More of the Week that Went All Wrong:

"O Gertrude, when sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions." And that's how it went in Parkersburg this week. Stacy's family dog, after a long life and several years of failing health, was put to sleep at around 7:30 last night. A terribly hard decision, and harder to go through with for everyone, but she'd finally come to the point where her pain was just too overwhelming to let her keep struggling with it. I'm very sad too. Skeeter was a bright little soul and a special dog who brought a lot of light into the lives of her family. The place isn't going to be the same without her. But she had a very good life while she was here - and if there's a Happy Hunting Ground for wonderful little doggies, it has just become a better place with her coming to it.

Sigh. It's been a fucked-up couple of days. Stacy just got in a little while ago and is trying to find out what's happening with her class tonight. I suspect I'll be going home and writing, which I haven't quite been able to bring myself to do for a couple of days. I need to. There's much to be done.

On a brighter note, Spyder's blog today (http://spyyderray.blogspot.com) has a very fun picture she did as a collaboration with some other artist dude, and features a rather wary-looking Jenny Haniver face-to-face with a guy who looks a bit like a renegade extra from Phil Foglio's GIRL GENIUS. And who also, to my warped sensibilities, looks enough like an incarnation of Berengar Moran that I more than half suspect he's saying, "Pull my finger."

So - wife outta town. House all to myself.

Do I head right from work to Big Planet Comics for my monthly fix at a 10% subscriber discount? Do I go home and light a huge malodorous cigar, put on HELLRAISER and watch it naked on a bed of porn, eating General Tso's Chicken with my fingers? Do I fill up five glasses of Kool-Aid and leave them sitting around without coasters, cranking the Current 93?

No. I stay late at work and image purchase orders, because I am a big, lame dumbass.

And this partially because I know I'd just go home and turn on Cooking 911 or the Disney Channel and sit watching with my lip quivering, holding Rabbie the Bear and feeling all lonely.

So it's official. I am truly and deeply 'whipped.

But I'm leaving now. I have been as useful as I can manage being today. Time to get the slack on. And perhaps I shall stop somewhere interesting after all.

Coffee kicking in now. It's about damn time.

Doing the bachelor thing for the next couple of days. Stacy left for Parkersburg this morning. We got a call before work yesterday that her grandfather had died in the middle of the night. He'd been sick for a long time, and passed back and forth between hospitals and nursing homes (some real horror stories there), and this was only a matter of time. Which doesn't make it less hard for the family, but the time may come that everyone will be comforted by knowing it's at least a mercy to have it all be over, and his suffering done.

From the very brief times I met him, and from everything I heard, he was a difficult, temperamental, irascible, stubborn old patriarch; he will, of course, be much missed. May he have safe passage into the Western Lands, and be at peace.

But I'm staying here while Stacy takes her three days' bereavement leave, holding down the household, making sure the laundry gets done and the squirrels don't invade. I'd enjoy the sudden wealth of personal space much more if it weren't for such an unhappy reason. I sure don't envy her the next couple of days, by any means.

We did, though, have a very nice vacation in Philly over the weekend. Philly rocks. I'm glad to be seeing so much of it this year.

More later, and hopefully happier too.

Last lunch of the week - tomorrow at this hour we'll be barrelling down the last stretch of road to Philly, if not fully arrived and jumping up and down on the queen-size. South Street - prepare yourself.

So last weekend was pretty damn good. SPXpo '02 was lovely, if packed - I look forward to seeing where they put it next year when it moves up to Bal'more. Somewhere roomy, one hopes. Anyway, I got to meet Eddie Campbell (very nice guy, in spite of his skill in drawing disembowelled prostitutes) and got close enough to Frank Miller I coulda hit him with a spitwad, though I opted to not do the standing-in-line thing to meet him; without a copy of DARK KNIGHT RETURNS or similar in my possession, it woulda just felt lame. I dig manage to get Keith Knight's new collection (he was as nice and funny as I remember him being two years ago, and sporting one of his "I'd Rather Be Masturbating" t-shirts) as well as Alan Moore's spoken-word CD and a weird collection called THE OVERLORDS OF GLEE that was just exactly my kind of bizarre and surreal. Not as much free stuff found its way home with me as last time around, but I wasn't really making an effort.

