That hollow, callous snicker you’re hearing right now is 2009 being ushered off stage and into a waiting black Town Car, where a paparazzo will get one last “upskirt” photo of it before this year, along with the rest of the decade, rides off to that great binge-drunk afterparty of history, screaming “Wooo!” from the moon roof and, somehow and somewhere, interrupting Taylor Swift . Decades generally don’t end ...