Christmas Eve. Is anyone going to read this?

Well, I last updated five days ago. I haven't gone that long since the last time my computer chose a new way to die. The reason I haven't updated is because I don't really have much to say lately. The funny thing is, I've noticed that new people tend to add me as a favorite during stretches when I don't write. What does this mean? I've chosen to believe that they think I'm dead, and, dead writers always being much more interesting than living writers, they want in on the cred ground floor, so they can say they were hip to me back in the day when the rigor mortis was just setting in. I can only imagine their disappointment when they realize I am alive and well.

I just thought of a joke about suicide bombers, then figured I'd keep it to myself for now. However, I can say that 'detonated his shoes' is a phrase I never expected to hear. "Just do it" indeed. Also, could they use an AP photo of that guy that is possibly any worse? I expect to see a picture like that with a headline 'Inebriated, Confused Satan Caught Installing Camera in Locker Room of Catholic Boy's School.'

Satan would probably feel pretty dumb if that was the way we finally caught him.

My ex ex-girlfriend, Betty, stopped by yesterday, and we went out to lunch together at a local sports bar type place with a cheap, tasty brunch. I ate a mexican omelette and managed to wash it down with two bottles of cider. This amount of cider was perfect, or so I thought until I got home and was sorely tempted to continue the party by myself by drinking the few leftover beers I had in the fridge. I was at that perfect point where I could go either way. I envisioned myself in a toasty warm apartment, snow flurries coming down outside in their quiet, picturesque way, while I sat around slowly getting drunk and watching bad movies. What saved me in the end was realizing that I don't, as a general rule, drink by myself. I called my pal Nick to see if he was up to the task of joining me in my mid-afternoon indulgence. He said he was off to dinner with his two lovely cousins. I believe I've mentioned them before. One of them is a dancer, and the other is a scientist, I think. They are both intelligent, pretty brunettes, and one of them is tall and skinny, and the other is short and athletic. If there were a way to fuse them into one being, my search for love would be over. I opted to remain sober.

Ah, well. I'm not sure how to describe my mood at the moment. 'Caffeinated melancholia' probably comes closest.

I have to go get some wrapping paper for the presents I'll be distributing tonight. I don't really feel in the mood to go get said paper, or wrap said presents. I don't even know how I'm going to accomplish doing the wrapping, as one of the gifts I bought is a gigantic 2' x 2' pillow. This may be the year I simply drive by my mom's house and whip plastic bags full of gifts at my relatives before heading off to get some chinese. I'll be like a new, 'edgy' Santa Claus.

Finally, my holiday list of recommended things to do:

Download and play DopeWars, in which you are a drug dealer. It's a small game, easy to play, and you get to pretend you are foisting speed on little kids.

Read Kavalier and Clay, a novel about two Jewish kids in 1940's New York who make their fortune in comic books. What, you think you think you're too good to read a Pulitzer Prize winning novel? Oy. Shmuck.

Have a Kwaazy Kwanzaa!