I’m still trying to fully assimilate the bounty of Christmas presents that still lay (or is it lie? I can never seem to get that part of English grammar fixed into my consciousness) in bags and boxes all over the living room. So far I just haven’t been able to bring myself to integrate the stuff completely into my home. Then again, what is one supposed to do with a pooka shell soap holder (at least I think it’s a soap holder), 2 plastic funnels, a bag of rubber bands (I’m not kidding) a plastic thermometer and a a huge plate of what I believe are some sort of jam-filled cresent rolls? Oh, dear readers, that’s just a small sampling of the huge X-mas booty I have in my possession.

And why do I have this sort of strange superstition around New Years? There’s this expectation in my mind, I suppose, that I’ve got to have this really fantastic, mind blowing New Year’s Eve. Then somewhere down the line I got it in my head that what I’m doing and who I’m with on New Year’s Day will set the tone for the rest of the year. Are you smelling the recipe for disaster in this scenario, too?

So here’s to bags of rubber bands and pooka shell soap holders. Cheers!