Culturally, you gotta figure holidays and shit were invented to make you take a look at where your life might be. Mine might be fucked, who knows.

I really can’t complain. But, shit, I keep a weblog so complain I must.

My major holiday giggle is kind of two-fold. One is, I hang out with M., no fucking surprise, because I like hanging out with him. He’s interesting, he’s kind of the antidote to misery, he’s funny, and there’s a whole lot of shit I take for granted that he just doesn’t. Rock on, right, you gotta figure I got a bit of a lottery hit with that dude.

But, then you see him through other eyes. I’m thinking there’s one person in the fam who’s basically on a “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy. Any mention of his differentlly complected country of origin kind of prompts an “oh, that’s awful.”

Um, what? We all know he’s Asian, and he’s cool with that. In fact, um, it’s natural. And, by sheer volume his cultural brothers could kick our asses. So, yeah, it’s not racist to bring it up. (OK, some of the shit I say is racist, but not all of it.)

i love, though, that he likes lights. Christmas lights. (He’s not like a retard or autistic, drawn to any light.)

But, it’s awesomely ironic and great to figure that he hasn’t much use for a Buddhist-y//Tao-ist/ancestor-y shrine, and I’m gape mouthed at the 6-foot joss stick and infinite supply of oranges. While he has this, and he’s cool with it: