I watched the New Year roll its way over the glittering streets of Reno in from an overlook halfway up Geiger Grade. I've wanted to watch the fireworks from up there since my senior year of high school, but for one reason or another I never did. Yet being as I had a car, a new camera, and some spare time, I decided to go for it this time around. I drove the winding and twisting road up to the scenic overlook dressed in every scrap of winter clothing I brought with me from Colorado and parked next to a small four-door car which boomed with the sounds of expensive subs.
I climbed out of the truck with my backpack in one hand and a folding chair in the other. Trying not to block anyone else's view, I set up the chair, zipped my jacket up to my nose, and sat on the cold plastic on the cold mountainside during the cold night in the cold state of Nevada. I dug into my pocket and fished out my cellphone. A click of the "Volume Up" button on the side caused the front display to yell at my eyes, "11:52!" I winced at the brightness and set the phone on my thigh. Just in time.
I spent the next few seconds digging out my new camera from my backpack, stuffing it under my coat to keep it from catching cold, and then jamming my hands into my jacket pockets.
Volume Up. 11:53!
I can never decide if city lights look like embers from a dying fire or man's poor imitation of God's stars. Bother metaphors appeal to me. In the former, you get an explanation for the pulsing, flickering, and moving patterns of the city's luminescence. It looks as if a caravan of giant gypsies stopped over in the valley for the night, got cold from drinking the frosty waters of Lake Tahoe, and so sparked up a fire to warm their huge gypsy feet. Much later, when they were all going off to sleep, the most safety-conscious giant gypsy got up and stomped out the flames.
In the latter, you get a good picture of Man's hilarious ineptitude. In attempting to replicate God's nighttime spectacle, we end up with some stars spread way too far apart, some lumped together, some blinking, some shifting from green to yellow to red. The colors are all off, and it wastes a lot of electricity.
Volume Up. 11:55!
About this time every year, I get to thinking that I need to do something rash. I look around my folding chair for opportunities. There are a handful of parked cars around me. Maybe I could go and kick the tires of one until the occupants get out to stop me, then I could defeat all seven of them in hand-to-hand combat. Moving my gaze onward, I see a sign that reads "CONGESTED AREA 25 MPH." I need that sign. It will be my souvenir from the night I finally saw the fireworks from this overlook. Jake left his bag of tools in the back of the truck. I could probably go right now and get the wrench I would need. Someone might try to stop me, but I could always defeat all nine of them in hand-to-hand combat and then be on my way with my sign. Whatever I'm going to do, I need to do it fast because I'm running out of time.
Volume Up. 11:57!
Time is a weird thing. It's a weird thing because we hate it so much. There's never enough when we want it most and there's a surplus when we desire to get on with life. I once heard my good friend Robbie Halleen use our hatred of time as proof that we are eternal beings. "Fish don't complain about the ocean being too wet," he said, "and worms don't complain about having to be underground all of the time. That's because they were made for those environments. But humans always feel the chafe of time on them, which indicates that this is not where we're supposed to be."
Volume Up. 11:59!
I press the "Power" button on the side of my camera and flip the view screen open. My eyes wince at the LCD's brightness. The camera's computer blinks at the blobs of light in front of it, confused for a second or two. Then it slowly understands and adjusts the lenses to make the picture sharper. There she is. The city of Reno, all laid out in front of me. I wonder if the folks watching from behind me are annoyed that I'm filming. The light from my screen is a bit bright so I try to cover it with my other hand. I know that in some movie theaters, they'll kick you out for even opening your cellphone. I hope that no one tries to kick me out of the overlook. For their sake, of course. I wouldn't want to defeat all twelve of them in hand-to-hand combat.
LCD Screen Display: "12:00"
The fireworks leap off the tops of the casinos downtown. I'm recording it all on my new camera. A few seconds later, I hear the faint pops and booms of the explosions. I try all sorts of tricks with the camera. I center the fireworks and zoom in as far as it'll go. Then I pan out a bit and put the fireworks near the bottom right-hand corner of the screen. Oh yeah, I think, this will work great for a title sequence. I plan to later put the words "2011 - A Year In Review" in the black empty space where the night sky is. Of course, in the final edit, I will have Auld Lang Sine playing. Of course I'm going to make a "2010 In Review" video. It will be full of all the awesome stuff I do in 2011. Or rather, all of the awesome stuff people around me do in 2011, because there's not much chance that I will give the new camera to someone else to film.
LCD Screen Display: "12:03"
Shouldn't these fireworks be over by now? They are for me, as I flip the screen shut and power off the new camera. I place the new camera into the new camera bag and then put that whole apparatus into my old backpack, stand up, stretch, pick up the folding chair, and walk back to the truck. I stow all of my effects in the passenger seat and head off down the hill. I can see the fireworks sparkling all the way until I exit onto South Meadows Parkway and head for Dad's place.
Happy New Year, one and all.
Thanks for reading,
-Daniel K
