Contrary to what the last post might have suggested, I am not a New Year's Eve party girl. My idea of the perfect way to celebrate dates back to last year, when J and I decided to skip going out and stayed in our room with two pizzas, lots of fluffy chick-lit type reads on our laptops, and a festive bottle of gin each. The silence was only broken by the odd giggle when one of us found something she was reading particularly funny- and we probably radiated smugness over the fact that we weren't stuck out at a party listening to bad Hindi remixes (two words: Himesh Reshammiya. AVOID!) or, in my case, suffering a repeat of the year when my best friend told a whopper about her age- and, by inference, mine too- which resulted in me getting hit on nearly all night by drunk (which I could forgive) and boring (which I couldn't) midthirtysomethings who thought I was twenty-five when the real figure was five below that.
This year's plan involved staying in and having a marathon Sailor Moon viewing while scarfing copious amounts of chocolate, but suckily for me, that didn't quite work out. So, in a homage to what might have been, I'll leave you guys with this picture of Tuxedo Mask, who is one of the spiffiest superheroes I've ever seen and much better dressed than your average save-the-day-er (more Zorro/Mandrake the Magician than Superman. Neat jackets beat spandex any day). If a superhero theme is the order of the day (it seems to have popped up on runways recently), a hot manga boy is as good a way to go as any....plus, I can't think of any reason not to love someone who uses full-blown roses as assault weapons. You have to admit, he's got style.