Jim's Big Ego was, of course, kickass, even in a one-set show. A sellout crowd turned up at Iota, presumably for Roger Cline & the Peacemakers, but I suspect one or two at least walked away new-minted JBE fans. Didn't get as much chance this time around to schmooze with the band like the nerdy fanboy I am, and I missed the Napkin Poetry you get with a full show, but it was pretty cool.

We met up with Patrick and Bernice (stress on the first syllable, rhymes with "furnace") outside their hotel before heading to Iota, where we got to count them and Caren among the new converts to Egomania. First, though, we had a very nice dinner at the club's annexed restaurant - highly recommended, by the way, if you're ever in Arlington; it's like bar food, only really really good. And we spent almost all of Sunday hanging out with them, which was as much fun as I've had in quite some time. We took a couple of hours to hit the flea market in Georgetown (you wouldn't think such a thing as an upscale flea market was possible until going to this one - I'll keep it in mind if I ever need a lot of secondhand silver, though) and wound up having a big pasta dinner back at the apartment. Pat & Bernice are good people in every meaningful way, and good fun to be around too. Kind of hard to believe they've been married for fourteen years when neither of them looks like they would've been legal to marry that long ago. It gives one much hope.

Half a day to go till Long Weekend #2. Hooray!

A short post for now - I'll recount the weekend's events at some later time, when time is what I have.

Spent a portion of the last two days doing my part for the Save FARSCAPE effort, trying to pull the best show on television up from the brink of cancellation. It's felt pretty good so far to have been part of such a loyal community of fans making a difference, even if that difference is only getting the network to sit up and pay attention.

Otherwise, it feels very weird today - a year ago I was home sick, watching horror after horror on the TV and hoping my friends and my wife were going to get out of the city. Now it all seems very strange, both far-off and like it was just last week. What a fucked-up year.

But writing goes well anyway. I'm considering, with some nervousness, signing up for NaNoWriMo this year. As if all this creativity business didn't make me nuts enough.

Anyway, sending out my love to all my friends near and far. Peace to all of you. Let's hope it all gets better from here.

Winning line from the Friday night cartoons this evening:

"Ah devoted mah life to peanuts, and now the little goobers are wreakin' havoc!" - George Washington Carver on TIME SQUAD

So tonight has all the charged stillness of a calm before the storm, and rightly so. Tomorrow we spring out of bed, do our last-minute cleaning, and pop over the hill to the Small Press Expo, where I get to walk around with my mouth hanging open for several hours and be a dribbling fanboy at all the cool people who do cool things in the world of alternative comics, and hopefully make it out with Keith Knight's new book and assorted goodies. And then we rest up in the time remaining before heading down to Iota and Jim's Big Ego, where I get to be a dribbling fanboy at them (again). Squeeee!

All of which is much more exciting than what I did last Saturday morning, which was get up and grind all my Pumpkin Spice coffee like a big pooftah.

So no Jeffrey this weekend after all - he is caught up in family obligations, and broke besides. This puts the onus of getting my friends stupid fucked-up back on me. Of course, I don't have the touch of genius that elevates it to art-form level when Jeff does it, but someone's got to take up the slack while he's going to and fro in the world and walking up and down in it. Though the truth is that there's never a lot of arm-twisting to that. "Hey Matt - c'mere. Crazy Uncle Dan's got somethin' for ya." I must remember to take pictures.

