I have grown a filth onion. I keep cleaning and there is always another layer. I am considering burning the clothing I have on. We went until three a.m. last night with about half as many people, half as much food, we used half the space, etc. It was like a party echo. I am visited still by the ghosts of ten thousand cigarettes. There is something about poker that turns almost any room into a nicotine disaster area. Beth got me Advil for Christmas since many a sad monkey bemoaned the absence of this fine product yesterday morning. I think I may have to play with that toy, wash it down with a little coffee. Ah well, happy New Year. Thinkers and drinkers alike have lit the beacon of friendship and mirth in hopes that the sun will return in the spring.

Katie, the new neighbor, is dog sitting a standard poodle named Mark. Mark just got out and went for a run into the backyards that are behind us. Sebastian and I just went after him and brought him back (in my bare feet). I am muddy, but since it is seventy-two degrees I am none the worse for wear. Seventy two in Missouri in January, it’s a good thing all those Republican scientists have convinced me that there is no such thing as global warming or I’d be worried.