Yes, it’s true: our tree is up. The rotating color wheel is plugged in, too. It blows a breaker every time we turn it on.

I cut my hair today. All by myself. In five minutes. It had been doing its own thing for the past four months, my hair. It was time.

(Sorry. Gertrude Stein moment there. It’s over now.)

Okay, so did anyone else see this? I’m certainly friggin’ jealous.

Yes, it’s a slow day around here. I’m finally getting the chance to catch up on my surfing. It’s almost a vacation. Except I’m sitting in my office trying to look busy.

Oh, I think I already mentioned this, but maybe not: we’re in NYC from January 3rd through the 9th. I’ve put Jonno in charge of pulling together an event (i.e. happy hour at a dive bar), so ask him for details.

Thanks you for the early x-mas prezzie, boyfriend. Since you’re all-too familiar with my fascination for things bright and shiny, I can only assume you bought it to keep me out of your hair for the next three months. 🙂

Oh, wait. It’s not over. Well, sorta not. But it kinda is. Oh well…

Um, is it just me, or is there a glaring omission in this article? I mean, jeez, how do you talk about sexual habits–let alone the sexual habits of horned-up, hyper-hormonal adolecent boys–without even mentioning “homosexuality? (I’m goddamn serious; ctrl+f search the page, Mary.) You’d think they might at least modify the title of the piece….

Introspective Sunday
(I apologize in advance if this gets maudlin.)

In our living room, there’s a cd playing that Jonno just received from a super-special secret satan admirer-type person. It’s essentially a “best of” album, with Cocteau Twins songs spanning from the mid-80s (junior high/high school) to the late 90s (semi-grownup-hood): 15 weird, wonderful years, that have taken me places I’d never have thought I’d go.

Now, my feelings on nostalgia are pretty clear: I’m uncomfortable/unwilling to go mucking around in my past just for the sake of feeling warm and fuzzy. But sometimes I can’t help myself. Now’s one of those times.

See, the problem with nostalgia is that it’s addictive–once you start down that road, it’s hard to turn back. You’re listening to a cd like this, and one song plays through, dredging up all sorts of happy memories of a younger, possibly more carefree you, drinking whiskey straight from the bottle on a cold winter night on the shores of a moonlit lake, carousing like you never thought you’d grow older and own a house and begin to settle down (just a bit). Against your better judgement, you keep listening. The songs remind you of photos, images that make you think to yourself “Well, I haven’t changed much, have I?” but when friends see them on your mantelpiece or in your photo album, they all comment on how adorable you were back then.

Hmm. Maybe that’s it in a nutshell. Maybe I’m just not willing to admit that my past is past.

Or maybe this mushiness/revulsion is specifically related to the saccharine-sweet music of the Cocteau Twins. I mean, when a certain someone recently reminded me of a RevCo album I’d almost forgotten, it didn’t have the same effect at all.

Well, I guess that’s over. Wah.

Wow. I completely forgot about this one. It’s not my best work, to be sure. But the thought of Jon Benet boo-ing like Marley’s ghost and walking through walls still makes me giggle. Tee hee….