From the comment chatter, I gather everyone had a nice Christmas. I did, certainly — one of the advantages of a smaller family is that holidays are more relaxed. We spent Christmas Eve sitting at the kitchen table with my sister-in-law, drinking champagne and playing Scrabble. If there’s a better time to be had on a snowy night in Michigan, I don’t know what it is.
(And a voice from the Upper Peninsula calls out: Cribbage! Noted.)
The loot was all very nice and appreciated, too. I asked for, and received, a set of pull-on ice cleats. Don’t laugh. I’m convinced the trouble with my knee is at least partly the result of many, many winter falls, along with a few high-heel mishaps. I took them out for a three-mile shakedown Saturday, and they did the trick, as well as being very clickety-clickety-click on the paved sections.
But the big present was from us to ourselves: We finally broke down and got a big-ass high-def TV. Holy shit. I mean: HOLY SHIT. I’ve seen them before, of course, but there’s something about having one in your TV room. I’m watching the Rose Bowl now, wondering why anyone bothers to actually attend a football game in a stadium anymore. I can see panty lines on these players. Alan ran out the next day and added an Apple TV and is currently happier than the proverbial pig in excrement, able to listen to all of his favorite internet radio stations on the good speakers. His current No. 1 is KEXP out of Seattle, which he says plays more interesting Detroit music than the local stations. (I’m happy with KCRW and WWOZ.) I have a feeling we’ll be having a long talk with Comcast very soon.
And now, it’s time to get back in the saddle. I’ve been consciously trying to avoid a lot of the news these last couple of weeks, with the exception of this and that. If someone says “fiscal cliff” in my presence before I’m fully reintegrated into working life, I might explode.
So I don’t have a lot of bloggage today, although there’s this oldish thing: Blues Cruise, an account of the post-election National Review cruise through the Caribbean for a little wound-licking.
Back to the mangle. You, too?