This time, we started it out right.
I stopped believing in New Year’s
extravaganza parties some time ago.
It’s never like you hope it will be-
the champagne bombs
(sham pain for my real friends,
real pain for my sham friends!)
The limousines, little black dresses,
shooting stars, demimondaine et al.
Sure.
It’s usually the most depressing sort
of anti-climax; a race to get schnookered
and kiss some attractive stranger
after countdown? I don’t think so.
I’ve tried to make it happen
all over the world- in New York
being chatted up by coked-up
Russians in a freezing warehouse,
lame parties, disasters- hell, even
spending it in an opium haze
in grass hut in Thailand
didn’t quite feel right.
So, a few years ago we
figured out that bypassing
civilization for that particular
holiday and heading for the hills
would be infinitely more fulfilling..
And you know what? It always is.
So we went to the piney woods,
and nestled in among the whispering
yaupon holly and cherry laurels..


She sings in the brave new year with flaming fires
from her fingertips, lovely


My love built us a teepee to sleep in.


It was built quickly and well from a parachute
and bamboo timbers. It was enormous!


This is Thumbelina Pygwidgeon.
She is a dwarf pony.
She is a beautiful mutant.
I love her.


He is the Egg-man.
On the first day of 2006, we visited an abandoned
ghetto putt-putt course (seems to be a theme of late)
and ate black-eyed peas (luck and copper)
and cabbage (green = spot cash money)





A fatso Anton LeVay.


Some friendly ghosts?


Too late, Cinderelly.


Creepy.


Creepier.


RAWR!


A rare unistegosaur. Made of cement.


A genet!


I love the twisty bare oaks in winter.
Winter here means it’s 85 degrees in January.
A mosquito just bit me. Ah, Texas.

The other day I overheard this
conversation from a family
walking past my house:
Little Girl: “Mommy, can you believe somebody actually lives in there?”
Mom: “Yes dear, actually I can..”
Little Girl: “But..but…It’s so little! And weird!”