GODHEAD STYLE
Every year I find that I'm more and more of the same mind as my dad when it comes to Christmas. I had a really nice, quiet day with my parents. I'm glad that as a group we aren't so frenzied about giving presents to one another (because that means I can get away with hand-knit, hand-embroidered presents for my parents. Ha). No, it was sweet and dandy. This is the first year they had to roll me out of bed at ten, though, and the first year that we all sat around drinking black coffee and opening gifts. I got that awesome Derrida book that Adam, Megan, and I had been drooling over for weeks (Glas). Also, there were some clipart books and an Edward Gorey day planner. Mom's going to take me shopping in a few days to finish off the rest of it, and I'm going to buy myself a Queenbee wallet and belt with some money from my Grandpa. In addition to that, there's an otherworldly influx of wines, brandied cakes, cookies, and croissants in this house. We had a close little gathering yesterday afternoon, and everybody loved my choice of music (as usual). (It was Either/Or by Elliott Smith, in case you're curious.)

I've been writing a lot lately; well, for me that means that I've been writing at least a poem a day, but that's so much more than I could work out during the semester. I guess I'm trying to limber up for all of the writing I'm going to have to do with all of the exercises for both poetry and fiction classes. I can't wait to start classes again. I'm actually looking forward to filling up my new Edward Gorey planner, which is, I suppose, a perverse way of appreciating the return of academics to one's life, but I've always had a bizarre party favor streak in my temperament.

Lately I've been trying to isolate the influences on my aesthetics as early as I can document it. I come up with a lot of movies, mostly, and a lot of Victorian-style childrens' books, but also the books of Vera Williams (who wrote, I think, Cherries in the Pits or something similar). Obviously, Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, and the Neverending Story, and Labyrinth, and lots of mediocre cartoons. Anything to explain why I think pink and brown, or blue and green, are acceptable color combinations. Anything to get me out of the house.

WILD AND SWEET, THE WORDS REPEAT
To outsiders, our Christmas Eve gathering must look like a giddy ride of liberal aging hippie fun. Everybody gets gifts from Japan and Guatamala, and there are all kinds of vegetarian goodies to be eaten. But a big community of families can be just as vindictive and grudge-keeping as a group of uppity Bostonians or Philadelphians. (I'm not trying to pick on you, Boston or Philly, but in my worst dreams of family get-togethers gone wrong, I see you.)

That's not to say that it's a knock-down drag-out disaster, but it is a little tense. Everybody is constantly obsessed with saying the right thing, even if that right thing is a proper send-up of the Republican party, etcetera etcetera. I'm surprised how uncomfortable I feel in the environment that formed me, but I would never think of being uncomfortable socially at school. Really. Every time I'm at home I feel like an awkward fifteen year old over and over. It's horrible. At school I'm as close as you get to having the quips of Oscar Wilde and the looks of Grace Kelly in one package. (Well, to a lesser extent. But it's there.) I guess what I'm trying to say is I MISS MY FRIENDS SO MUCH. They're so funny and good-natured.

On that note, thanks for the kind words about my poems, Dave. Really. Your thoughts weigh heavily with me.