As long back as I can remember, I have always looked upon New Years Eve as being just another regular evening and certainly not one that I bother making any special plans for.

I mean I have always found it kind of stupid to celebrate the birthday of a year, like it was a real person or something. Granted it is a convenient excuse to get together with friends and enjoy good food and copious amounts of booze, but my theory is that there is 364 other days in the year, so don't waste any of those ones either. I mean, why wait till the last day of the year, enjoy life as it happens.

Anyway, this New Years eve was going to be no exception since Rhonda was going to be working till about 11 PM and all of my friends were doing "couple things", so I would kind of be out of place. I had planned on going down to the pub this year, but the bar manager there got some damn crazy idea that he would be implementing a cover charge of $35.00 for their New Years Eve Gala and offering free party favours (5 cent paper hat and a 10 cent noise maker with feather) and a complimentary snack (stale nacho chips) and free champagne (cheap no name brand sparkling wine), in order to celebrate the arrival of 2006.

Realizing that this did not seem to be exactly what I was searching for in the way of an evenings entertainment, I resolved myself to staying home and picking up Rhonda after her shift ended at the restaurant where she works.

Around 3 in the afternoon, my Mom telephoned and asked if I wouldn't mind dropping over there to give my father a hand in setting up a video camera that he had borrowed for their annual New Years Eve party they were have this evening.

"Are you sure Dad even wants my help, Mom?" I asked cautiously into the phone. "You know Dad really doesn't like anyone interfering when he is doing something."

"I am not sure if he does want any help, but by the sound of all the cursing coming from the den, I am quite certain he definitely NEEDS some assistance", Mom responded. "I am far too busy to stop all the cooking & preparations for the party to go in there and get yelled at by him. Please come over Son, before he smashes the poor camera into a thousand pieces."

I arrived at my folks house about a half hour later and found my father still in the den with the video camera and a tripod. He appeared to have the thing in a headlock of some kind and was threatening it when I walked into the room.

"I'll break yer bloody neck", my Father red with rage gasped at the tripod. "You'll not get the better of me, ya  !@!@&^*@ "

Upon realizing he was no longer alone in the room, Dad laid the tripod down gently on the carpet and looked over at me, appearing somewhat embarrassed.

"Ah Good, your here...Good Man", Dad said looking at me like he had been expecting me. "Your mother mentioned that you might be dropping over to give me a hand in setting this damn thing up."

After a rather long-winded and extremely repetitive obscenity laced description of the problem, my father finally summarized the predicament by stating that the camera would not separate from the tripod.

"I can't use the bloody camera properly if I can't detach it from it's damn stand." Dad explained irritably. "I mean I want to film our Karaoke contest at the party tonight and I need to be able to get some good camera angles."

Sounding more like the director Steven Spielberg then my own retired father, I quickly attempted to calm his foul mood by advising him that the tripod had a safety feature which required him to push down a lever prior to removing the camera.

The problem he had been battling with for the past hour was solved within ten seconds. I figured that this simple solution would send him into yet another rage however he seemed quite pleased with the fact everything was now in working order for the party.

"Good Work, Son." Dad exclaimed, sounding quite relieved. "Now I will be able to get everything on film tonight when Old Pete and Irene, Margie and Billy and Jerry and the boys all come over for a good time."

The list of names he had just mentioned were all elderly retired friends of my parents and the thought of them sitting around drinking heavily and yelling into some poor unsuspecting Karaoke machine, gave me a sudden shiver down my spine.

Laughingly, I joked out loud "Hey Dad, what's your video going to be called 'Geezers Gone Wild - Volume 1'."

Dad apparently did not share the subtle humour in my little joke but before he could respond, Mom called us both into the kitchen to ask us to try her home-made rum fruit punch. It was extremely deliousious and with all the fresh fruit it in, an excellent & healthy beverage.

After helping myself to another large glass of punch, I assisted Dad in moving the camera and chairs and things into the living room for their party later on.

My father continued to be in a very rare good mood this afternoon, undoubtedly since his friends were all coming over and they were having a party.

"If you like son, you are welcome to stay here tonight and indulge in all the festivities", Dad advised.

Thankfully I had a legitimate excuse to avoid this "event" so I graciously declined advising him that I was picking up Rhonda after work around 11 PM.

"Don't want to be in our Karaoke video tonight or written about in our daily journal later on, eh?" Dad responded snickering aloud.

That would be all I need, I thought to myself. Me captured on video on New Years eve singing Karaoke hits of the 1950's with my retired parents and their drunken geriatric rabble. Why don't I just paint an "L" on my forehead for "Loser".

