The institutional mouthpiece of Kjel.org

Somebody had some anger issues to work on. Unfortunate that he worked on them by embedding an axe into his sister’s skull:

BREMERTON — A 32-year-old man suspected of killing his sister with an ax told police he was fed up with her harassing and belittling him, a Bremerton police detective wrote in a probable-cause statement. William Ame Windsor was still on the phone with emergency operators, confessing, when authorities arrived Wednesday at the studio apartment he shared with his sister, Kimberly Shine, Detective Sue Shultz wrote. Windsor said he was arguing with Shine when he started to cry, and she mocked him for it. “Windsor indicated that Shine constantly belittled him and made fun of him. He stated that on this morning, he had had enough mental abuse,” Shultz wrote. He said he got his ax out of the closet and hit her with it. The ax was embedded so deeply in Shine’s skull that police could not remove it, Shultz noted.

Probably a good thing I never lived with my sister. One of them, anyway.

1. My sister and brother in law just bought a new establishment to go with their fish and chips place on Alki: the Admiral Pub in West Seattle. The Kjel.org Chief Safety Officer (formerly the Kjel.org Pullman rep) is helping to run it. I may need to go there soon and class up the place a bit, if you know what I mean. I don’t actually know what I mean there, but it sounds good.

2. The CEO picked up some kind of weird stomach bug early yesterday morning. I haven’t really eaten anything since dinner Wednesday night (I don’t think Tums counts as food), and holy crap I’m hungry. I felt a little bit better this morning and had some Gatorade and part of an an english muffin; I plan to go have a feast at lunch today and see how that turns out. It’s poor form to barf at work; I hope to avoid any episodes like that.

3. A certain sister of the CEO got him a customized steak brand for Christmas:

However, the company making it screwed up my initials the first time around so I don’t have it yet. As soon as the fixed version is delivered to me, it’ll be monogrammed steaks all around at the HQ.

4. In a moment of lunacy last October, the CFO agreed to accompany a group of international students to the Blazer game tonight. I hope there are plenty of parking spots for a 16 passenger van at the Rose Garden. While she is driving a van full of foreigners to watch the Jail Blazers, Stinkboy and I will be eating pizza and watching the Simpsons. It’s a good thing too we are getting pizza: these days whenever Jr sees any sort of delivery person, he starts yelling Pizza guy! Pizza guy! and then is very upset when that person doesn’t immediately deliver him a pizza. Tonight maybe I’ll even let him pay. Or at least tip the guy. Jr., let me tell you about the three dollar rule . . .

5. I was telling someone up in Bellevue about driving around on a new clutch, and how for a mile or two at least it was like learning to drive a stick all over again. I was then reminded of the day my dad and I bought the grey Subaru; this story horrifies the CFO. It was 1989. He and I were at a dealership in Seattle on Westlake, checking out used Suby wagons. We found one we liked, Dad test drove it, and we bought it on the spot. We’d lost track of time; my dad was late for some appointment across town. Uh dad, you know I’ve never driven a stick shift, right? “It’s not tough; you’ll get the gist of it pretty quick I bet. Gotta go. See you at home tonight . . .” He sped off. Oddly enough, he was right. I did get the gist of it pretty quick. All of those quarters I’d fed into Pole Position at the Chuck-E-Cheeses were not wasted. I took one quick lap around the dealership, and then set myself loose on the streets of Seattle. I eventually found I-5 and then 520, and finally I was home, clutch intact. I’ve always wondered where I get my fine parenting skills. When memories like this resurface that elusive answer gets closer and closer.

The CFO’s brother gave me the McSweeneys book of lists for Christmas this year. My favorite so far:

Reasons why a tyrannosaur caught in a tornado is a funny thing to think about:
1. The tiny, flailing arms.
2. The helpless “Rarrrrrr!”
3. The angry, wild-eyed expression

I regret to announce that there will be no New Years Eve party at the HQ this year. I am pretty busy, and the CFO does not feel at all up to it. Next year we shall rage again. This year? Bed by 10:00.

A late Merry Christmas to you all. And a Kwazy Kwanzaa, too.

Kjel.org drove up to Bellevue Sat morning. It was mostly uneventful. We did touch 88 mph once in the Red Suby: the flux capacitor again failed to engage. That’s a project for 2007 I guess. We arrived in Bellevue, and then continued on to Seattle. After dutifully fulfilling her pre-Christmas obligations in both Bellevue and Seattle, the CFO proceeded to pass out. I can barely keep up with her these days.

