My...How fast the Christmas weekend went by. We tumbled through a four day period of non-stop festivities with none seeming to be too outlandish in a town where "outlandish" is something you eat for breakfast next to your eggs.
We took Henrietta and Pimpernel out to Christmas dinner and presented her with the picture book I published as her present. It was a present, to me, to see the glee on her face as she went through it. We then went to Twist for a riotous bacchanal.

Although I do not subscribe to the notion of body painting, some ghetto boys' tattoos have appeal to jaded, white society women. It reminds me of a movie I got for Leopoldo recently: The Roman Spring of Mrs. Stone (the new version with Helen Mirren). It is a world not readily understood, but fascinating or erotic.

Meanwhile, it is now estimated that the python population in the Everglades has zoomed past the 100,000 mark. The authorities are contemplating many measures, but sometimes you have to start at the beginning to solve a problem, and that is making it illegal to import predator reptiles in the the country in the first place. Meanwhile, stupid parents are giving Little Johnny a python for Christmas, and when it grows and tries to strangle him, let it loose in the swamps.

I do now plan the New Years' post: The Story of Peggy, The Pig. It's been on my plate for the entirety of this blog, but held back, and back. If this blog is going to end, Peggy's story must be told as it rates beyond the Schnapple con-joined twins as a measure of the craxy life I lived in New York.