NOT THAT IT WAS OF ANY IMPORTANCE

... irritated by her aunt's habit of adding unnecessary details. It was age coming on, she supposed: age that loosened screws and made the whole apparatus of the mind jingle and rattle.

'D'you know the feeling when one's been on the point of saying something, and been interrupted; how it seems to stick here,' she tapped her forehead, 'so that it stops everything else? Not that it was of any importance,' she added.

— Virginia Woolf, The Years

Actually apropos of this post as I began it whilst still in Brewster and somehow have not managed to complete nor post.

Lots of houses look like this in Jackson Heights.

Emmy in the b/g; Doc in the f/g.

I begin anew from Jackson Heights, Queens, where the wind is blowing mightily here on the north facing sixth floor. I am animal sitting Tuxedo le kitteh, Doc le kittehen, and Wixii the Bernese Mountain Dog. Cooder and Emmylou are here with me as well. Cooder has found a hidey-hole in the cat tree, conveniently placed near the heater, and is dreaming away the holidays except when she needs to get up and eat or say hello to me. Doc has come over to our rooms as she is likely annoyed that I have not been ensconced on the sofa all day watching tv and providing her with yarn to play with. Doc is not sure about Emmylou. She does like the laser pointer, for sure.

After a slew of telephone calls, I have decided I need some actual television mindlessness. I've got the Kennedy Center Honors on but David Letterman is in the mix and I quite loathe him. Caroline Kennedy looks good, all things considered. I have Doc on the chair behind me spitting at Emmylou who followed me over to the other half of the apartment. Okay, but this is still a pain in the ass: one woman celebrant and fucking Led Zeppelin honors? WTF? 7 men, one woman. I hope someday women are worthy of notice. Won't be watching this. At least there is one BLACK MAN.

Okay, I digress. So, Baby Jesus Appreciation Day passed without my having to be too involved. I had staid up late to watch a couple of episodes of Homeland and unwind after the Christmas Eve party with the Egyptologists. Yay! A Christmas Eve party without Christmas Carols. WITH MEXICAN FOOD! There were tamales flown in from New Mexico. And a helluva gift exchange with 35 participants. I end up with a lapis lazuli scarab and inlaid box. After watching the rest of the series and working, obsessively, on another knitting deconstruction project (moth damage), I thought I should take a walk lest the dementors appear.

Jackson Heights is the melting pot of your dreams. The main street near here, Roosevelt, was full of life: street vendors, pedestrians, open restaurants galore. And Jackson Heights is one of the best eating neighbors  ...

I have to stop and observe that Jimmy Page is fucking old ...

BJA Day beer!

... neighborhoods. I opted for a Thai meal, most excellent.

... And Jeff Beck has the WORST SARTORIAL TASTE. But why should we care when he shreds? That goddamn tone of his. It's fun to see the Obamas rocking out, too. I think Buddy Guy might be the Buddha. And Bonnie gets them on their feet. The woman knows how to slide.

It's all over now. I'll save my rant about the Kennedy Awards for another day. It was nice to see the Obamas relaxing, even if he is somewhat slimy. He does have a hard gig.

Clearly, at this writing, I am all over the place. Tomorrow it is back to Brewster and back to taking care of business, as it were. Cooder has a vet trip and on Friday the Honda goes into the shop to look into a failed headlamp, making driving in this inclement weather the more challenging. Hopefully, by the time I head home tomorrow, the storm will have largely passed.

I went to a Michael's craft store today. The Valentines were already out.

And fuck fuck fuck fuck Jimmy Kimmel forever and his snide and deprecating comment about dancers and those who like them. Sorry but Leno, Letterman, and fucking Jimmy Kimmel are the kind of lowbrow asshats we don't need on this planet. Macho, knee jerk, unthinking, et cetera.