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I've always believed you can find absolute magic in the most mundane of situations. I'm not exactly the guy from American Beauty watching a plastic bag fly in the wind, but I feel there's greatness often overlooked in the idiotic. 

Which logically brings us to the film New Years Eve. 

Post-Tilt, I've been going back and forth whether to search for a conventional job or pursue some sort of independent venture. During this period, there are those days where you genuinely believe you can motivate yourself, strike out on your own, and take over the world. Then there are those days where you find yourself in a theater at 1pm watching New Years Eve.

I'm not going to get into how I ended up there, but the only other people in the theater were some high school girls who shrieked every time The Efron came on screen, an elderly, Woody Allen-worthy "New Yorky" couple, and a solo middle-aged guy whose story I'd really like to know (or maybe wouldn't). 

Yes, the movie was as absolutely atrocious and my hathos quota was more than fulfilled. I'm genuinely curious what Hollywood agent is such a salesman that they convinced Robert DeNiro, "Trust me...THIS is gonna be a hit!" 

(Spoiler Alert!!!)

All that being said, the meathead in me that's a sucker for climactic movie speeches from Al Pacino to even Bill Pullman, somehow found myself weirdly non-ironic (or perhaps "reflective" as normal people might say) as Hilary Swank delivered the crescendo. As the Times Sq ball is stuck, she tells us that:

It's suspended there to remind us before we pop the champagne and celebrate the new year, to stop and reflect on the year that has gone by. To  remember both our triumphs and  our missteps, our promises made and broken. The times we opened ourselves up to great adventures or closed ourselves down for fear of getting hurt because that is what new years is all about- getting another chance. A chance to forgive, to do better, to do more, to give more, to love more. And stop worrying about what if and start embracing what will be. So when that ball drops at midnight and it will drop, let's remember to be nice to each other, kind to each other, and not just tonight but all year long.

Trust me, as I re-read this, I cringe. Yet, I'll admit for that brief moment, I managed to forgive even yet another horrific Ashton Kutcher romantic closing line (rivaling that of No Strings Attached). Somehow this awful movie made me remember what I love about New Years Eve.

It's easy to forget this in New York City. There's a graveyard of $150 "open bar" tickets where you waited in line for hours and missed midnight. There's an endless roster of friends who visited with impossible expectations placed squarely on your shoulders.

I forgot that I love New Years Eve simply because I love the idea of a fresh start.

Maybe I value fresh starts because I know I'm not perfect (understatement of 2011?). Some may wipe the slate clean by with religion and being born again (George W.) but that's not happening. Some may move on by literally moving on across the world, but I'm pretty tired of visa offices (and I guess already did that). I just love that we all agree that an arbitrary event on the Gregorian calendar gives us all the chance to try to be just a little better. 

You just survived another 365 days, you must've learned something. Even if you don't keep your resolutions, at least you're making them. You may have lost touch with people you care about, and you're given an excuse to get in contact (though please don't send out on of those mass text messages). How often does the entire world have a chance to collectively reflect and try to improve?

….or maybe I just love the fact that there's globally more drunken revelry on New Years Eve than any other night? 

Either way, I can't believe at this time last year I was on a plane from India to Singapore, getting ready to travel Vietnam. Tilt had not yet even officially launched. If 2011 was that kinda ride, I'm a bit excited for what 2012 has in store.