad to watch him. It’s like watching a close relative grow old. Dick Clark was always the man who defied age, now we see he’s only human.
The second thing that took away the magic is the new generation of co-hosts. Ryan Seacrest, in his stylish overcoat and retro headphones, looks like he wants to force-feed Big Macs and Twinkies to Clark and finish him off for good so he can sit in the big chair. Then you’ve got Hannah Montana and the Jonas Brothers hanging around? Is the new target audience for this show twelve?
Suddenly, even sober, pissing on a police car doesn’t sound like such a bad idea.
