At the end of the year, y’all supposed to look back and thing deep thoughts and shit. There was stuff good and bad, but on balance good about the year. I really miss the unemployment checks I started the year cashing.

On the ranty, bullshit at the world front, I still got GWB for a bit to keep me warm. Unfortunately, 2005 didn’t bring the early crash and burn for which I yearn. But, as this year ends, I tell myself he can still fuck up his second term.

My mantra, think Nixon in ’72, gone by ’74.

On the personal front, both Cingular and UPS reminded me how suckass, shitty bad customer service can be. Thanks, boys and girls, I fucking hate you and resolve in the new year to limit any involvement with either of your fine corporations.

On the even, personaler front, I also resolve to limit time in 2006 with a buddy of M. Maybe he’s semi-retarded, autistic, suffering from Asberger’s or simply socially inept. But, Jesus Fucking H. Christ, I’d rather be punched in the face repeatedly than ever get sucked into another uninformed, narrow, inexperienced, cheap, miserly, myopic, painful discussion with this man-boy. I just can’t get past the desire to swallow a bullet at maximum velocity every time this maroon opens his mouth.

Sorry, dude, life is too fucking short and I’d like to suck a bit o’ joy out of what’s left.

A couple paragraphs or few on my gripes, yeah that’s about right to end the year. For the high points, I’ll spare a couple of phrases and sentences. There’s M., of course, and the big move West. There’s my j.o.b., where it looks like my bad mojo has been lain far behind me in worker bee land. And, there is the sweet sounds of 120 channels beamed from out-of-space to my own radio. My sweet Santa bought me the one gadget on the cutting edge of tech I hadn’t yet acquired.

So, yeah, old one out, new one in. Bring it on.

So the big day is here. I’m pretty sure this Christmas is the only one I have ever spent not in the ‘burbs of Boston.

It’s a balmy 60 degrees here in San Jose right now, though, so I ain’t complaining.

Also for the first time I hosted a Christmas Eve feast. Even at the height of helping Pat with the cooking and cleaning, the Eve I was either not doing anything on Dec. 24 or being a guest in the domain of Oldest Brother’s family blending in his wife’s traditions. I thought of their primerib and crab dip last night.

The quick capsule of our soiree was piles of food, mostly made lovingly by my little hands, a yankee swap with 19 numbers handed out that ultimately became cutthroat and my perception that hippies raise shitty kids. Seriously, one shortfall of the laidback California lifestyle of anything goes appears to be snot-nosed spawn with no sense of etiquette or social interaction with grace.

Doubtless in the olden days, had one of us brave spawn of Pat deigned to in-your-face gripe, bitch, whine and barter our yankee swap booty, beseeching every single party guest with a superior gift, he or she would have gone home devoid of any gift at all. And, I suspect I would do the same.

So, yeah, to summarize: Me, M., suburbs, food, friends, birth control on two legs and swapping.

I just had a homemade snickerdoodle. I’m waiting for my pot of tea to steep. And, I just read how soon a friend’s head or heart is going to explode in some messy excess pressure moment via his weblog.

Soon as I have some tea, I”ll be stringing some more lights around the place and the tree, whilst letting some bread dough rise. Life is grand.

No snow, no slush and, thanks to the generousity of a major philanthropic organization, no work from about 2:30 p.m. PST yesterday until Tuesday.

HO HO HO.

I moved across the country and just got a personalized Christmas card from the local PBS affiliate that I could walk to from my old condo.

HO HO HO.

I am deep into the waves of Christmas cheer, by which I mean spending far too fucking much money. Mostly for shipping.

The suck part about moving 3,000 miles away from “home” is that occassionally you might want to be in touch with the folks back there. I think UPS anally rapes you with its special holiday packing and shipping. Sure they will guarantee delivery–for a fee.

Happily, only one of my gifts cost less than the shipping.

(By the way, I will say hats off to UPS for being cool with illegal trafficking. I sought to send one of the local products for which Cali is known. The ATF and various other federal and state agencies aren’t real down with bootlegging by mail. The chick at the UPS Store said she would wrap it thoroughly and not write the contents on the package. Rock on, UPS, and your intemperate spirit.)

For M., I’m channeling my mother. In terms of romance, this possession may not be a good thing. But, I’ve been bargain shopping and getting him the most mundane of goodies.

(By the way, if you have a cute, fashionable beau, with a personal sense of style, don’t suggest you were looking to get him Dockers for X-mas. This “jest” will only engender anger and a sense of classic alienation a la adolescence, “You don’t know me at all!”)

Completely unrelated to Christmas (or whatever winter holiday you groove), I have one word for Peter Jackson.

Fucking edit. OK, that’s two words.

Seriously, I enjoyed King Kong (maybe because it was a special date night with a special guy and a couple of glasses of wine and a fine dinner). However, every key scene could have had some time shaved. Stampeding dinosaurs cool, the ape getting all Tae Kwon Do with some raptors, various and sundry scenes of mayhem, chaos and prehistoric rage, all cool. But, dude, as soon as the visual message is sent and received you can move the fuck on to something else.

And, what is the deal with giant scary bugs. It seems like all special effects laden flicks now must have gratuitous, giant, scary, crawly things.

Back to the holidays, in this special time I want to bow my head and give thanks to President G.W. Bush. I’m hoping that his little speech the other night, the one where he basically said, because I’m the president that’s why, will help in his undoing. For fuck’s sake, the guy doesn’t even know Civics 101 and the basic three branches of government, checks and balances thang. We have a Congress, use them.

Finally, a welcome to the Brit guy who posted a few comments. Consider this paragraph my fawning and pandering to the readership of one. (At least til I piss him off or bore him to tears, both of which are well in the realm of the probable.)

I sent this out as our Christmas card this year. I wonder why I haven’t heard from my family.

If I had your address (and even though I don’t) here’s what I wish for each of you. Merry X-mas!

I’m trying hard to fight neuroses at the moment. We just bought a couple of tix to travel east, very far east, like what Pat might have called the Orient. Not to be confused with Orient Heights, which Pat may have had “carfare” to visit.

Yeah, so not my New England home for the holidays, and not my holidays, since the trip will coincide with Chinese New Year and the visit will be to M.’s own kin. You’d think that would be why the knots are mounting and mounding in my gut.

Nope, that would be normal people angst, not the crazy, inexplicable, neurotic irrational shit I seem to favor. I’m all aflutter over the idea of taking a normal vacation. What the fuck, man? I am so pre-conditioned by my last gig, where they constantly acted like it would be impossible for me to leave for days on end (of course, that changed when they asked me to leave for days on end and were shocked when I just left). Anyway, I felt a bit of a throat clear lump of stress whilst emailing the new boss, even though she’s told me it’s cool and is herself never there.

For fuck’s sake, I work in Silicon Valley. Everyone is wired. There are CrackBerry addicts everywhere unable to step away from email or mobile phoning for sure. But, they are work hard/play hard folks who fucking leave town. A lot.

If that atmosphere weren’t enough, I fucking am very much a glorified secretary. ‘Course with charm oozing from my orifices and the kind of stellar intellect that has gotten me into successively less responsible gigs over a 15+ year career trajectory (OK, I admit for a bit the trajectory arced the usual up), they got me doing a wee bit more. But, still and all, they will survive and survive well and surely without my service.

Fuck, I can’t even take a week’s vacation and relax thinking about it.

I need to learn how to breathe.