While she slept we played with the Jr. VP: A certain boy was thrilled to be up on a counter at the CEO’s parent house. The CEO’s mom is a softy; Jr. knows he would never get away with this is at home. A Grandma spoiling a boy? Who’d have guessed?

On Christmas Eve everyone came over to the CEO’s parents house. The Seahawks were on TV, and cousin Chuckles was kind enough to bring Stinkboy an extra jersey so that they could match. Thanks Chuckles! Damn those boys look smooth. Too bad the real Seahawks are slightly less so.

Here’s the lad and his younger cousin sitting on Grandma’s lap. Jr. does not like it when Grandma picks up her but not him. Uh oh. Better get used to it soon, Stinkboy. You have no idea of the cataclysm that is headed right for you. Sorry.

The table ready for Christmas Eve dinner. Prime rib for fifteen adults. Only fourteen adults actually dined: the CEO ate enough beef for two.

As is traditional, dinner was held up by either the CEO’s father or uncle trying to use a camera’s self timer to get a picture of everyone at the table. This particular delay has occurred at every Christmas dinner for as long as I can remember. Some things never change.

After dinner we retired to the family room for present opening.

Jr. got all kinds of fun new toys. His early favorite was a drill from a toy tool set. He carried that thing around all night; of course, we couldn’t find it in the morning and can’t find it now. It’ll turn up somewhere. I hope.

One gift the CEO received is a knife so sharp that it can cut you just by thinking about it. I am a little bit afraid to pick it up: drop it and you might lose a foot. I am still working on a name but in the interim I call him Green Destiny. I’ll add him to my collection along with Mr. Stabby and The Pimpsticker.

On Christmas Day we headed back over to Seattle to visit the CFO’s parents. Everything there was lovely as usual. Had a drop or two of The Glenlivet (the eighteen year old, of course) with the CFO’s father; ate another serving of prime rib. The boy waiting anxiously on the couch for his presents:

Jr. spent most of the rest of his time there harassing and being harassed by the CFO’s brother’s dog:

Speaking of dogs: turns out the CFO’s brother’s girlfriend’s dog might owe me money. Her family adopted a retired greyhound; I need to check my old racing programs and see if perhaps he and I have a score to settle. I told her as much at the dinner table, in fact.

We headed back to the HQ on Tuesday. The drive, in a word, sucked. It rained hard the whole way, and plenty of traffic. Plus, I swear that people on the road on the day after Christmas are dumber than normal. In the same way that you need to watch out for amateurs at the bars on St. Paddy’s Day or Halloween, on Dec. 26th you need to watch out for folks who never otherwise would drive on an interstate. We made it home though safe and sound, and I can finally concentrate on finding a suitable present for the CFO. And perhaps put a dent in the two week’s worth of work I need to complete before Friday.

I am the second to the last person still remaining at my office this afternoon; everyone else has bugged out for the holiday weekend. The last person to leave has to turn out all the lights, set the alarm and lock the door, so I think I am about to cruise and stick the last guy with those duties.

Bellevue by lunchtime tomorrow is the goal; we’ll see if I can conjure a Christmas present for the CFO before then. Otherwise, lookout Bellevue Square, here I come.

There is an accepted rule on the internet (which should also apply in the real world) that the first side in any debate to gratuitously make a Hitler or Nazi comparison automatically loses. Someone should have told these guys:

SAN ANTONIO, Texas (Reuters) - U.S. Hispanic groups and activists on Thursday called for a moratorium on workplace raids to round up illegal immigrants, saying they were reminiscent of Nazi crackdowns on Jews in the 1930s.

OK, now I am really starting to panic about my lack of a Christmas present. Amazon ships overnight, right? Maybe I can have the gift sent directly to Bellevue?

Speaking of which, the Kjel.org elders got their power back on this morning; it had been out since Sunday. I bet that was nice. I of course didn’t know about their predicament since they couldn’t call or email . . .

I just forgot to give him a meat course with this meal.

Tonight I plan to feed Jr a fair amount of ham, some chicken, as much of a baby cow as he’ll eat, and most of a duck.

The CEO has no Christmas present yet for the CFO. I wonder if she’d like a new flat screen TV?

