Sorry for the complete and utter lack of updates 'round here, even my tawdry whoring up my website. Things have been a ridiculous combination of fast (freelance work, holiday fun) and slow (loathesome illness) the last week or so, and time and circumstance haven't permitted any chitterling chat. I'd like to say that will be rectified as time goes on, and maybe it will, but the fact is, I got a lot goin' on outside of the it-ner-net these days, and updates will probably be sporadic. There might even be a big change afoot with the ol' Ludic Log after its third anniversary. Watch this space (by which I mean, this journal, not specifically this particular post, which isn't going to change, so don't just sit around looking at it, ya mush-heads).
Anyhoo, New Year's: not a single resolution made I. I've noticed that I tend to make lots of resolutions when I'm not doing well and none when I'm doing fine. Right about now, I'm feeling okay: I got a lovely gal in my life, I got my eyeballs skint on the future, I'm getting lots of writing done, I'm making a sliver more money than I was before, I have swell friends, I've lost some weight, I live in a terrific city, and aside from the fact that I live on a doomed planet peopled by short-sighted morons, I have very little to complain about, so in 2005 my vow is: keep doing what I've been doing, whatever that is.
As for the eve itself, it had all the makin's of a great one. I went over to Lara & Jeff's place for her party, and she'd prepared a boss spread of Armenian food which was tasty and beautiful. She also made a vat of that amazing pomegranate punch she made last year -- with lots o' ginger ale and vodka -- and her brothers were both in town. She even sang for us, which is always a treat. (Lara doesn't like to say so, as she's one of us tribe of losers who always downplay our talents, but she has an absolutely incredible voice and is one of the most emotionally expressive singers in any style I've ever heard.) Unfortunately, I was then (and to a lesser extent am now) in the grips of some heinous head-scraping virus that had me very much on the low end of conscious perception. I didn't want to bug out before midnight because, let's face it, that would have been pretty fuckin' weak. But I do remember sitting there like a lump -- or, more precisely, a lump that had been stuffed full of mucus and repeatedly dosed with codeine -- before finally stumbling home to 'celebrate' 2005 by passing out for twenty hours or so. The cold or flu or plague or Infantino's Pleuresy or whatever the fuck it is I have isn't even that bad -- I did manage to get some housecleaning and a tiny sliver of writing done over the lost weekend -- but it sure takes the damper out of a celebration. Apologies to Lara, Jeff, her brothers and guests for my being so out of it on the big night. You did a lovely job, and despite my drugged-up demeanor, I had a fine time, as far as I can remember. I'm very sorry for the bad luck that made me sick on mone of my favorite nights of the year.
Work beckons; a delightful week of internal auditing, my job's equivalent of a long, hot root canal with a can of expired Lone Star as anaesthesia, awaits, but it'll be followed by a trip north to visit ninafarina, the biggest reason 2004 was so good to me and the biggest reason 2005 will be even better. I'll leave with a memoriam and rest in peace to Lara's cat Chelsea, who died last week. She was one of the sweetest animals I've ever had the pleasure of knowing, and she'll be missed.