Dec 26, 2008


SEATTLE, Washington – On a last-minute whim, Amy W. and I decided to host a holiday party. We sat 17 people down to dinner in my living room: a space smaller than a one-car garage. The banquet was an elbows-in sort of affair: T-Rex stub-limb dining. But many attendees declared it, "way more fun than family" and "better grub too".

Oh, we still managed some dysfunction, sure, from punk-@sserey to cat escapes and potatoes mashed into the carpet. Yet somehow the "Cratchit Christmas" dug down to the point of it all: mammals huddling together, defiant against the winter darkness with candles and distilled beverages.

But without Amy, we would have been crouched on the floor, sucking on coal lumps and cracking gnawed bones for marrow. She hiked the last Butterball in Ballard through the worst of Seattle's 2008 snowstorms. Then she tobogganed china, chairs, cutlery and Christmas decorations down lower Queen Anne hill to her sedan, so she could skid across the bridge to my garret. She is hella stubborn and hella wonderful. Truly the woman is indomitable.

I can only salute her with my Rexy stubs: AMY!

And a thousand times more for helping me – along with PJ Ocampo – to excavate the flat the next day. Really, tis the stuff of superheroes...


  1. See, that's where grown-up middleclassery shows up: You taboggened in china and furniture.
    You didn't tough it out with paper plates and on Sunday broadsheets to warm your bums. Ah yes, we are all gowing up. Sounds like a smashing party, petal.

  2. Noooooo. Not with the growing-upness!

    Sweetpea, you would have been in your element here. Perhaps when you visit, I'll entertain again in proper feral freelance style.