The CFO’s car wouldn’t start this morning: dead battery. The CFO and Jr. were already out the door, driving the red Suby. It was all up to me. What to do? Who to call? Triple-A? Nah, Triple-A is for chumps. Luckily I knew the answer to my own question: I called Double-M. They perhaps are less well known that AAA but equally as effective. In a matter of minutes the guy was at the HQ (still in his pajamas) with a jumpstart for my vehicle, and a sausage McMuffin for my gullet. That, ladies and gentlemen, is what I call service.

Look out! There’s a Druid behind you! Or maybe a German teenager. Just as scary.

The HQ smells good today:

Behold the creation of Holiday Jerky, 2006!

When you are 33 you sometimes wish you could be 17 again. I guess when you are almost two you wish you be almost one again. Above is a pic of a certain boy reliving his glory days at the HQ the other night.

Thanks for bringing back the baby toys, Chief Sniper. Kjel.org needs them again soon but I’ll keep ‘em in good shape just in case you too should require their use once (or twice? thrice? mas?) more in the future.

The dealership did a nice job on the red Suby. It took a day longer than I had hoped but seems to have fixed several problems. And I cannot quibble at all about the price. $600 or so in parts and about $100 labor. Aside from the warranty repairs, I had them replace the clutch, the plugs, plug wires, all the belts, several electrical components, and various odds and ends. It’s not every day when someone else is paying to pull the engine out of your car, work on it, and then put it back. I took advantage: $700 of work at the dealership would have been $2500 at Metro. Don’t worry though Metro: like Arnie says, I’ll be back.

It hadn’t occured to me how bad the old clutch was until I tried to pull out of the dealership onto Canyon; the new clutch was a little tighter than I was used to. A lot tighter, actually. The CEO inadvertantly laid down some serious rubber. Then at the light I proceeded to stall it. High school kids were laughing at me and I had no comeback. They were right: “Learn to drive, dork!” It took me a few miles to master the new clutch, but this dork eventually got it. Now if I can get my hands on those lousy teens . . .

Yesterday the CEO went to visit the doctor, since I’d convinced myself over the week that I had SARS, pneumonia, (To sum up the CEO’s last seven days using just one word? Phlegm) or quite possibly tuberculosis. Turns out I didn’t have any of those, just a standard respiratory infection of some sort, but that is beside the point. So I am sitting in the exam room at the clinic waiting for the doc to come in. I’d been sitting there about fifteen minutes and was getting tired of reading month old Newsweeks. What to do?

I noticed a large sign in the room mentioning that cell phone use was strictly prohibited (also was prohibido, whatever the hell that means) and to please refrain from their use. I thought, hmmm, I wonder . . . I whipped out my phone and dialed the CFO. It worked! It only took one ring on her end before the door opened and in walked the doctor. I hung up and talked to the doc, but filed the use my cell in a prohibited area and a wait immediately ends? experience away as a data point to be examined later. The CEO might be more annoying with his phone in 2007, using it in places where people don’t want it used to see how it affects wait times, but if you are with me, remember: I’m doing it for science.

The vessel on which Kjel.org’s Chief Naval Liaison proudly serves, traversing Hood Canal as the Olympics tower above. When clear of the Puget Sound and out in the Pacific, the boat counts the ability to dive to a depth of at least six feet* among it’s many other, er, interesting capabilities.

* Actual maximum dive depth is classified. The Chief will neither confirm nor deny his vessel’s ability to achieve an operational depth greater than six feet.

Billy desperately wanted a Playstation 2 for Christmas last year. Instead he got a freakin’ Leapster. Rage!!!!*

* The CEO actually has no idea who that is or what is going on here. I lifted the pic from here; they didn’t say where they got it. For some reason I cannot stop laughing. . .

So the CEO has been hitten my switches in a fresh Ford Focus these last few days. The experience will in the future remind me to focus on getting a better rental car next time I need one. Sorry.