But for now, I am inexplicably tired. Wound up taking a nap for a good deal of the evening, and not doing anything either creative or productive, both of which were on the agenda (in addition to massive ripe handfuls of slack, which is not at all the same thing as wandering off and falling over on your futon for two hours). Meanwhile, Stacy tears through Anne McCaffrey novels like a gamer devouring full-sized bags of Doritos, and I look at where the bookmark has come to rest in PERDIDO STREET STATION for at least the last three weeks and am much ashamed.

A week from tonight we'll be in Philly, ourselves walking up and down on South Street and pondering how many cheesesteaks from Jim's a person can eat and still live with himself, mingling with all the lovely freaks in the rosy neon glow. Life is good. Maybe I'll see if I can almost get turned away from the Liberty Bell again for looking like an anarchist. Fun fun! And if we run out of cool things to look at downtown, there's always popping over and listening to the lemurs whoop at each other at the Zoo.

Quickly, quickly.

Not yet awake, really - up too late last night on a Writing High, then plagued with digestive unpleasantness in the wee hours. Coffee and Pop-Tart slowly working their alchemical goodness on me. Keeping fingers crossed the slow day it looks to be will indeed come to pass.

Weekend full of fun initials - SPXpo, and JBE, and hopefully becoming MIA by the end of it just to get over the DTs. Jeff arrives sometime in the next few days, to temporarily reclaim his post as Corruptor of All (and thus usurping me from it for a little while). And Pat and Bernice are supposed to be getting in sometime Saturday - huzzah! Life is good.

I've been remiss in my correspondence lately. I owe Spyder a letter. I owe Maya a long-overdue missive of some kind, or at least a progress report. Heaven knows I need to write Andrew. So much love to spread around, so little time.

Speaking of which - back to the Machine. More later.

One hour and counting till the three-day weekend, which I doubt will be filled with backyard barbecuing and am very sure will be filled with slack, slack, slack. Whiling away the last stretch of the week proper listening to Liz Fraser singing about . . . um, whatever it is that she infuses with such sweetly melodic ambiguity. And, from time to time, actually doing work.

Not a bad week, all things considered, in the rosy glow of hindsight and it being good and over. Bloody tired, though. I need a Guinness. Though at this point I'd settle for . . . well, just about anything dark and bitter and made from grain. A loaf of pumpernickel comes to mind.

Obviously, I've been doing Responsible Things for too long and my brain has turned to crab paste.

No FARSCAPE tonight, nor on subsequent Fridays for some time to come, from what the ads say. AAAAAAAAAH! AAAAAAAAAAAAAH!! This is not good. I require reruns. Dammit, Sci-Fi Channel, you're really starting to piss me off now. Since when did the 'Scapers become not cool enough to provide a weekly fix to? Ach. Feh.

I shall just have to console myself with an extra helping of cartoons. So there.

Wheee! Twenty minutes and I walk away from all this paper. Huzzah! Quality Control that, motherfucker.

Staying late at work, second night in a row. Gaah. One of those weeks, as it turned out.

Looking back over my last few posts, it was distressing to see how much I talk about work lately and not fun things. Not so much fun on the internal landscape these several days. Not much writing getting done either, which I suspect is far from coincidence.

I need a vacation.

Meanwhile, I sit here next to Disturbing Land and clock up the OT, watching all the pretty little invoices scroll down the screen to Release Heaven. Jesus God, there are lots of them.

Scan scan scan scan scan scan scan.

Outside is chilly and rainish and early Autumn-like. I so wish I had an overcoat today. I could truly be Byronic and melancholy for the walk home that way. Right now I'm just another sad fat slacker with a bad ponytail; with the Coat, I could unleash my special Goth powers. But no such foresight this morning.

Oooh, there went the last batch. Back on my head, then.

* * *

There we go. Almost done now. Not so bad after all.

Aaaah. Tomorrow's Friday. Boy, am I glad, too.

Three days of relaxation! Whatever shall I do with myself? Not get up early, Heaven knows.

Tired now. Going home.

