I've been out late in rural Wisconsin the last three nights. That's a story for another blog entry.

Today was my mom's 50th birthday surprise party at the Biron community hall. I had to get up early to get the house ready for relatives that would come over after.

The relatives left by six. By seven at night, I, Mr. Party Animal, was passed out and sleeping. I woke up around ten and am now, after watching the ball fall in New York, watching Hilary Duff sing poorly on Dick Clark's New Year's Rockin Eve.

Of course, the real new year doesn't start for another hour. The Central Standard Time Zone (known colloquially as "God's Time Zone") has been long subject to the tyranny of the East-Coast media conspiracy. It's been a number of years since I've been at home for New Year's. When I am, Conan O'Brien will hold a CST countdown. Last time I saw it, big dancing CST states (Wisconsin, Illinois, etc.) would come out on the stage and dance around.

I was kind of hoping that Robbie Fulks would be in Madison again this New Year's, but that's not the case. So I'm not even in Madison (and thus, can't make Paulzy's party). There was a party in my hometown held by someone I knew from high school, but I skipped it. And so now I'm just blogging on the couch and watching TV.

Here's what really sucks: this year, New Year's Eve falls on a Saturday night, so Conan isn't even on.