Christmas With Gary Gilmore

This picture is me (right) and my brother (left) about three years ago, when I had hair and he had a cool hat. We were a band called The Woodshed Spiders for a while, until we ran out of traditional songs we both knew how to play.

Norman Mailer is one of my favourite writers. Therefore I selected him as the American author I would like to write a paper on for my English class. Foolishly, the first work of his I chose to read was The Executioner's Song which is 1,019 pages long. However, the psycho cramming of 1,019 pages into two days was accomplished with minimal brain damage. I confess that by the end, I just wanted Gary to hurry up and fucking die. Now I'm reading The Deer Park, which is much shorter, and a nicer read.

The true song of death is unquestionably sung by ABBA. During the very darkest period of my life, when a suicidal girlfriend, gender dysphoria, the administration of my middle school and other mysterious chemical forces in my brain attempted to destroy me, all I could listen to was an ABBA compilation I bought. It started as a misguided attempt to make myself feel better, and became a compulsion. If you listen to the words, a great many ABBA songs are about saying goodbye, or being lonely and pathetic. Distinctly cold comfort to the depressed 13 year old.

It is here that I will admit that I enjoy the holidays. I like the lights, the less egregiously cutesy music, (although, really, there are way too many horrible versions of "Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer), and making cookies. Also, at work one of the aides (Anne, who is indefatigable to a fault) decorated the mechanical carts to look like reindeer, which was entertaining. I'm not so down with the materialism stuff, but then, I do like giving and recieveing presents. My family mostly gives books and music, so that's always fun.

Today The Sibling and I made coffee cake, which was successful, and crepes, which were less so. We don't have a griddle, and making them in a pan involves less control than I'm entirely comfortable with. That said, they were tasty with cinnamon, and The Sibling and I have agreed to practice more. I count all cooking that involves both my brother and no grease fires a success.

The Girlfriend is in town for all of break, which means, in addition to the joy of no school, I actually have someone to spend damp winter evenings with. Scmaltzy as it is, I miss her like hell when she's gone, and I feel a little bit like a puppy when she gets back: "Oh my god! You're here! I'm so glad to see you! I thought you were gone forever! Scratch my ears!"

All in all, life is better without school. On school days, I get up early and bust my ass trying to learn things while being lied to by people who are in power. Lots of fucking fun. Now, all I have to do is go to work, which I enjoy, and keep The Sibling from exploding the house. Life is good.

Evil Tranny, off to check on The Sibling