Anyway, the red Suby was overheating a bit last week so I took it on down to Metro. They are the best guys in town, and I am happy to put in a plug for them. Metro absolutely gets the Kjel.org seal of approval. I’ve used them happily for years, for reasons just like this:

My man at Metro examined the Suby and told me the head gasket was shot, and needed to be replaced. (Whatever that means. The CEO is no mechanic) I asked how much, he said About a grand, but I won’t do it for you. He then proceeded to pull up the warranty info on my make and model, and told me that Subaru of America would pay for the whole thing if I took it to the dealership. Awesome, thanks. I need a new clutch too, and I know the dealer doesn’t cover that. You want to go ahead and do that for me? I won’t do that either. I’d charge you $800 for the clutch, but have the dealership do it and you are looking at only $300 since they’ll have the engine out anyway for the warranty repairs. In fact, here, here’s a list of other stuff you should ask the dealer to do since the expensive part (the labor to remove and then, eventually, reattach the engine) is already covered. He wouldn’t even change my oil: said the dealer would do that as part of the head gasket replacement.

Metro turned away all kinds of money and pointed me toward someone who could become a competitor for my business, just because they were looking out for me. The Suby dealership? Was efficient enough, and is most likely at least reasonably competent, but where’s the love? I’ll be back at Metro.

I got my current dope ride from the boys at Enterprise on Barbur. When I say boys I mean it: a bunch of frat boy types are running that place. High fives, nicknames, cheap dress clothes and poorly tied ties, rush handshakes — feels a lot like a fraternity when you walk in. Nice guys though, and they are gonna rent me a van over New Years for about 1/10 of the price U-haul wanted.

If you are going to be a villain it helps to have an evil name. Done and done:

Fugitive Alert: Samuel Bloodsaw III
MILWAUKIE, Ore. - He’s a convicted sex offender who pretends to be a teenager, hangs around high schools and sometimes dresses as a woman. And Milwaukie police are looking for the 20-year-old in connection with sex abuse cases involving two 14-year-old girls.

A story somewhere in the national media very soon: Oregon: Deadliest State in the Lower 48. You doubt? Stay with me here. . .

Recent national Oregon stories: James Kim and family get lost near Grants Pass; James doesn’t make it out. Three climbers get stuck in a blizzard on Mt. Hood; looking pretty bad right now for those guys. If they don’t make it off the mountain, some “pundit” somewhere (back east, most likely) will see these two stories and write something about the Wild West out here, and how Something Must Be Done. Doesn’t help that at least one of the climbers is a NYC attorney . . .

There is a certain Plaid Pantry the CEO visits every couple of weeks or so sorta near the Chief Educator’s pad, across from the the community center, on Vermont. It is right on the way to picking up Jr. and is very handy for milk, Diet Coke, that sort of thing. It is a weird place. Some examples:

I once went in, grabbed a two liter out of the case, and went to the counter to pay. No clerk. I start looking around the store and I can’t find anyone. I start thinking Holy shit, is there some kind of hostage situation in the back? Should I go look? Should I call the cops? Why oh why did I leave my shotgun at home today? After I did another lap around the place without seeing anyone, I was ready just to leave a buck on the counter and take off. I had my dollar out and was heading to pay when, from behind the counter the clerk stands up. I think he was down there taking a nap, or maybe reading a book or something. I was too stunned even to make a witty comment. I just paid and left. Very weird.

Other times, the clerks seem like actual, literal zombies, sans the brain-eating. To my knowledge anyway. I swear that several times I’ve been in line with my cheetos or whatever, got to the front, laid my desired purchase on the counter, and said something like “just these today, please” only to be answered by a grunt or a glaring silence. Never do they state the amount owed, or the change due. In fact, I’m not sure I’ve ever heard an actual word out of anyone who works there.

I was reminded of all this when I went in last night to get some milk for the boy. The clerk was utterly and completely stoned. To the bejesus, even. If he wasn’t on drugs, I suspect he had a recent undiagnosed stroke or perhaps some sort of neurological episode. My bill was $3.55. I gave him $4. It took two minutes for him to dispense my quarter and two dimes. They were first too baffling for him to comprehend, and once appreciated too fascinating for him to let go of. When I left the dude was standing dead still, staring off into space while another customer was trying to pay for some Ho-ho’s or something. Truly, an odd place.

You can take a man and put him on the other side of the world, but he is still that same man.

Eat some waffles for me.

Didn’t think I’ve ever have to babyproof these particular cabinets. Ugh . . .

The boy learned the secret of the stool several weeks ago; he has just recently though picked up the secret of the chair: namely, move the chair(s) to what he wants and then get right up in it. He partly broke that right door (the open one) by banging it as hard as he could a few times; banging it was, temporarily at least, the funniest thing in the world. I eventually had to put a stop to it, and he was not happy.

I didn’t really need any clean dishes tonight anyway. Get home soon, CFO.

