New Year, Same Zoo!

The Zoo, With Subtitles

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Some people go through life with some semblance of silence in their heads. Or at least if there is noise, it is the noise of daily life.

I am not one of those people.

When the world gets loud, chaotic, or just slightly unhinged, my brain doesn’t panic — there is always a soundtrack instantly at the ready.

A guitar riff.

A half-remembered lyric.

(Or lyric that we remembered wrong, but it is too funny to change now)

A line from a Cheech & Chong album that’s been riding shotgun in my head since not long after the bicentennial.

It’s not conscious.

It just happens.

New Year, Same Zoo

So, when my wife and I headed to the MGM Grand this New Year’s Eve for our annual ritual of food, drinks, fun, and fireworks.

Always followed by a rapid but orderly exit strategy — I wasn’t expecting anything unusual.

Not more unusual, than is usual for New Years Eve anyway.

We used to go to Old Town Alexandria, but it is far too crowded these days.

But we do fireworks every year, and for maybe the last 5 or 6 years it has been here.

Same place.

Same plan.

Clean, easy, free parking.

Which is a minor miracle in D.C.

But this year… something was different.

Very different.

Mind you, we don't gamble, so are not in the gaming area of the casino, we go all over the rest of the place: there are great restaurants, theaters, and shops all through the place.

Did I mention free parking?

But this year the casino at large wasn’t just busy.

It felt like a new ecosystem had formed.

As we stood waiting for our reserved table at Ginger, the line behind us became its own exhibit.

It was crowded with groups of people that didn't have reservations hoping to get seated.

We had to navigate through a large crowd just to get up to the hostess to let her know we were there for our reservation.

A woman behind us in the reservation line announced loudly and with conviction, "Charles do you see this? I am not sure if I am looking at strippers or streetwalkers".

Ten minutes later, she declared she wasn’t waiting with this crowd and marched off, dragging Charles behind her.

I said a little prayer for Charles as he scurried off in tow.

At our table, the couple next to us appeared to be attending very different events.

He looked dressed for shall we say a time period in the 1970s "where he might have managed a group of said ladies previously referenced by Charles wife."

Which leads us to:

She was dressed appropriate for a party but was lounging back and to the side more like she was at home sitting on a sofa eating some "Haagen Das" watching late night television.

Big, shiny, high heels kicked off and laying on the floor in the aisle next to the table.

Shall we say: colorful language flying freely between them.

(Profanity used as punctuation, mostly a comma it seemed).

A waitress nearly went down after tripping over fashion footwear loose in a four-star restaurant.

As we moved through the building later, we got stuck behind a group that looked like the wardrobe department had been assigned randomly.

One woman wearing plastic clam shells for a top, a mini skirt, fur stole, and platform heels that defied physics.

Another in full evening gown.

Another in jeans.

Two men in suits — one loud red, black lapels, and large black stripes down the trouser legs. Very uniform looking, that other in funeral black. (or men in black, either way,,,,,)

And an Asian guy who looked ready for the Yukon lumberjack trials, complete with huge boots, plaid button up, suspenders, and a long neck bottle of beer.

Champagne flowed. The group moved as one.

That and we noticed “Why are there so many children here?”

Kids everywhere.

Not in the casino — but very much at the casino.

Four-year-olds. Eight-year-olds, tweens.

Sitters are hard to come by, I guess.

Midnight was approaching.

At some point, I realized even New Years normal felt out of place this night.

Like we’d accidentally slipped into December 32nd.

I was waiting to smell the cigarette smoke and hear the monotone voice telling us how we had slipped into another dimension where time and space collide.

In the elevator, a couple in their late sixties were discussing how cold it was. The woman said she was glad they weren’t in New York — too cold to see the ball drop.

Without missing a beat, her husband replied that when it’s that cold, he doesn’t need New York — he’s got his own ball drop going on.

To which his wife mused that she thought it was a retreat not a drop, shrinkage and all.

There were snickers. I’m pretty sure someone translated it into Mandarin, because a whole group started chuckling.

And through all of this — the outfits, the kids, the chaos, the horns, the weed-scented air, the fireworks crowd — my brain did what it always does.

It cued the music.

Da da da da da da da… DA NAH… da, da, da, DA NAH… da DA NAH…

“The Zoo” by The Scorpions.

I didn’t say it out loud. I never do. I just hummed it quietly to myself, watching the human parade move past.

Normally, this is where I get the side-eye.

Or the poke.

Or the subtle hand tug that says, Knock it off, Glen.

This year, none at all.

Because this year, it fit.

That’s when it hit me.

Those little lines in my head — the songs, the quotes, the absurd humor — they aren’t jokes.

They’re mental subtitles.

A way of observing and categorizing without judging.

A way of staying curious instead of cynical.

They surface when the world tilts toward the surreal, not because I’m above it, but because I’ve been around long enough to recognize the pattern.

Human behavior doesn’t really change.

Only the costumes do.

At midnight, we stood on the deck overlooking the Potomac.

Fireworks lit the sky.

People cheered.

Couples kissed.

Old anxieties briefly went quiet.

And somehow, in the middle of all that madness, after the fireworks ended. We walked hand in hand, surrounded by people but inside our own small bubble of normal at the same time.

Thirty minutes later, we were driving home. Radio playing low, enjoying the quiet.

Just content to be for a while.

I was thinking back, back to how this tradition began in the first place.

I proposed to my wife on New Year’s Eve years ago, watching the fireworks light up the sky as a brand-new year was ushered in, and a brand-new life for us both was about to begin.

We’ve watched fireworks together every year since.

Some traditions matter more than others even if it is only to us two.

Another year folded neatly into memory, goodbye 2025.

But this time, this one was far less forgettable than New Years past have been.

If you know the lyrics to “The Zoo,” you know why it fit this night.

And if you don’t — well — that’s okay too.

Sometimes, the best way to understand the world isn’t to try and explain it.

It’s just to listen…and let the soundtrack of your life spin in the background.

I wrote this Knowing how truly blessed I am! Welcome 2026.

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