Mihi quoque

Son of a mountain goat. I didn't think it was possible to pull an abdominal muscle. It is, sweet mother of Jesus's great aunt, it is. Blame the retard who decided to test if his leftover former endurance extended to his abs as well. Three (+ 3) sets of 30 reps on day one of abs was a bad idea.

Last Thursday was a bit of a strange day. I had turned Ralph off for the majority of the day as we were in the middle of a rather rushed couple of shoots; the semester's about done, and now everyone realizes that they have about seven pending assignments to get done. We took a quick break around 5:30 to get some food, soon after which I got a text from a former colleague telling me there was a rumor that Benazir Bhutto had been shot. Very, very soon after, it was all over the news, and from snatches of conversation all over Saket, Bhutto's name was audible. A few other people called seeking either confirmation, or to share the news, though in no ones' tone could I detect too much surprise or shock, and it seemed everyone had the same thoughts on the matter as I did; It was a matter of when, not if. The world has lost a brilliant leader, a strong woman, and a symbol of hope. I have nothing but respect and admiration for Bhutto, a woman who accomplished so much, and overcame immense adversity. While Pakistan's history hasn't exactly assigned a crystal clear plaque to Bhutto's reputation, it can't deny that she had the power to change her country, and had wielded that power in the past, and would have wielded it well in the future.

Christmas was a different experience as compared to the routine of finding myself cuddling someone gorgeous I had been following for the last couple of years, and it involved a Greek dinner the night before with an ex who resembled Shannyn Sossamon, a bit of a weakness of mine, and a big festive lunch at the house of my mother's jilted friend(her son-of-a-bitch husband left her for some Italian chick, leaving her to care for a three year old alone) where I met a Stephens professor who studied there with my Dad in the 60s, and had a lot of memories, and a lot of respect for him. Rather ironically, this fellow was the father of a kid who graduated the year after I did at my old (eleventh) school, and was the jilted husband of my French teacher at the school before it (tenth). He was running a part-time media course and was rather interested to know how we went about ours, and I just happened to have a mini-dv POS seated on Aurelia's back seat, and a tape I had taken a dump on(technical term, not what you think) the night before. Also, during a discussion with my sister about her inability to make sense of logic (the subject), he revealed that he had had trouble teaching a fellow I know well as the fat hairy music guy who called me 'Boy Band' for some reason and perpetually needed his workstation AND chair, no matter what I was working on, the same subject. Looking back to the times that guy made me get up and give him his chair in the middle of a busy day prior to an endless night shift, I'm not surprised at this fellow's lack of logic. We won't name this fellow, but this hint ought to help; he has an almost girl's name. And he's hairy and fat. And he does music stories. And I can't stand him, but I keep running into him at bars, and always shake his hand warmly, remembering a former colleague.

This new years, I deserve my ideal new years eve, one I've been attempting for the last six. It involves me, a water bottle, a locked door, and my six-and-a-half foot by six-and-a-half foot bed, with my room's landline disconnected, and Ralph off, having already sent new years messages out. Somehow, every year, those plans get screwed over. This year, when I told my roomies about it, they came to the conclusion that I was depressed, and have informed me that they're all going to be back in town by the 31st morning with a big carton of Guiness with my name on it, and enough of their piss-poor kingfisher to last them as well. Some of them were roared at the other day for not picking up the slack, and not having any basil on hand for a sandstorm, and are apprehensive about violating my new years eve plans, so there's the slight chance I'll get away with it this year after all.

You know how they say that the way you spend your new years is going to be the way the rest of your year goes? I want a peaceful year where I accomplish a lot. I'm going to try to kick it off by accomplishing a whole lot of sleep 31st night.

My sincerest well wishes to all you faithful readers, perusers and lurkers, and even you, strange anonymous stalker-guy-who-knows-way-too-much-about-me. Have a great year ahead.