This also incorporates the overarching trends of the decline of the music business, globalization, the wavering hegemony of American pop culture, the death of hip hop, the endurance of 'Kazakhstan' as a punchline in the post-Borat age, and the comically poor taste of Russian oligarchs.

Kanye reportedly got $1.5 million to fly his whole freaking entourage out to Kazakhstan (ha!) to play a New Year's Eve show for 25 (dang!) oligarchs. He was opening (burn!) for a "Russian dance band called Fast Food." Ha, okay, go Russia!:

After flying in on his private jet with a twelve-man posse, the rapper-producer was onstage for a total of 15 minutes. And this was already too long for the wealthy Kazakh partygoers, who didn’t seem to “get” Kanye’s music, and responded with meager applause.

But don’t take it from us. Here’s Fast Food member Raya Ratatouille:

“When Kanye was performing, a deathly silence filled the hall. From the bored faces of the rich people, it was clear Kanye West was not hitting the right note with them, plain and simple.”

$1.5 mil was not enough. [ReadRussia.com]

Looking to avoid a future of Rudy Giuliani stump-speeches cluttered with references to "never forgetting the nightmares of 1/1," the NYPD has begun making the appropriate preparations in anticipation of the hormone-tweaking musical phenomenon's New Year's Eve performance in Times Square:

The New York Police Department – which has heroically handled terrorist attacks, blackouts and riots without a whimper – is being cautious over the "mob scene" that could result when the Jonas Brothers perform in Times Square at Dick Clark's New Year's Rockin' Eve with Ryan Seacrest on Wednesday night.

"So they're now planning on using extra [security] men for support," the source says. "It's going to be crazy because everyone will be in Times Square to watch them perform on the show."

Of course, no amount of training can really prepare the men in blue for the epic anarchy that follows these boys wherever they go. Don't be surprised if Altamont-style mayhem ensues, as one of the Hell's Angels security detail is stabbed repeatedly in the eyes with a barrette by a banshee tween who'd leaped onto their shoulders from the roof of a firetruck for a closer view of the stage.

• NYPD Fears Jonas Brothers 'Mob Scene' on New Year's [People]

Party Type 1: Oh, This Is Nice
You usually end up at this party after Tanya can't come into town after all and cancels or you were just too darn busy to make good plans, real plans, ahead of time. So you put on a sweater you got for Christmas or the cocktail dress you bought for Debbie's engagement party that you never wore again, and drag some poor unwitting sap of a friend to the party where you don't really know anyone. It's super awkward at first and you just stand by the cheese and crackers, nodding your head to the music, furtively gulping room-temperature chardonnay and furiously wishing for midnight. That way you can hug and kiss the host—she's Tom's friend from work—on the cheek and be on your merry way. What you forget, of course, is that everyone at this party is awkward, and everyone is furtively gulping booze so round about 11:15 er'body's crunk and having deep, sloshy meaningful conversations with each other and your friend is making out with some dude in the hallway and it's sort of the best-slash-worst party you've ever been to. See, the key is to not expect much from New Year's eve. Then it has potential to be great fun. Until you wake up the next morning and you vaguely remember telling that cute guy with the glasses about the time you peed your pants on the R train and you might have cried at one point and oh god you can never, ever see any of those people ever again.

Party Type 2: There's a Place Just a Few Blocks Up
Another product of poor planning. You've cobbled together a group of friends, some are visiting from out of town!, and you're psyched and ready to go except no one made dinner reservations and oh fuck aren't you supposed to like pay a hundred bucks to get inside a bar and stay there all night or something? No worries. There's this Italian place on 7th that's always empty and maybe that bar we went to that time won't be so full. What you end up doing is eating a hasty, bad, too-expensive meal then trudging from bar to bar to bar because everything is too crowded. You're blessed with one friend who keeps complaining that you guys are walking too fast and her shoes are killing her and another who is suspiciously shitfaced. (The culprit is later revealed to be a well-hidden flask). Then everyone gets mad and starts snapping at each other and someone finally yells "I just want to be somewhere, anywhere inside, at midnight. Not wandering around on the street." So you go to the worst, first bar you can find and have a couple beers and hug meekly at twelve then drink some more, and then the secret ninja drunk is trying to coax a stranger at the bar to do untoward things so it's time to take them home and who's going where and let's split cabs maybe? No? OK, fine. Good night. Let's actually make a plan next year, and ugh. You hate New Year's. It's never what you want it to be.