Someone is getting this evil contraption this year, I just haven’t figured out who.

The CFO is in Arizona attending a conference. I am hoping she fails to attend parts of it at least, and instead spends some time sitting in the sun by a pool with a book and a tall glass of iced tea.

That means that the lad and I are fending for ourselves until Saturday. Day one was A-OK and we both actually had a pretty good time. At least I did; he might have been faking it. Today (day two) started out very oddly: the boy was yelling from his crib at about 7:00 or so. I tried to ignore him for a while but he was awake and wanted out. I go into his room and there he is standing in his crib starkers, as our British friends would say. He’s removed his pajamas and diaper and thrown them across the room. When I then looked at him with a WTF? expression on my face he just laughed and laughed and laughed. If he does it tomorrow I’ll try to get a picture.

I hope dropping trou for laughs is just a short term phase the boy is going through; I could see this becoming problematic. If he does it at Fred Meyer I am going to pretend not to know him I think.

Close the teahouses? Barbarism! How dare you sir!

MOGADISHU, Somalia - Residents of a southern Somalia town who do not pray five times a day will be beheaded, an Islamic courts official said Wednesday, adding the edict will be implemented in three days. Public places such as shops and tea houses in Bulo Burto, about 124 miles northeast of the capital, Mogadishu, should be closed during prayer time and no one should be on the streets, said Sheik Hussein Barre Rage, the chairman of the town’s Islamic court. Those who do not follow this edict “will definitely be beheaded according to Islamic law,” Rage told The Associated Press by phone. “As Muslims, we should practice Islam fully, not in part, and that is what our religion enjoins us to do.”

A poster from the National Archives:

The U.S. was a very different place back then.

She’ll be home soon little Stinkboy, don’t you worry.

I was really hoping for a Hollywood ending here. Instead, this:

The body of a San Francisco man who had walked into the Oregon wilderness to find help for his stranded family was found Wednesday. James Kim, 35, walked into the snowy Oregon mountains Saturday leaving his wife and two young daughters in the family car.

I’m not sure why this hits close to home with the CEO. It’s not like I knew the guy, although I do know people who’ve written articles for CNET, Mr. Kim’s former employer, so I’d bet there’s only one or two degrees of separation. I think some of it is because it is just too easy for me to imagine myself doing something similar, especially if the wife and kid(s) are involved. The world both Mr. Kim and I inhabit is seemingly so civilized, what with modern technology like cell phones, the internet, and the like. In that world you don’t expect to encounter mortal danger while lost in your car. Or encounter mortal danger anywhere for that matter. This whole episode is a grim reminder about the hard real world, a truth that can be easily lost in this day and age. For the CEO at least — maybe you have a better grasp of the big picture than I do.

I desperately hope, and will choose to believe, that somehow, some way he was able to know that his wife and kids were OK before he went. RIP Mr. Kim.

The Chief Educator has become a cultured man of refined tastes, or at least * [the lady of the house] encourages him to pretend. This refinement is evident in just about everything the Chief does these days. Example: the other weekend he introduced the CEO to a very fine wine , produced not far from the Chief’s ancestral manse. What a gentleman.

I gotta hand it to the Chief: that wine is pretty damn good. I’ve already picked up a few bottles to take home for Christmas. I believe the folks in Bellevue will be surprised, since usually if I tell them I am “bringing up a few bottles” I think they think I mean bottles of IPA. Or possibly some scotchy scotch scotch. Wrong. This time, anyway.

* Title withheld for reasons of national security

MERLIN, Ore. (AP) - Search teams tracked a creek at the bottom of a rugged Oregon canyon Tuesday looking for a San Francisco man who set out three days earlier seeking help for his stranded family. James Kim, 35, remained missing a day after his wife and two daughters were found at their car, stuck in the snow on a remote road in the Coast Range.

The CEO is going to be very impressed if that poor guy makes it out alive. His situation and response reminded me of an article about survival situations I saw in Popular Mechanics not too long ago. Here’s the relevant part:

REMAIN IN ONE PLACE IF YOU’RE IN TROUBLE Think of an automobile–even one mired in snow or mud–as a survival ark. It is windproof, waterproof and an excellent source of insulation. (You can tear up the seat cushions.) A vehicle features an audible signaling device–a horn–and is far more visible from the air than a person walking. (Put the hood up in the international sign for distress.) While staying put is a critical strategy for hikers and pilots as well as off-road drivers, it’s one of the hardest to follow. Rescue logs are filled with cases in which victims’ abandoned planes and cars were found days before their corpses. In a review of 800 lost-person reports in Nova Scotia, only twice did victims intentionally remain in place. “The fight-or-flight reflex is strong,” says Peter Kummerfeldt, the owner of OutdoorSafe, a Colorado survival training school. “When it kicks in, it makes a bad situation worse.”

