I know 2009 has been widely reviled, but I was kind of fond of it. I think it just got a bad rap from hanging around the wrong crowd. Once again, I have managed to fool my bosses into not realizing I have no idea what I’m doing, so I didn’t get fired. We managed to not only keep our house, but refinance it. And I’m totally sorry Bea Arthur died (a moment, please,) but I didn’t, so yay for that. I learned how to make the uber-tasty Chicken Marballa. All in all, a perfectly fine year.
Plus we all made it through the carnival of Michael Jackson’s death and that has to count for something. Media are still trying to resuscitate that story, nosing around for dirt, but for real, what’s left? Is someone going to uncover he was a junkie boy lover who dabbled in Arabic tranny moments?Oops, too late.
So, on with the brand new shiny decade. R Man and I spent New Year’s Eve the way we always do, asleep. I went to bed about 10:00 knowing that shortly before the stroke of midnight, I would be woken by the fireworks echoing in the canyon we live in. Sure enough, 23:50 on the dot and KABLOOEY. Glen Canyon opens into the Mission where hooligans set off some serious explosions. In the past, it has sounded like the fall of Saigon down there, but this year was rather restrained. The economy, everything gets back to the economy.