Ooh... burn.

Your sweet voice is like the snap of a bra strap upon a sun burnt back.

Try it! It's fun. The Surrealist Compliment Generator

Christmas good. Still trying to decide if I should itemize loot. Lots of loot. Lots and lots of loot. Combine this with rebrowsing my favorite book on truly property-free society and a room that I'm slowly excavating down from "up to my eyeballs in shit" and watch my head explode with conflicting signals! Stuff good! Stuff bad! I'm so confused!

That which is not necessary is excremental. -- The Dispossessed, Ursula K. LeGuin

Toys! Toys! All mine! WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! -- Me

Christmas: The Reckoning

Okay, here goes. I don't really expect you to care. This is that fine line between public entertainment and journaling for my own recollection. The first and last sections are the most likely to be of general interest.

Also, before you write me off as completely self-centered and materialist (you know who you are), I could get happy about all the things I got for other people, but that feels more like bragging, which feels gross. This, on the other hand, feels like gratitude. So it's not just that I'm poinging up and down about all my new toys. Still, damn, I got a lot of loot this year, including some that I got brave and got for myself.

( The experience: Breakfast and pajamas. All day. )

( Spendy functional: Camera, guitar, silverware, warm things. )

( Simply decadent: A foot-tall working hourglass, librarian action figure. )

( Cheap but exotic: Pirate ducky, muzzle loaders, kazoos. )

In conclusion, Christmas is a day of many contrasts, and pirate guns are not allowed at the breakfast table.