Debellare Superbos

So, the wife and I, in an attempt to get me away from the blasted video games and her off the pills, decided to each read the same book and then talk about it at a given point in time. The hardest part was trying to find something that neither of us had read and that didn't suck. I must admit I had highly underestimated the amount of reading that I had done in the past two years.

We did eventually end up settling, not only on a classic, but a seasonal classic. Last night, we both began reading "A Christmas Carol" by Charles Dickens. I admit, gentle reader, that I peed just a little while writing this, such is my man crush on old Charlie. Then again, I have had a wicked head cold/sinus infection/the Herpes outbreak of doom for the last three weeks. That's alright though, I am taking antibiotics the size of a equine suppository twice a day. Minor side effects, you ask? Well, the rampant, explosive diarrhea has almost totally abated, but that taste of metal in my mouth and the complete loss of a sense of space and time is really starting to get on my nerves.

But I digress. I read the first ten pages of the work last night in bed, and, loving it, dreamt about simple connections that I had never really thought of. Take this shitty little blog for instance. Do you know who the Portly Gentlemen were? Read "A Christmas Carol." Do you know what is usually kept in Aisle five of your supermarket? Who the fuck knows? Could be canned chicken. Could be the liquor aisle. In my particular grocery, it is the aisle with the "ethnic foods" from such fine manufacturers as LaChoy and Old El Paso. I thought maybe that would put a little spice in the idea of this made up personae floating the electric currents of cyberspace.

Seriously, read "A Christmas Carol." No cheating either. Watch Scrooged or that one version with Patrick Stewart after you read the book. Seriously, it's only 80 pages for God's sake, and it paints a timeless social commentary on the plight of mankind and its willing ignorance to help itself.

How Bode You All This YuleTide?

Yes, too too long have I sat in the shadow of my own meandering life, depriving you, gentlest of bloggy readers, the intimate tapestry of colorful excitement that is my life. And now, a photo essay of the highlights of the last two months:

October 3rd, I attain my third decade on the planet:
















I think I already posted on that.


November 3rd, I attend a religious ceremony:























No, not quite:

























Ah yes, Mazel Tov.

December 5th, we hit the road to the airport, destination...Dublin:
























December 6th...Dublin:




















December 7th, Destination, Guinness Brewery:






















December...something...a few of these:
















Turned into a few of these:














Which made the wife nostalgic for the Liffey:
















And made me feel...well, sexy:
































Then sicky:















Then hungry. The entire gambit of emotions:


















We shopped, we toured, we saw Kilmainham, the Book of Kells, Bram Stoker's childhood home. But after six days, we returned home, to the land not obsessed with Guinness, Bailey's and footbal...er, soccer. The wife found her groove immediately:



















As for me, I decided to take up reading to the mildly possessed:
















That is all from the third circle of the Midwest. I do apologize to all four of you loyal readers who have stuck with me through my many, many bloggy incarnations. To those I have offended, well, suck it. To those in Chicago, it snowed down here too, and thanks Steffie for the Blades of Glory Soundtrack (making that seal a little more permanent on my potential for closet homosexuality). To those in the south, well... it's really fucking cold out right now. And to everyone, Happy Hanukkah!