Woohoo! Just got my brand-new business cards, with my actual current title on 'em. And this time they say "Dan" and not that damn name only God and my mom call me. If they said "Document Imaging Specialist - Super Genius" they'd actually be perfect.

Still got my phone number wrong, though. Which is just as well - the day something like that doesn't get bolluxed up in some creative way is the day they come in and find me keeled over into my Lean Pockets. And, hey, less dumbass phone calls for me.

Odd what you get excited about in this line of work. (And Spyder, let this be an object lesson to you - you were right. Stay the hell away from cubicles. Even if it means learning to draw women with boobs that look like dollar-store rubber balls so you can work for Image Comics; for gods' sake, you don't wanna end up like me.)

And no, gentle readers, today isn't near as bad as I anticipated, for all that I didn't manage to get started with my real actual official job till about the halfway mark. Not the Mondayest Monday I've ever endured, certainly.

Back to't, then.

A truly lovely weekend celebrating Stacy's birthday (today she turned, ah, twenty-nine and a bit). Some very dodgy steaks notwithstanding, we had a wonderfully quiet and romantic evening at home, with lemon cake and what in a Victorian novel would be a number of asterisks. Ahem.

Last night was what might be thought of as the celebration proper, going out to the Brickskeller with Matt and Caren and the Marthas ("Oh my god - there are no straight people at this table") and having what I don't doubt was way too much fun for way too long. Their Buffalo Burger is every bit as good as I remember (BUFFAALLLOOOOO!), and good with Guinness, as though anything isn't. (I do have to wonder what it says about me that I go into a place where I can get any beer in the world and order a Guinness. Hmmm.) The high point of the evening, though, was when Matt discreetly pointed out to me that our waitress had a barbell in her right nipple - so, of course, next time she comes back I'm looking to confirm this, and I hear her ask me if I want a refill on my Coke just in time to realize I've been totally busted staring at her tits. Wonder if she goes through that a lot, or if I just came off as being a pervert of an especially high caliber.

Would that Jeff had been there. Well, on the other hand - perhaps not.

So now I'm winding down the weekend, having just watched MISSION HILL and savoring that "Dan, this was very nearly your life" feeling that comes with each episode, indulging myself in a pipe and what might be thought of as a poor man's White Russian (no vodka, so not so much "virgin" as "only gives blowjobs"). Wondering what all my far-flung friends are up to tonight, hoping they're all safe in their beds. Oidche mhear, my darlings. Murphy watch over you all.

Me, I'm headed for the couch, to spend my last waking half-hour or so tonight in rapt contemplation of AQUA TEEN HUNGER FORCE and the bottom of a glass. Oh, I hope tomorrow will be more fun than I think it will. 'Cause I have a bad feeling it's gonna be one of those NO EXIT kinda Mondays. Gaaahh.

Well, whatever. They all have to end sometime.

The Littlest Gallucci, Nicholas Pheilshifter, made his grand entrance at 7:18 this morning in Rochester, NY, weighing in at 7 lbs 15 oz, in blatant violation of the Law of Wednesday Births governing the male progeny of our line.

And there was much rejoicing.

Welcome to the Big Room, Nick. I hope you like it here.

Thought for the day: "At least it's not goddamn Monday anymore."

I'm . . . weary. Not tired as such, or depressed, or stressed out. Just weary. In need of a Guinness and a big fat Te Amo and something frou-frou with chocolate and hazelnut in it. Would love to just go home, put on THUNDER PERFECT MIND, read something cool and diverting. And perhaps I shall, in a few brief hours.

Seems the stars are right for a SANDMAN revisitation, as I've been reading 'em all out of order again for like two weeks now. Saving SEASON OF MISTS for the fall, though. And, oddly enough, it has been inspiring rather than discouraging to my own little comics-writing endeavor. So, thanks, Neil.

Roight. Speaking of things whose time has come, it's off to Headology for me. Here we go, out to brave the heat.