Party Type 3: At the Clurrrrrb
You paid $150 for an unlimited fount (if you can ever actually get to the bar) of watered-down well vodka and sodas! There are swirling lights and meaty guys with shimmer-shirts fist pumping and yelling "you my boy!" or "Ima wreck you, son!" and zomg, Kim Kardashian or someone is hosting! These are the worst kind of New Year's Eve parties, in my opinion, because you're trapped in a terrible place with terrible people but you spent all this money and what else would you be doing anyway? (see above) The celebrity-hosted ones (though they may be in short supply this year) are the worst because they're getting paid a ton to be there and act like they're having fun, while you are paying a ton to be there and act like you're having fun. Will you be enjoying New Year's Eve this year at Marquee in New York City? The celebrity emcee is none other than Dancing With the Stars runner-up and Wedding in Las Vegas megastar Mario Lopez. Your straight boyfriend will just love that, won't he. Disco dancin' while some half-a-fag Carebear stares his dimples at all the ladays. Enjoy it.

Party Type 4: Oh, We Went to Bed at 11
This is mostly your parents. Or it was mostly your parents and, shriek!, now it's you. You are tired and who wants to spend the money anyway. You put the bottle of champagne that someone brought over for a party months ago into the freezer and sit on the couch watching Father of the Bride: Part II, flicking back occasionally to the Dick Clark/Ryan Seacrest annual Times Square is a Miserable Shithole Rockin' Eve and vow to stay up and watch the ball drop and call your friends (or kids) who are out enjoying themselves. Maybe you're with one other person, I dunno. What ends up happening is that you fall asleep on the couch, snore through midnight, wake up with a start at 1:15, turn off the TV (which is now showing a M*A*S*H rerun), and shuffle off to bed. The next day you'll spend some time cleaning the broken champagne bottle glass out of the freezer then walking around the corner to get a bagel. It'll be like the opening in Shaun of the Dead when he doesn't realize everyone else is zombies. An empty, slightly destroyed cityscape and just you alone, strolling along. Because you didn't go out last night. And you're not sure if you're sad about it.

Party Type 5: Auld Lang Syne
And then sometimes it just works out. Your house party is awesome and everyone comes and has a great time. Or it was just the perfect bar. Or the couch was just fine and you (and, if you're lucky, someone special) curled up and enjoyed being home. And then at midnight everyone around you felt very close by, and those who couldn't make it felt very far away, and you smiled and hugged and maybe sang and just gushed about how wonderful New Year's is, really how wonderful. When else throughout the year, throughout life, do we ever all gather to celebrate the passing of time, rather than mourn it? It's a good, ancient thing. And something we should do more often.

Or maybe you're just drunk and it's just another nice night. And that's enough to be happy for.

• Image Gallery: Hard

We honestly don't know who at CNN had the brass cojones to sign off on the pairing of Kathy Griffin and Anderson Cooper to host their 2008 countdown festivities, but if this seven-minute clip is any indication, we just may have witnessed the birth of a New Year's Eve tradition. Like a glass-closeted Dean Martin and fag-hag Jerry Lewis, Griffin & Cooper elevated the art of ball-drop-anticipatory comedic banter to new heights. (Kathy: "My balls are freezing." Anderson: "We have some eggnog in the truck." Kathy: "Well I've got to watch my figure— I'm not like you." Anderson: "Don't worry, I'm not watching your figure either." *Gay rimshot!*)

We know we've had issues with Griffin's act before, but we think the addition of the twinkly-eyed CNN anchor to the mix was exactly the dash of dashing deadpan needed to make her "Which candidates would you most like to see waterboarded?"-brand of comedy go down a little more easily.

• Kathy Griffin & Anderson Cooper New Year's Eve - 3 [YouTube via Towleroad]

So actually this is also on her blog with pictures but it is somehow more satisfying, at least to me, to read it without the pictures and to create them in your mind.

Before I get started, just know that the cleaning service I called gave me an estimate of $450. Since most of the damage happened after I passed out, I'm not footing this entire bill. In all the years that I've had parties, I've never so much as even asked for someone to stay and help me clean up, let alone chip in for any of the booze or anything. But today, I'm livid. The people who fucked up my shit know who you are. You have to give me something. I don't care if you're poor. If you can't afford to be an asshole, than you shouldn't act like one.

