The odometer just rolled, people, and Spookingtons is there! Well, here, anyway.
I've always found it somewhat ironic that the new year always begins in what is, for our hemisphere, the deadest season of them all. By rights, the changeover should happen in March, when there's some visible indication of the cycle renewing itself. That wouldn't screw anything up, right? I just don't see why we should connect cyclic rebirth with gray, frozen skylines and colorless landscapes.
Maybe ancient peoples chose to observe the new year in January as a passive-aggressive response to overly-optimistic New Year's Resolutions. Kind of telling the citizenry: whoa, there, Icarus, don't get your expectations too high. Start small. Survive through February with your fingers and toes intact, THEN conquer the world.
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