Ai ya! HUGE fucking day of Document Imaging today - those invoice processors were busy little goddamn beavers yesterday. Nonetheless, I have all but conquered it now, and still had time for some stuffa-you-face at the Employee Appreciation Picnic. So now I'm full AND tired. AND sick of looking at invoices.

Scan, scan. Scan, scan.

The good news is that I made some real, genuine headway on the script last night. It's good stuff so far, and more or less working. I hope the trend continues.

So glad it's Friday. Not a long week, as these things go, but I'm ready for the end of it, and some Farscape and slacking. And maybe, while I'm at it, something spicy and Chinese.

In the home stretch now, though.

Last night went pretty well, actually, as far as getting the updates on my website taken care of; there's some fine new stuff in there, though the fiction desperately needs some new blood yet. We'll see how it goes over the next coupla days, as I have this script still hanging over me and whatnot. It's been more of a challenge to think in that way than I initially foresaw.

Bizarre office picnic-thing coming up tomorrow, which is going to end up being a show-up-for-the-food type of deal if the last two years were any indicator. August is a stupid, crappy time to hold an outdoor event - I imagine I won't be the only one walking around in a bit of a wilt, one pink lemonade away from utter heat-death, hoping I don't have to do something brutal and colorful to the Good Humor man for running out of Neopolitan bars. We'll see. As far as Employee Appreciation Days go, some part of me feels the whole thing would be better accomplished with a tall Honey Brown and a Borders gift card, but that's probably just me.

On the other hand, I could get lucky and win some marvelous toy they're giving away. I mean, hell, I scored with the Master Shake Air Freshener - maybe I'm on a roll.

Spent a fun couple of hours at a poetry reading last night, making that my first in about four years - which feels very weird, to have gone so long without saying those words in front of strangers. But my work was met with much praise and good feeling, and that's something. I feel . . . capable again.

And now I need to finish some stuff before next month, so I can keep in the ring. Inspiration's a mixed blessing.

Tonight, I think, my project will be the Updating of the Website, which is so long overdue that I can't remember who gets tied up. But there's a handful of items whose time has come to get thrown out into the great churning Yetzirah of the 'net, I think. And then the project will be the Writing of the Damn Comic Script, or likely the Staring at the Screen For Hours Like a Moron. Erm. It's a tough gig, this being brilliant.

And meanwhile, we're all waiting for my cousin Rifka's baby, due . . . well, anytime now. I've been trying since December to figure out what this will make me, with no real success, as I'm not familiar enough with the Ranks of Cousinage to know how to place this poor kid, or if he's removed, or what. With some sense of presumptuousness, I shall think of myself as an Uncle, and let it go at that until corrected.

Ah, young Nicholas, what an odd bunch of people you'll soon find yourself among, trying to figure out how the hell to get along with us. You have my sympathy, lad.

Wooch. What a se'ennight it's been.

I have indeed survived another year of general peace-love-and-debauchery out on Birdsong Hill, which wrapped as of last Sunday, and was very good. I now have the year to recover, and prepare my repertoire for Swampstock X. Yowza. Three hundred and fifty-odd days to find out if I have what it takes to be part of an acoustic prog duo, if I get off my ass and write the damn songs. Time, that bastard, will tell.

On the other hand, Tuesday marked Today is the First Day of the Rest of My Keeping My Big Mouth Shut From Now On. It seems I'm a piss-poor matchmaker after all. Oh, well - the whole thing spiralled entirely out of its intended shape rather quickly, I'm afraid, from a simple potential hook-up for the weekend to something that involved Emotions and whatnot. Lot of strange intensity. What the fuck was I thinking, anyway?

In happier news, it was very very cool to hook up with Patrick and Bernice after all this time (like, upwards of a decade - Ai ya, do I feel old) and find that I actually did turn into the kind of person that gets to hang around with cool people. Of course, I promptly got home and lost the bit of paper that had all their contact info on it (having placed it very carefully in some safe place that I'm damned if I can recall now) - so, Pat & Bernie, if you're reading this, call me or drop a line. We have much yet to discuss.

