no luck with convincing the weather to turn sour again - it will be a clear (and if this spell holds out, balmy) christmas. of course, as i wrote that a couple in an old model t ford, dressed as santa and mrs. claus, stopped beneath the fire escape and yelled holiday wishes up to me. all is seasonal, in its own special way.

the twelve days of xmas, in factoids -
i the corporation's holiday party at tavern on the green was what i had hoped it would be: tipsy confessions, an executive dirty dancing with the mailroom staff, someone puking on the dance floor. apparently the friday afterward is legal's busiest day of the year for sexual harassment calls.

ii excellent rasputina show at the knitting factory last sunday - a concert dvd taping was in progress, so everyone was on their best behavior. rollicking covers of "rock and roll," "barracuda," "bad moon rising."

iii the return of the king: the nazgul fortress was much more frightening than mordor was - that doesn't seem right. fortunately shelob looked more like a tarantula than a black widow, thereby sparing me the disgrace of peeing with fright. enjoy your profits with my blessing, peter jackson.
(to be continued)

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