Then I suddenly snapped out of my daydream and realized that Dad mentioned a daily journal of some kind. I needed clarification as this was news to me.

"Dad, what is this daily journal you are talking about?", I asked pretending to be only mildly interested.

"You know, one of those 'Bloggy thingies' or whatever the Hell you call them", Dad responded. "Your mother and I are starting one as of the first of the year to send out to friends and family just to keep everyone current with what's going on with the family."

For some unknown reason my heart began to beat faster and I began to feel quite nervous at the thought of my parents writing a daily blog and posting it on the internet for everyone to see. Then I realized I was probably over-reacting and the thing would undoubtedly be about the charity groups that Mom works with or the hobbies that Dad likes to indulge in from time to time. Doubtlessly mindless stuff that would be forgotten as soon as it was read. Just to be safe however, I had to inquire further.

"So what are you writing about in Mom's and your journal", I asked hoping for a nice boring answer that one would expect from a retired parent.

"Well usual stuff, daily life and the family of course." Dad replied almost immediately. "You, your sister, young Mikey...the whole lot of you, just to name a few topics"

"Me?", I responded once again becoming rather nervous. "I could see writing about Mom or Sis or even Mikey. But me. What could you possibly write about me in your journal?"

"You, I have volumes of stuff about you I am ready to write about", Dad snickered aloud in a very evil way. "Like a couple of weeks back when you almost fell off the roof hanging up Xmas lights or the time you almost crapped your pants when that convict was going to beat you up. No, I have no shortage of stories about you, my boy and I am sure the internet will just love them all."

Once again the annoying and very unsettling cackling of his started up. It reminded me of one of those mad scientists laughs you would see in the old science fiction movies.

Realizing that Dad could really publicly embarrass me as he displays very little tact or diplomacy in these kind of matters, I began to panic. He can't start a blog about me and the family. It simply just is not right.

I do realize that everyone reading this is already calling me a hypocrite since I am writing a blog which, on occasion may vaguely reference one of my family members in passing. But that is much different than this. Much, much different.

OK, it's not different at all, I admit it. I AM a hypocrite, do as I say - not as I do. But I don't like this idea one bit. I mean I already hear how much of a disappointment I am as a son, I really don't need to read about it online as well. Perhaps I could reason with Dad, he can be a reasonable man sometimes, I hoped.

"Er Dad", I started slowly "You can't write about me in your blog. I just don't feel comfortable about it. Not unless you change my name at the very least."

Dad stared at me in silence for about a minute and then replied "Change your name, you damn fool, why would I change your name. No one would know who the blazes I was talking about."

"To protect my identity." I responded, feebly attempting to come up with some kind of valid reason.

"Protect your identity? From who?" Dad responded beginning to sound a little agitated. "We are only just sending it round to a few friends and family. Anyway you are not famous. Who do you think you are, Frank Sinatra?"

Just then Mom came into the room, I was hopeful that this would allow the subject to be changed without any further ridicule from the old man. No such luck though.

"Hey Mother" Dad yelled out beginning his tirade of ridicule, "I think your Son is on the drugs or something, He thinks he's Frank Sinatra. Wants us to change his name when we write about him in our journal. Mr. High and Bloody Mighty wants to protect his identity from the masses."

Thankfully Mom was somewhat sympathetic to my plight and responded "Don't make fun of your son, Simon. He has always been a shy boy. I am sure he has his reasons."

Sadly however, once Dad gets going on a soapbox, he does not stop until he has completely exhausted the topic. My father continued his outlandish mockery.

"Can you just imagine, the family overseas reading the journal and me saying "Our boy Rupert did this" or "Our son Englebert did that" They would think I had a couple of screws loose or something. I have never heard anything so foolish in all my days. Perhaps we should just simply refer to you as Frank, or would you prefer to be called Mr. Sinatra?

I realized then that I was fighting a losing battle and there was going to be a journal whether I liked it or not and I would be most certainly written about. There was no escaping this fact. I resolved to end the conversation then and there without another word.

About a half hour later as I was just getting ready to leave, the doorbell rang and a few of the guests began to arrive.

As I passed them in the hallway, I heard my Dad yell after me "Hey Son or is it Frank? Are you sure you don't want to stick around for Karaoke and sing some of your greatest hits like 'New York, New York' or 'I've Got You Under My Skin'. HA HA HA"

I could still hear him cackling loudly at his own poor joke as I got into my car.

As I drove home I got a feeling that 2006 may have a few new & unexpected challenges for me, Dad's blog just to name one as an example.

Yep, 2006 would be about me, the Year of the Hypocrite, I sighed to myself.