I say this every year, but no New Year’s Eve celebration of any kind will ever match what the kids and I saw in front of the Eiffel Tower when 1999 gave way to 2000. A bit dippy from champagne and standing about two city blocks in front of the Eiffel Tower and watching the greatest fireworks display in history. And then walking all the way back to Montmartre with thousands on the streets after the civil servants shut the Metro down at 1 a.m. No cabs anywhere. Here’s a non-embeddable video. Three videos of tonight’s 2014 Eiffel Tower action after the jump.

This afternoon I attended a rehearsal by the 20 Feet From Stardom gals — Merry Clayton, Darlene Love, Lisa Fischer and Judith Hill — for their performance at tomorrow’s Rose Bowl game in Pasadena. They’ll be singing “The Star Spangled Banner” before Michigan and Stanford go at it. It’s all but certain that the short-listed 20 Feet will end up as one of the five Best Feature Doc nominees. It’s now viewable on iTunes.

Posted eight years ago: “I’d say ‘Happy New Year’ to everyone, but…all right, ‘Happy New Year.’ But I’ve always hated those words. Nothing’s ‘happy’ by way of hope. Happy is discovered, earned, lucked into. At best, people are content or…you know, joyously turned on for the moment or laughing or telling a funny story or a good joke. Placated, relaxed, enthused, generous of heart…but ‘happy’? Clams are happy. There’s only the hum. Either you hear it or you don’t.

Posted in 2010: “Nothing fills me with such spiritual satisfaction as my annual naysaying of this idiotic celebration of absolutely nothing.

“I love clinking glasses with cool people at cool parties as much as anyone else, but celebrating renewal by way of the hands of a clock and especially in the company of party animals making a big whoop-dee-doo has always felt like a huge humiliation.

“Only idiots believe in the idea of a of a midnight renewal. Renewal is a constant. Every minute marks the potential start of something beautiful and cleansing, and perhaps even transforming. So why hang back and celebrate a rite that denies this 24/7 theology, and in a kind of idiot-monkey way with party hats and noisemakers?

Last June Fox News got its knickers in a twist over Aaron Sorkin‘s Newsroom line that the Tea Party is “the American Taliban.” As I noted last June, this observation is as dead-on as they come. Duck Dynasty‘s Phil Robertson even has the look of a mullah. “Make sure she carries her Koran…save ya a lot of trouble down the road.”

Yesterday Technology Tell’s Steven Silver posted a compelling retort to Christina McDowell‘s anti-Wolf of Wall Street essay (“An Open Letter to the Makers of The Wolf of Wall Street, and the Wolf Himself“) in a 12.26 L.A. Weekly post. “It’s pretty clear that McDowell hasn’t seen the film,” he writes. “If she had, she’d know that it does not ‘glorify’ the crimes of Belfort and Co. — not even close. The film treats its subjects as degenerate, criminal scum.” Well, not altogether. It treats them as degenerate criminal scum who partied like howling Caligulas — a slight difference. That’s the double-track strategy that Scorsese chose before shooting. No judging, you are there, no Cecil B. DeMille-like admonishing from on high. McDowell writes that in actuality “this kind of behavior brought America to its knees.” Silver replies — hello? — that this is “exactly the film’s point.”

If you’re one of those people who likes to sit in an idling car in a parking lot and do nothing, fine. Just don’t do it with your lights on. Is it really that hard to remember that idling in a crowded lot with your lights on (parking or front beams) suggests to other drivers that you might soon be leaving, and that this always results in someone deciding to all-but-block a parking lane by waiting for you to leave? Two explanations — (a) the person sitting in their idling car has forgotten his/her lights are on or (b) he/she doesn’t give a damn and is therefore a kind of parking-lot sociopath. I ran into one last night in the Gelson’s parking lot on Santa Monica Blvd. near Sweetzer. It was a woman in her 50s, gazing at her face in a small vanity mirror and applying some kind of makeup. Here are three related posts — “Public Enemies,” “Parking Lot Scolds,” “Special Corner of Hell.”

I know it’s not pleasant to inhale dog breath, but somehow dog-owners have coped with it for centuries. It’s barely something to think about. I’ve owned two golden retrievers and rolled around on the floor with dozens of other dogs, and I’ve never said to myself, “Oh, Jesus, here comes Fido and his stinky mouth”…not once! And yet the makers of Orapop are flush. They’re paying off their mortgages, taking trips to Barbados, getting face lifts in Brazil. Leonardo DiCaprio has said that the behavior in The Wolf of Wall Street is a metaphor for almost everything that’s wrong with this country (or words to that effect). I think that Orapup is a similar metaphor. If I met a hot girl at a party and she told me she uses Orapop on her dog, I would smile and politely excuse myself.