Parting Glances: One minute past 12

If you're going to stay home alone on New Year's Eve it's best to have a plan (or pretend to).
That way if someone asks you (smugly), "What did you do New Year's Eve?" you can say (smartly), "Well, unlike the previous 20 years, this year's celebration was carefully planned for — with just one unexpected distraction." [A note slipped under my door at 12:01 AM, EST.]
Your answer should be accompanied by a knowing wink. And at the risk of further questions it's wise to go on the offensive: "And I suppose you were asleep as usual by midnight? Those Lawrence Welk reruns will do it every time."
All right. So I stayed home and you didn't. But I'm good company by myself. I've learned to do lot's of creative things solo. Just so you won't feel sorry for me (after you've gotten over your bars-close-at-three, weeklong holiday hangover) here's how one of the too-old-to-believe-you're-being-cruised set (resolution: get a gaydar million mile tune up) ushered in our next 366 days of Dumbo ear flapping. First off, I had props.
Prop #1 (Countdown 9:00 PM): "HOMME Arena+ The Greatest Men's Fashion Magazine in the World." Surely $15 isn't too much to spend for the unadulterated pleasure of oo-ing and ah-ing some of the most breathtaking, drop-dead gorgeous specimens of unairbrushed manhood in their honest-to-goodness, big city, full-blooming, uncomplicated, acne-free, well-dressed (undressed) narcissistic naturalness.
And those glossy pages! 370 of them. It's like touching smooth, full-bodied eye candy. (I once had skin like that — at least our rector said so.) Resolution: Go Botox in 2005. Work out six days a week, maybe seven or eight. [Private word to stunning blond model, pages 191 to 213: Make the most of it, kid. Beauty has a sneaky way of petering out on you. Once unzipped, time flies.]
Prop #2 (10:00 PM): DVD rental, non-previously viewed: "The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen." Wow! I'm sorry now I missed the first big anamorphic widescreen go around. My 20-inch Toshiba hardly does justice to this "mind-blowing adventure" of biff! bam! wham! sock-it-to-him (her, it, whatever) violence for the thrill of it. And with Dorian Gray, of all PG-13 anti-heroes.
The computer-generated special effects are unbelievable. If I didn't know better, I'd swear all the hacking and carnage, mayhem and blood-dripping tooth-fanging is real. But like Dorian's picture, it's quite manageable if you keep things out of sight. Or, locked up. (PS to Sean Connery: now that Heston's spent his Remington cartridges, give the NRA a call — and please for my sake renew your AARP membership.)
Prop #3 (11:30 PM): SILENCE, followed by soprano RenŽ Fleming's singing of the hauntingly exquisite Marietta's Song from Eric Korngold's opera,"The City of the Dead." Yes, tonight the silence is so tangible I can almost caress it. I hear no neighbors. No partying. No doors opening or slamming shut. No street sounds. Nothing. By some unspoken acknowledgement of year-end truce everything seems snoozy like a sleeping child.
RenŽ's vibrant soprano works a transforming magic. Her song is one of opera's most poignant. Lyrically sad. A heart's cry for loves lost. Alone I openly weep for myself, my little parade of life's passing fancies, and for a world that outside of my four walls has somehow unwittingly become my dysfunctional home.
[The note reads, "To whom it may concern. As with previous years, Rent 2005 must be paid on time and in hard cash. Lump it or leave it. Signed: The Management."]