There's a big bruise in the sky

Christmas was and has been it's usual whirlwind of activity and sugar-fueled excitement. I am spent, on many fronts, but I feel good. I've been home for a few weeks now, and am just starting to sleep in, get fat and catch up on some reading. The holidays were a bit of a hard sell for me this year though. Lexi and I decided to get in the spirit (a little late in the game, I suppose) last week by making some gingerbread cookies.















There's not too much that can go wrong with half a bottle of molasses, a handful of sugar and an oven. It was my first real foray into gingerbread peopling. I'd say it all came together pretty naturally and with ease, even the decision to use the leftover dough to make a perfectly coiled piece of Christmas shit.















But it all worked out in the end. Festive as all get-up. 















I had just enough time to grab a few last minute presents, throw them in a bag and get out of town.















We drove down to Monterey on Christmas Eve. This was my third year in a row down there. It's a pretty good spot to be when most of the world is cold and brooding. It seems to be eternally sunny and pleasant, and if you can forgive its Thomas Kincade contrived quaintness of it all, you are set. There is very little wrong with a good walk on the beach on Christmas day.















I took the truck for a drive down to Big Sur and sat on a cliff pondering the world for about 10 minutes, then decided to go eat leftovers.

After many failed attempts at visiting, I finally broke down and bought a membership to the museum of arts and sciences. It's in the park about 8 blocks from my house, and has a natural history museum, an aquarium and a planetarium, and therefore is amazing. It just opened a few months back, and has been sold out every day for several months. The lines were brutal, but the museum was pretty great. They employed the used car lot theory of business and put the sharks and manta rays right up front when you walk in the door. An albino alligator catches the eye as well, though I noticed a suspicious number of pennies and cigarette butts on its head. I would check for signs of life. The living roof, not so great when it rains.















Fuck you get into my bowl of rice you delicious little freak.

Last night I went out to see Tarsem Sing's The Fall at the Red Vic. It was a little arty, and a little whimsical, but it looked incredible. More than I can say for The Curious Case of Old Brad Pitt (which I saw last week, and thought was entirely a waste of time). Today I went up to The Presidio to see Andy Goldsworthy's new Spire. Life has slowed to a crawl. I think today I might go for a walk, and maybe see The Butthole Surfers at The Fillmore. Later.