Even if you knew waiting in the car is the best thing to do, it must be just about impossible to not try to walk out after waiting several days with no sign of searchers, and watching your wife and kids run out of food. I doubt I could do it. Good luck, Mr. Kim; I hope you’ve got a happy surprise in store for all of us.

Portland’s new aerial tram is almost open. I drive under the stupid thing twice a day every day, and even now every idiot driver on the road invariably slows down to look at the shiny new tram cables overhead. Once the actual pods start to move and occasionally come into view, I am guessing that I am going to get rear-ended an average of once a week on Barbur, and twice a week on I-5. Not to mention the people who will drive at 42 mph on the freeway so that they can get a good long look at the city’s beautiful new boondoggle. The CFO is against it, but I might finally mount that bazooka I’ve been dreaming of to the hood of the Suby. Don’t lollygag on the freeway if the CEO is behind you.

Today the Portland Fire Dept was practicing aerial rescues should the super high-tech tram ever get stuck. The official step by step procedure? Step One:

The tram operator throws a bag with ropes out of the car’s door.

Awesome, but I do wish they’d been a little more creative. Rolling a cargo net over the side and then having everyone scramble down like pirates would have been fun. Or maybe each car should mount a harpoon gun from which (only in an emergency, of course) they could shoot a zipline into the nearest house and get everyone to safety that way. Whatever they choose, I just hope it is not too windy when the tram decides to break down . . .

Saturday morning I woke up and gave my liver a pre-game rubdown, since I knew I needed him on his A game. I considered apologizing to him in advance for what I was about to do, but decided against it: I needed him going into this thing thinking he could, no, WOULD prevail. I gave him a pep talk, and delivered him an encouraging note. I won’t bore you with the whole thing, but it started like this: Liver of the Kjel.org Expeditioniary Force! You are about to embark upon the Great Crusade. . . By the end of it I had imbued in him the proper fighting spirit to successfully storm the gates at the Holiday Ale Fest.

In my excitement I might have got us there a just a wee bit early. The Chief Educator and I were initially #2 and #1 in line, respectively, waiting for the event to open. It’s good to have goals, and one of mine this year was to be the first man inside the 2006 Holiday Ale Fest. I failed. We missed being in front of the doors at the exact second that they opened, and a couple of other lucky bastards beat us in. Next year. We still managed to be inside the tent by 11:00:45. Not too shabby.

When you get there early you more of less get the place to yourself. It is sweet.

It gets pretty full later in the day, but still not too bad. Might even call it very nice.

The tent was pleasantly cold, although if I recall we were feeling warmer by the minute. If I recall.

Whoa whoa whoa, hold on there a second. We just drank what now?

The CEO, the Chief Photographer, and some other freaky dude are getting warmer . . .

The Chief Educator is going for a Bono on the Joshua Tree album cover look, while the Chief Sniper channels Doug Mackenzie.

Beauty, eh? Both found what they were looking for, I think.

So we decide to pose for one more picture before the cameras get put away. As we get into position the Chief Photographer pulls out his mobile and shows us the website of a ‘model’ he met at a coffee shop a few days ago. She wants him to call her for a ’shoot’ sometime. I looked at her website: I think the ‘model’ might be ’soliciting’ the Chief Photographer for a ‘date’. My advice to him was to pay for everything in cash.

And after another hour or two of beer guzzling, it was off to Rock Bottom for my traditional post Holiday Ale Fest meal of Titan Toothpicks. Breathtaking, as usual.

And so another Holiday Ale Fest is in the books. No one got 86′ed from the tent this year, and we didn’t end up staying out until midnight as has occurred in years past. Better in the long term I guess, and certainly better in the short: I have been told (by Leon in fact) that my liver is composing a note thanking me for my recent mercy. He may realize that New Years Eve is right around the corner . . .

Is this somewhere near Kazakhistan?

I think I see Urkin, the town rapist. Naughty, naughty!