So Long 2005! We Hardly Knew You.

Three hundred and sixty five days doesn't really seem like a long time to me. It's hard to truly get to know anyone or anything in that short a time frame, even if you spend every second of each of those days with whatever or whomever you are trying to comprehend.

So it is with 2005. After spending this past year with this year, the only true thing I have come to know about it is that it isn't that much different than any other year I have ever spent a year with. Aught-five had its highs and lows, its disasters and triumphs, its hours of strife and its sadly few moments of peace. All in all, a year like any other. Bon voyage to you, 2005. I hope with all my being for a 2006 with some style, some originality, some pizzazz!

Before the year closes with a Dick Clark thud (not that I am wishing him any ill will), let's recap the boisterousness of the annum's death throes.

Thursday's sushi night turned into quite an affair. Central Standard allowed Coach B and Boring Election to track down the Sushi Six and arrange a rendez-vous at Casa de Monkeys. A bounteous collection of Busch tall boys and various Miller products (along with wine, coffee, cheese, hummus and beef jerky) were happily consumed, as the discussion ranged from shattered backboards to the legitimacy of certain guests "vacations." When it was somehow discovered that Comcast Digital On Demand offered a "free" karaoke channel, the partee was on.

After a bit of a false start on "Fake Plastic Trees" (in the style of Radiohead), the sing-along got going for real. Led by the always tasteful stylings of Coach B and the raucous attitude of the Rev. Wayne Coomers, it wasn't long before the whole house was thumping to the karaoke wailings on numbers like, "Sandy" (in the style of John Travolta) and "Feel Like Making Love" (in the style of, who, is it Paul Rodgers? I don't remember.). As evening stretched into morning, the party broke up and the silence that befell Casa de Monkeys was slightly more painful than the joyous, yet off-key, sonic furnishings that had previously adorned the house. Thanks to all who attended and participated for an evening I will not soon forget.

On Friday, Monkey and I broke down and bought a new camera. Look for high-quality shots soon. Right now, all we have are shots of the dog, and you've seen enough of those currently.

Tonight, we will ring in the new year (with previously mentioned hopes) , and try to remain close to human for Sunday. We shall see. Best wishes to everyone. Please have fun in a safe manner this evening. I'll holler at you next year.

Three Creeks

Today, Monkey and I hit the trails of Three Creeks Conservation Area, since all firearms deer seasons are over, and no dove hunting is currently being perpetrated, either. A safe hike through the woods was nearly guaranteed. At the very least, nobody was a-shootin' at us.

It was a picturesque trip, and we plan on going back with a camera. I left ours sitting on the hutch, today. Highlights included some excellent views of the Turkey Creek gorge, an unexpected (and pretty large) cave, an unintended side trip onto private property, and some interesting bird life. We had a great time.

Tonight, we plan to meet Uncle Joe and Aunt James and the Reverend and Mrs. Wayne Coomers at our favorite sushi restaurant. After that, who knows!

Monkey and I saw The Squid and the Whale last night. We found it...well...interesting, but not great. I don't think it is a movie that anyone HAS to see, but it has more than a few poignant moments. I'm sorry, though, nobody's passing off Pink Floyd's "Hey You" as their own song in 1986. Hell, I doubt they could do it in 2006. See the movie, you'll understand.

Those books I mentioned a few days ago? Here's the short skinny:

Ishmael, Daniel Quinn: An ape teaches a man how to "save the world." Sounds weird, but it's not. I recommend it. Gives an interesting view of life on earth.

Bee Season, Myla Goldberg: A young girl finds she has a penchant for spelling bees and cabalistic permutation. A gently told story. It grows on you. The characters are worth the read, for sure.

Forgotten Fire, Adam Bagdasarian: A young Armenian tries to survive during the Turk-perpetrated genocide of the early twentieth century. A Young Adult novel, but still captivating. Simplistic, but heart-wrenching.

