Back like a bastard on this cool Monday morning. January is going to be non-stop, with gigs and big-time meetings in Scotland, Philly and Chicago, our first ever APAP appearance, writing deadlines falling like deadwood and all sorts of assorted whatnot. Strap in and hold onto something tight. 2008 has begun.
Highlights of the holidays include a snowy Christmas in Greenfield, sitting quietly in the Walsh compound, hilarious hours with my nieces in St. Louis and a re-connection with my old partner in crime, both literal and metaphysical, Christian Saller. Christian was my best man at my wedding and used to style himself The Menthol Nitelife back in the old S. Taylor daze of my youth. He's the only philosopher-king I've ever met and Christ we had some times. He's living quietly in St. Louis with the wonderful Rene and three cats, passing himself off as a solid citizen. Oh, but we know better in our hearts, don't we Christian?
Christmas swag, besides the ubiquitous sweaters:
The complete West Wing. I'm talking all seasons, I'm talking Toby and Donna and Josh and Sam and Charlie and every line Sorkin ever wrote. I will never, willingly, leave the house again.
Gonzo, the oral biography of Hunter S. Thompson. Every terrible thing you've ever heard is true.
The Bose sound dock thing for the I-Pod thing. Can't believe we're calling it a sound dock. Does that make the I-Pod some kind of boat? I've gone into complete ITunes obsession now, feverishly downloading music, trying to fill the bottomless pit. Deeply addictive behavior.
And how about my man Barack Hussein? Great day in the morning. Poor Hillary looked like she was still reeling in those debates Saturday night. Mr. O grew about five feet taller, he's starting to look like the Lincoln statue, sitting there all wise and massive. Opened up a double-digit lead in New Hampshire and, friends, we may just have a candidate.
In the latest sign of desperation, the Clinton camp is considering spreading rumors in South Carolina that Barack and Michelle have a black baby daughter. Wait a minute. That's wrong on so many levels.
All right. To work. Hungry mouths to be fed around here.