GUILTY PLEASURES (?)

GUILTY PLEASURES (?)
Couple of idyllic days spent down in Sydney with Karen, sis-in-law, Lez and her fiancé, Paul. Sublime. Mostly.
It was all about fireworks (that paradox - wanted to see the famous Sydney NYE pyrotechnics yet abhor crowds and have issues with the effect of fireworks on animals) - bucket list stuff versus that mentioned.
And while the fireworks display was memorable and the sense of community synergy palpable across a sway of ethnic diversity (the view on TV would have eclipsed what we actually saw though), all of the questionable aspects rose to the surface and, for me at least, assumed prominence and sadly remained as the lasting taste.
The utter bedlam leaving the place smacked of a city that no longer cared now that the cash had been counted and the 12 minute crescendo was over. For a country that is ordinarily so regulated, organised and safety obsessed, the withdrawal of hundreds of thousands of people from the public viewing sites over unlit kerbs, plants, obstacles and a sea of garbage, was a case of - every-man-for-himself (in this age of PC fucktartedness - this applies to females too, as it always has). In short, the officials, mounted cops et-al really didn't give a shit as to who, how or why we stumbled out of the various venues. They'd had a long day. We all had. Just go.
Oh, and happy new year...yawn.
Make no mistake, there was the usual upbeat sense of celebration (for many) and the ubiquitous doof-doof cacophony that passes as a contemporary ritual soundtrack, was thrumming in the background. But I couldn't help feeling, the people (the majority of them who began to head awkwardly exit wise as soon as the last pyrotechnical reflection had faded from view) were exuding an overwhelming sense of relief. But glad that what was over? The event, the year, both? Who knew? But people just wanted to get out of there.
As did the flocks of flying foxes who'd been terrified into flight by the booming explosions and light show.
Which got me to thinking of the thousands of animals unable to quit the city environs, pets and wildlife and feral creatures collectively. They must have been terrified beyond measure. And for what? 12 minutes of multicoloured incendiary displays along a stretch of the river accompanied by loud, percussive blasts so that we could all get our aws and oohs on while flicking through several thousand selfies and a shitload of booze and food that we ordinarily would avoid in those given quantities at those inflated prices.
It's an arbitrary line in the chronological sands of time that we have drawn to mark the "end" of this solar cycle. We could just as well have drawn it at the end of any other seasonal quarter or Gregorian month - we just happened to choose December (originally the tenth month of the year - it's that arbitrary) and now we celebrate the closure of that cycle and the commencement of another in the hope that we may be able to change things about ourselves, many of which we've probably just perpetuated during the ritual annual closure event, euphemistically called New Year.
Which begs the question - why can't we just be better, kinder people all the time?
If we were, we would be lighting a simple ritual flame on the Harbour Bridge, perhaps, donating all the taxpayers cash to worthwhile humanitarian endeavours and certainly not terrifying the bejesus out of the animals we purport to love so much with our cacophonic explosive light show - all 12 minutes of it.
I came away from it all feeling relieved yet empty. Guilty. Guilty pleasures? No, not even that. Just like it was a checked box that could have and should have had another label next to it.
I won't be doing it again and while I don't imagine anyone in Sydney City Council is going to cry off their famous NYE event any time soon, I certainly won't be supporting it in years to come.
The surprise bonus - both Karen and I, caught up in the swarm mentality of the occasion, completely forgot our own wedding anniversary. We woke up this morning to this wonderful surprise and the quiet sparkle in my beautiful wife's eyes outshines any fireworks display on Earth.
Subliminally I had felt the sense of occasion (not new year, something more intensely visceral) the day before and had bought her a stunning opal ring. I don't know why.
At least I didn't.
I do now.
It was important.
The other stuff is not.