I don't often get bits of wisdom from television programs that I end up taking to heart (except for from "Pop-Up Video," but that's my problem; it's nothing a little therapy can't fix). But as 1998 comes to a close, I am reminded of something that was said in a recent episode of "Ally McBeal" that made a lot of sense.
Whatever was said went something like this: If you look back on the past year, and tears -- of either sadness or joy -- do not come to your eyes, than that year has not been worth the bother.
When I look back on this past year, tears do come to my eyes, tears of both joy and sorrow. According to the "Ally McBeal" test, 1998 has been worth it.
It has been a year of epic proportions in almost every way. In the world around us, just think-- a president was impeached; somebody hit 70 home runs; "Murphy Brown" and "Seinfeld" said good-bye. The New York Times saw it fit to say "blow job" on its front page; Iraq got bombed again; Newt Gingrich decided it was time to sit down. John Glenn went into space; asteroids and sinking ships fell down upon us at the movies; John Elway got his Super Bowl win.
And that is just a start.
Locally, it was quite a year, too. People rioted during Hot August Nights; a theater opened on Victorian Square; a university police officer died unfairly and prematurely because an angry individual decided to end his life violently. A mayor decided to step aside, another got four more years, and countless men and women who used to work in downtown Reno joined the unemployment lines when their casinos became dark. We got a new governor, we kept a senator -- barely; and a man who killed a Winnemucca teacher two decades ago in Sparks finally came to justice.
It has also been one helluva a year for me, too. I took a new job with a little newspaper last January; my best friend got married; I got a cat and named him Beavis; I saw a good friend graduate from college. I got my own column; I lost my own column; I won an award from my column; I got my column back.
I also lost an uncle, and a cat I had since I was 10. I put 16,000 miles on my car; I saw my grandmother have a horrible stroke, and a friend nearly lose his life in a traffic accident.
But I also saw my grandmother almost recover completely from that stroke, and saw my friend get on the road to a full recovery.
1998. What a year.
Now, we turn our heads toward 1999 (or, as it will be called by some, The Year That They Played That Old Prince Song "1999" Until We Wanted To Start Killing Disc Jockeys At Random").
It is frightening to think what the upcoming year will come. Chances are -- for every one of us -- someone that we're close to will die. It's inevitable; life isn't forever. As a matter of fact, some of us will die ourselves.
Some of us will become parents; some of us will find new loves. Relationships will end, new ones will start. People will get killed by drunk drivers; people supposedly on their deathbeds will have miraculous recoveries.
There will be political scandals, beautiful parades, and nauseating tragedies. Sports records will be broken; people will get addicted to drugs; people will graduate and start careers.
In other words, 1999 will be quite a year, too. Just like every other year since the beginning of time.
1999 -- like 1998 -- will mean something different to each of us. It will all depend on what happens to us and those around us.
For all of us, many good things will happen, as will many not so good things. But as long as we experience, learn, grow and enjoy as much as we can -- the year will be worth it. After all, isn't that what life is all about?
So, wipe away the tears from 1998, and let the tears begin for 1999. And buckle up; it should be quite a ride.
Jimmy Boegle is a fifth-generation Nevadan who likes much of Prince's music, even "1999." He (Jimmy, not Prince) also thanks his parents for the awesome computer desk. Jimmy's column appears Tuesdays in the Tribune; he can be reached via e-mail at jiboegle@alumni.stanford.org.