I was having a pretty good New Year’s Eve day.
Got a lot of the house cleaned up. Got some papers in order. Sent email thank-yous for various Christmas cards. (Unmarried Jewish guy = email response to Christmas cards is the best I can realistically manage.)
Read the news at a leisurely pace. Bid a last goodbye to a number of entertaining but ultimately pointless political blogs, and their legions of time-wasting commenters. This is one of my New Year’s Resolutions. If I can quit Slashdot, I can quit you too.
Walked down to Satan’s Santana Row and stopped at one of the bistros. Enjoyed a glass of red wine on a cool, sunny day with a bright blue sky. Read most of Life in a Medieval City by the Gies-es-es.
Continued on my way to a small art gallery to look at my two tree paintings again. Actually, prints. They cost $3400 each. The last time I’ve been so affected by artwork was in the Prado looking at The Dwarf Sebastian de Mora. Wished that I had the kind of disposable income that I could just snap my fingers and take them both.
Then back home to do a little more noodling on the computer. And in the process of writing a friend an email, I came to a horrible realization: We are going to be stuck with Carson Daly doing the Rockin’ New Year’s Eve for the next fifty years.
Fuuuck.