I'm working my way through SILVERLOCK these days, simply because it seems like one of those books I ought to have read, and it's pretty good so far. At just under halfway through, it's not quite the world-shattering revelatory give-this-to-all-your-friends experience Niven and Pournelle and so forth speak of in their introductions, but then they had to get by in a world without SANDMAN, which seems to be filling many of the same needs for the current generation.

Haven't done any writing myself for waaaay too long. Hope to remedy that on the weekend.

Wild blue yonder, here we come.

I stand now at a mere fraction of an hour away from being On The Road, ready for Swampstockin'. And I'm not even taking near the insane amount of stuff I'm usually inclined to, though Stacy might disagree. (The klong yaw's always an awkward fit. It's hard to travel light with a good-sized klong yaw.) And I'm doing the World Premiers of two, not one but two, brand-new songs. Well, sort of new anyway. Newly completed, like.

I wonder if, as we approach the WV border, I'll be able to not think of Rose's line from GOOD INTENTIONS: "Don'cha see, John? It's you what makes 'em bad."

Anyway, it's off and away with me to the Land of Summer's Twilight. Back in four to the mundane world.

Happy, happy! We are on for the all-weekend Swampstock, after only a little wrangling. That's two, count 'em, two four-day weeks on the heels of each other. Whatever shall I do with myself? Otter dance of exultation and joy!

But no Tony this year. Bummer bummer bummer. He says he will definitely absolutely make next year, for the 10th anniversary. He'd better. It won't be the same without those groovy prog licks on "Master van Rijn." Profound sigh. Otter dance of melancholy and resignation.

AND I get to deal with this whole pimping situation, which there's just no way I seem to be able to come off looking good in. I don't think that angle occured to me back when it seemed like a good idea to introduce single friends to each other. I'm crossing my fingers and hoping for chemistry anyway, or at least alchemy. Who knows - maybe a furry hat with ostrich feathers will turn out to be my thing.

During some fit of literary masochism, seeing as I just don't have enough books I'm about halfway through, I started PERDIDO STREET STATION the other night, and I'll tell you what - that China Mieville is one twisted dude. I think it was the bizarre eroticization of the bug-headed chick that tipped me off. Damn fine book so far, though. I needed a break from wanking the hell all over NOBILIS anyway.

Er, back to work now.

A moment of contemplative vainglory, imagining myself in a future as a famous author, and having it be revealed that once I wrote an instruction manual for the document imaging system for the George Washington University. Chaos ensues as mad fans pursue the elusive monograph, which may or may not still be extant. A dubious copy sells for upwards of $100 on the internet. Soon enough it becomes part of the general legendry surrounding me, with much debate over whether or not the manual is apocryphal, and I, secluded in my cabin in Massachusetts, carefully avoiding either confirming or denying the rumors in interviews. The mystery will be unsolved even with my passing.

Well, come on. Wouldn't we all go nuts to hear that Neil Gaiman in his youth wrote, say, a programming textbook? Wouldn't copies suddenly appear on Ebay and be fought furiously over? Stranger things have happened.

A fellow can dream.

Last night, despite rainy dreariness and some marginally dodgy sesame chicken from Wok Gourmet, proved fairly productive; I got in a few hours of work on the Ligottiesque story suggested by the recent TLO discourse, and pondered the future of Jenny Haniver, Orwn Dvarra and a handful of like creations. All was well. I find it's quite useful to have the thumbnail-size version of the Jenny Haniver portrait Spyder did for me (which even at that scale has personality in spades) staring up at me from below the monitor with that sardonic look in her eye, the panatella at the corner of her mouth trailing blue smoke, looking as if she's about to say, "Okay, genius, time to put down the iced chai and start typing." Brilliant. Thanks, Spyder.