You can make a deposit into the "I Can Be Tracie's Friend Again" fund via my PayPal account by clicking the following link. You do not need to have a Paypal account in order to do this.

[She includes a PayPal link here]

I've hosted lots of parties in my day, but nothing—nothing—has ever even neared the level of destruction (and blatant disrespect) that happened at my place after I puked and passed out last night. Seriously, this beats out the time that I had a party when my parents went away when I was 17 and Amanda Spence fell down the steps and broke the spokes of the wooden banister, as well as her cheek bone. I understand you guys are party animals, but frankly, I think that some of you are just plain animals. Like wine spilled all over the walls? Are you kidding me?

And it got on my signed Dolly Parton poster, which as some of you know, is one of my most prized possessions in the world.

I heard that Callie fell down the stairs, so I'm assuming that she did this. I also heard that someone poured champagne from the second floor into the Callie's mouth on the first floor. You know, that really fucking pisses me off. There's a fucking television and speakers right there that it could've gotten on, you shit slices. And I know that if that stuff got destroyed, your asses would not compensate me in any way beyond a "Sorry dude." I would never do that in someone's house, whether it's a dump, squat, dorm room or mansion. I wanted people to have a good time. I went out of my way for people to have a good time, and it pisses me off that it was my friends, not strangers, who were doing this shit. I expected a huge mess when I woke up this morning, and expected to do heavy duty cleaning, but this is unreal. I'm fucking pissed.

And who's the asshole who poured beer all over himself? Was that you, Brian? It smells like mildew in here now.

I don't know what the hell was going on in the bathroom downstairs (I do however know about a blow job that went on in the bathroom upstairs...not performed by me), but the shower curtain rod was pulled out of the wall and the rings are broken.

The kitchen suffered damages as well.

There's a hole in the wall, too. It's blurry, but it's there.

I take responsibility for the floors, since the glitter was my idea. It was really pretty when those things popped off.

Oh, and you can't really tell from this picture, but that's an o.b. tampon on my couch. For you boys that don't know, those are the kind you have to finger yourself to use. I don't use them because I don't wash my hands after I use the bathroom.

Anyway, Happy New Year to you all! Even to the assholes who wrecked my place and to the assholes who were the last to leave and left the fucking front door wide open for the entire place to be burgled. I woke up at like 5 am because someone kept calling my phone repeatedly because he thought he left his gloves here. Apparently it was urgent for him to get them, but I'm glad he called, because otherwise, I would've slept through the night with the roof door and the apartment door open.

Also, my ass has the biggest bruise on it and I can't really walk. And this happened to my arm:

I am unable to move. Seriously, my ass is really fucked up. I can't bend over, which is why I called a cleaning service to come here, because it is not humanly possible for me to do this alone. I didn't even include the roof pictures, because there was a pile of chunky puke up there, and as a hangover present, I decided to not include that.

• Dick and Ryan Reunite for a 'Rockin'' New Year's Eve [ETOnline]

• Ryan Seacrest kisses Christina Aguilera at midnight! [YouTube]

Tinsley Rings In the New Year; Gets Paid for Her Efforts [Socialite Rank]
New Year's Eve Hosted by Tinsley Mortimer [Joonbug]
Earlier: 'Post': Tinsley Mortimer, Ardent Socialist

[Image via]

Motherfucker New Year's Eve 2007 @ Rebel [Photos]
Trash New Year's Eve 2007 @ Rififi [Photos]

UPDATE: The photo galleries may be a little hinky for awhile. Happy New Year!

Make it safe and have a blast. Defamer loves you!

We realize not all of you will be out traipsing around your town this coming New Year's Eve, choosing instead to spend your final moments of 2006 in the comforts of your homes with ABC's own Father Time and Baby New Year—i.e. Dick Clark, whom they promise will be "back, live," and his bushy tailed yet meticulously manscaped replacement, Ryan Seacrest. And while we were giddily combing through photographs of the final touches being put upon the famed Times Square ball whose descent will be counted down by millions, it suddenly occurred to us that it was she—that shimmering, totemic orb symbolic of our communal progression—whom Seacrest should have been planting one on all along, and not Teri Hatcher! Congratulations, Ryan: You are the future.

[Photo: Getty Images]

• Clark, Seacrest will rock in new year [USA Today]

New Year's Eve Parties: 5 for 5 [Clubplanet]

• Future Forward NYE.07 [PureFuture.com]