Cloud Atlas, David Mitchell: Six stories, split in half and woven together. A mind-blowing piece of work. A bit uneven (some stories are stronger than others), but the way the stories are connected is nothing short of brilliant. Makes an interesting companion to Ishmael.

That is all.

Leave a Peppermint Stick for Old Saint Nick Hanging on the Christmas Tree

Just returned home from the Motherland yesterday. The flight was uneventful; the most memorable moment being getting stopped at security with ten pounds of frozen porterhouse steaks. The woman at the X-ray machine looked at me real funny.

"What you got in this bag?"

"Steaks."

She looked at me real funny again and ran the bag back through the machine. Which is good, because now I know my steaks have been doubly irradiated and are completely bacteria-free! Thank you Transportation Safety Administration.

The Monkey and I stopped at Trader Joe's in St. Louie on the way back, to pick up some cheap wine and wasabi rice crackers. Makes a great meal and feeds six, for those of you on a budget.

Upon returning to the homestead, we unpacked our Christmas booty (thanks, everybody), put our frozen foods in the freezer (they stayed well-frozen), and went to get our puppy back from Uncle Joe and Aunt James.

When we arrived, they were in full play mode (the dogs, not the people), wrestling with each other and chasing each other around the floor (obviously the previous photo was taken prior to our arrival). James and Joe still seem pleased to have Ripken, which is good. They were sad to see him go.

Ripken also spent Christmas eve and day at Uncle Joe's parents' house, where, we were told, he promptly peed on the Christmas tree! I don't think he'll be going back there any time soon.

Thanking our dog-watching friends, we went back home, where Ripken passed out on his bed. Monkey and I watched the end of the Insight Bowl (ASU 45-Rutgers 40), and hit the hay. I slept and slept and slept, dreaming of the week we had just had.

It was great to visit with those whom we got to see. We apologize to those we missed.

It was amazing and wonderful to meet and greet the new family members and to see the progress of the young and old. I especially enjoyed spending time with my nephews, Thing Two and Thing One (they can do anything, anything, anything under the sun), as well as my wife's gaggle of monkey-like second cousins (actual wall-climbing was witnessed).

It was great to enjoy the generosity of a sister and brother-in-law, who gave us their club level tickets to the Ravens' game on Christmas night. That was a wickedly cool experience. And the Ravens actually resembled an NFL team again this week!

Christmas, in practice, is the biggest headache of the year, by far. It is the time of year when planning and meeting people (two things I really don't dig on) occur with the most frequency and intensity. However, it is also one of the few times Monkey and I get back to see everybody back home, and that's the best thing about it.

I leave you with a few shots (courtesy of Unle Joe, dog photographer/bass player) of Ripken and London's canine Christmas. Notice how serene they are.

Tidings of Comfort and Joy

Merry Christmas. 'Nuff said.

New Arrivals, Severed Tendons

While this news is not hot off the presses, it is recent enough and large enough to be posted here. Late last week, Mrs. Arthur Bryant gave birth to an early Christmas present. Long, wrinkly, and healthy, Harrison David Sandstedt, was born on December 16. Last night, Monkey and I, along with Mr. and Mrs. Fishing Buddy, visited the Bryants, bringing steaks, salad, and some damn tasty chocolate dessert thingy.

Mr. Fishing Buddy appeared with his right hand in a bizzarre Freddy Krueger-type contraption, owing to the fact that he had severed a tendon on his hand while sharpening knives. Take this as a warning: sharp knives are dangerous (of course, dull knives are MORE dangerous, but anyway...). We had a great meal, some sparkling conversation, held the small sleeping infant (nerve-wracking, for me--support the head!) and watched a bit of the Ravens other-wordly effort against the Packers. (Boy, were my dad and I way wrong.)

Congrats to the Bryants, welcome to earth to Harrison, and let's hope Fishing Buddy's hand heals before the ice thaws.