Solitude helps. Or at least it allows me to play Current 93 with no fear of offense. THUNDER PERFECT MIND is every bit as good an album as they say. Boy, was I grooving on "Hitler as Kalki" for the trippy stuff last night.

All this while Stacy is off learning the fine art of editing, which I think she's better at than she gives herself credit for. Bit of a double-edged sword though. I don't think I can hand her something I've written ever again without feeling like I'm eight and showing off my first Tolkien pastiche. "Oooh, Johnny, very nice. And do you think you'd like to become a writer someday?" Gaaahh.

And now the frelling AC's on the fritz again. Any more of this and it really will be funny. In a desperate, black-humor, defeated-by-inanimate-objects Ionesco kind of way.

I do enjoy having the place to myself once a week. Last weekend was very therapeutic, having lots of me-space for a few days. Got to watch odd movies, read CORALINE and NOBILIS and the new LUCIFER, and discover a recipe for Beef in Oyster Sauce (which could be summed up as, "Cut up some beef and vegetables. Cook the beef and stir-fry it with the vegetables. Open a bottle of oyster sauce and pour it all over that motherfucker." Pragmatic folk, the Chinese).

But I hear tell I very nearly got a visit from my brother, and that would've been good too. I'm easy to please. Especially when it's for someone for whom "straightening up" means "make sure there's at least one clean glass and try and remember to shove the porn under the couch." So dammit, Tony, next time just show up.

Which reminds me, I need to practice "Ziggy Stardust" for Swampstock in a couple of weeks. A bit sad about probably having an abbreviated stay this year, but duty calls, so what the fuck. That's a day or two I can spend getting in some quality slack this fall.

That's all I got for now. More as I think of it.

Well.

I've been reminded recently that I haven't exactly been keeping up with this lately. (I haven't kept up with my haiku journal, either, if that makes any difference.) Fair enough. I suppose six months (!!) is quite enough of a hiatus, or sabbatical, for anyone.

So I managed to shake the funk afflicting my writing that hung around all winter, and produced a handful of stories I'm fairly proud of. Nothing up on the site yet, but, hell, there's only so much time in the day.

Not much else to add here, except that I'm back. The public may now rejoice.

I have, indeed, survived the winter holidays, not without a slight case of the blues resulting from the end of my ten-day vacation from having to think much about anything important. I could relate all that happened in that time, but it risks being tedious. Suffice to say I helped to make sure the sun would come back, and had a lovely Christmas with family and friends, and a rollicking good New Year's Eve, and saw LORD OF THE RINGS three times. I couldn't have asked for better.

I did get the rather odd (but good) experience of running into my high-school ex-girlfriend in a Chinese restaurant in Parkersburg, WV just before returning home, and only a handful of hours after thinking, "Gosh, I wonder what Becky's up to these days." She's doing quite well, as it turns out, having graduated law school and gotten married (and now a fellow member of the Hyphenate Club, I was pleased to see). And she seems happy, which has been a back-of-my-mind concern for a while, though she was certainly on the way there by the time she threw my bachelor party nearly four (!!) years ago. So we exchanged all the important info and I got a very nice, very touching email from her telling me how much she's always valued my friendship, which made my morning. We had such a strange, angsty relationship when we were teenagers, not that most people don't. I'm terribly glad to see that she's become even more the kind of person I want to hang around with than ever, and I'm glad we're in touch now. Sometimes people don't take up their right place in your life until you quit trying to be in love with them. So it goes.

And I'm back in the grind of things now, trying to get my mind right for getting some writing done, which I don't quite feel up for yet. I'm still . . . drained a bit from this post-holiday melancholy, and the brutal cold, and fending off what seems to be a sinus headache with copious and varied pain medicine. AND figuring out why I can't seem to turn off the closed-captioning on my new DVD player. Oh, the frustrations of these miraculous toys!