Before you party, pray the party soon goes away because we’ve slam danced Earth to bits and it’s Time (poor, old Man) coming back to a home all trashed who keeps on yelling “STOP!” Oh heart! Oh heart! What have we done? All the treasure hoarded in our ballooning ventricles has been crushed by the fierce contractions of our steroid-muscles. It’s Time (poor, dumb Kid) growing up in Nowhereland who can’t get outside to play. Before you sack your Xmas tree or pack its plastic surrogate away in the manger of your self-storage locker, make a little vow to the coming year: I pledge, to the best of my ability, to keep all living trunks connected to their roots while cutting off as many ties as possible to phony petroleum products. It’s Time (hate to say it, folks) we got serious or religious or ingenious (better yet all three) about the downward ticking clock 3…2…1… Happy New ??? Before you party, pray and if this Time you don’t get past prayer, somehow I don’t think it will be a night completely wasted.