Perhaps one reason I never get invited to New Year’s Eve parties is that I tend to overanalyze things.
Take Baby New Year (a.k.a. “Bundle of White Male Joy”), for instance.
Society’s reliance on this iconic tyke in editorial cartoons, greeting cards and advertising campaigns causes me to lose more sleep than the ball drop in Times Square.
Most people blithely accept a halfnaked, curfew-deprived newbo…
