Christmas

It didn't feel much like Christmas, of course. No blood relatives, no structure, very little ritual. But the best parts of the tradition were still there, and it was a whole heck of a lot of fun. Yes, indeed.

I hadn't expected everyone up here, especially not the old friends, to take the holiday so seriously. I got presents from people I've only known for a week or two. Lots of goofy toys, some good books, fancy bottles. Mitchel showed up with a Playstation 3 and about $300 worth of games for the house. That was something. Most of the friends who couldn't get home came over and we cooked up a big pot of chowder with local razor clams that some friend dug up a few days ago. A friend who spent some time in New Orleans made jambalaya. Muffins, mulled cider, hot toddies, slow-cooked wibs. This is pretty boring to write about, actually.

But the wibs! Lots and lots of wibs - three racks worth. One of my gifts was a formal induction into Wib Club, but I'm not allowed to talk about that. That's the first wule of Wib Club.

Anyway, the night led us to a small bar downtown where we saw a hardcore (as in the musical genre) band that's pretty famous locally. They're called Fitz of Depression, and that's about all I know about them. It's not the kind of music that I normally listen to willingly, and I'd never seen such a band live. It turned out to be a lot of fun - two hours of jumping, yelling, shoving strangers, getting shoved, and knowing along with everyone else that it was Christmas, and we were very drunk and very far away from our families. No resentment or anything like that, but rather something like resurrection, I guess. For me, anyway. I won't forget it.

After the show, we walked down the road (through the snow, which had only just begun to melt) to the only other open bar in town, where we found another friend singing Prince karaoke to an empty room. What happened the rest of the night is hard to describe. I'll just call it "dancing," and leave it at that.

On the subject of Christmas: this article is pretty funny.

I am still continually surprised by how friendly the people I've met are. A good example happened about a week ago, when the snow was still about a foot high and to the point that car traffic was almost nonexistent. I was still getting around by foot, but spending a lot of time inside because of the steepness of the street leading down to our house. For some reason, a friend who lives across town (one of the few who could drive) decided to bring me some food. She parked at the top of the long, steep, and icy road leading to our house and walked down to deliver a pizza, two big cups of minestrone, and a bottle of wine. She then immediately walked back up the hill and left in her car. I still can't get over that.

FUN FACT: She goes by her middle name, Bailey (my dog's name), and grew up with a dog named Baker (my middle name). I guess this isn't really worth writing about.

Looks like the room I was looking at isn't going to work out. It's a nice house in a nice neighborhood, and I'd love to live around a dog again, but he wants $450 for rent and about $150 for utilities. Can't do that without at least a prospect of a job, so it looks like I'll be in Little Arkansas for a while still. It's working out fine so far, but I'd really like to have my own room. Oh well. Job first.

Anyway, pictures:

Our tree. If you look closely, you can see Babies sleeping in it.

Homemade marionberry-peach - easily the best pie I've ever had.

Yep. We have fun.

Here's a conversation that happened:
OLD MAN: We've got a problem!
NICK: What's wrong?
OLD MAN: Raccoons! They're all over the place and they knock over all the garbage cans!
NICK: Oh. Really?
OLD MAN: And they're mean!