December 10, 1999

So there I was, dancing and singing along to Paul Wright Sunday night when Chet raised a glass and toasted our last People’s employee Christmas party.

Puzzled, I took a sip before realizing that he was probably right. Things are going to be a bit different next December.

He graduates in May, is marrying Sydney shortly thereafter and will be living in Minneapolis, waiting for the day when they’ll be surrounded by little Chetlings.

As for me, I graduate in August and after that, no clue.

I feel like a dumbass every time someone asks, but deep down I don’t think I mind not knowing.

Look at Chet. He’s happy, and he’s got his future laid out in front of him, but who would have dreamt it would include a three-year stint in Nebraska? I mean, it’s Nebraska for God’s sake. No one plans for that, nor do they wish it on their worst enemy.

Then there’s my dad, who has been working at the same place for nearly four decades. Some studies show that the average person changes jobs six or seven times in their lifetime. I figure it’s just my duty to average the numbers out with my old man.

After all, any time I plan something out, it never seems to go quite right.

I think back to my two high school proms where I thought I had the blueprints for a pair of perfect dates. Little did I know at the time that my first date would ditch me when we walked in the door and the other wouldn’t be home when I went to pick her up.

I was a bitter young man at the time.

The starter on our station wagon went out on my 16th birthday. I lost my voice when I was supposed to sing “Born to Hand Jive” in our high school play. There were picnics canceled by thunderstorms, vacations ruined by blizzards and first dates spoiled by a tractor, food poisoning and a stampede of horses. Long story.

On the other hand, nearly every time I’ve just headed out and done something, it’s turned out for the best. I figure the more plans you make, the more things can go wrong.

I look back at spontaneous spring breaks, random road trips and unexpected excursions, and they mark some of the best times I’ve had.

So I’m cool with leaving my future open for discussion. Heck, I’m just impressed that I already know what I’m doing for New Year’s Eve — or the MillEddieum as a certain roommate of mine insists on calling it.

A bunch of us fellas are heading down to Des Moines to see The Nadas for New Year’s. Watching them play has kind of become a tradition the last few years and we figured that we’d rather go with something fun and familiar rather than exotic and expensive. Also, if Y2K hysteria strikes, we’ll be in familiar surroundings and know which stores to loot.

Then, once the chaotic weekend ends, I figure everything will settle back into its normal routine. About the biggest impact I see the millennium having on my life is that when I have a brain fart, I’ll have to scribble out four numbers on my check’s dateline instead of just one. Well, that and learning to live without rappers using catch phrases like “nineteen ninety-quad” or “the nine-trey” in their songs. Now if only we could do something about the “Will2K” epidemic.

So I guess that’s it. In a nutshell, I’m not worried about what comes next.

Tonight I’m going to join Moss Pit on stage at his graduation party and bust out some old school. Tomorrow I’m going to watch ISU whipsmack the Hawks a couple times, and Sunday I’m going to enjoy Billy Joel with Taylor and the boys.

After that, I’m just going to wake up each morning and do whatever comes to mind with a smile on my face.

Maybe a month from now I’ll know better where things are going – maybe I won’t.

Regardless, I’m going to remain optimistic.

And far away from Nebraska.