The problem with 2007...

...was that the whole goddamn year was a grinning, shiteating (and shitflinging!) mongoloid that deserved to be locked in the closet until it died, then dumped in the deepest part of the river. Go on, 2007. You're cordially invited to suck it.

My family had Christmas eve at my house this year; from 11:30 a.m. until just about dark was a blur of fried turkey, finding places for everyone to sit, opening presents and taking pictures. Exhausting. I'll do it again next year.

And New Year's Eve is shaping up well. John and I played outside for hours today; it was windy but warm. We shot off the last of the Fourth of July fireworks. I called James and told him to bring over more for the now-traditional New Year's Eve drunkening.

I went to the grocery store earlier to pick up a few last-minute this-and-thats. The meat department, in the face of New Year's and (I guess) everyone cooking down-home goodness for tomorrow, had stocked up on all sorts of odd cuts of pork. The best: whole pig heads, ears and noses and eyes and everything, shrinkwrapped and piled atop each other like some sort of Porcine Holocaust. I had lined up three in a gruesome group portrait pose before I realized I didn't have my phone and couldn't take a picture.