And what day is it, Tiny Tim?

K. and I returned to Ann Arbor on Sunday, so she could go dancing and I could shop for presents among the bookstores and trinketaries and glimmerhalls. I was one of the walking dead, since the dance schedule required me to be awake at 8:30 if we wanted lunch beforehand. (And we did: the delicious buffet at Raja Rani, paneer and naan and samosas and pakoras and tandoor chicken and mango juice and chai. I was one of the waddling dead, I should say.)

The shopping was successful, if a bit extravagant. I staggered (good lord, I can't just walk, can I?) down the slushy sidewalks, plastic bag-handles steadily lengthening in my fists, lip-synching to my iPod as I found present after perfect present. I had a nice moment with a worker at Orchid Lane, who half-recognized me from somewhere just as I half-recognized her from somewhere, then started telling bad jokes to her co-workers and singing disjoint fragments of the carols that were playing whenever I was nearby. (I'm not sure she was flirting with me, but if she was she picked the perfect way to do it.) I'm about half done with my shopping now, and after I've placed an order at Amazon I should only have a few things left.

Shopping tip: if you are looking at clothing that was imported from China, a medium will be very very small. Buy extra-larges for your friends; buy mediums for your puppets and cats.

I did a bit of shopping for myself, too. Herb David is still out of orange Dunlop fin picks, after four months, so I broke down and bought some yellows while I was there. Stupid yellows. Bert is nice and all, but sometimes you need Ernie, you know? Later, David's Books was having a three-for-two sale, so K. found five books for herself, and I filled it out with a mint collection of John Crowley short stories.

< humbug >I also picked up a new black ink cartridge at Kinko's, and spent a good ninety minutes wrestling with my printer last night when we got home, when all I wanted to do was sleeeeep. First the computer couldn't see it (so I renamed it and added it again to the printer list), then it decided it didn't need to use ink when printing (so I unplugged the power, then replugged the power), then the Canon printer utility couldn't find it to align the heads (so I unplugged the USB from the hub, then attached the USB directly to the computer). But I finally I got my 26 pages of Google documents printed, and I should be able to fax them tomorrow, thanks to K. and the department fax.< /humbug >

Today, the world (or that bit of it I can see from my window) is draped in several inches of snow, two packages are winging their way eastward while other goodies lurk a-hidden in my closet, and our porch is bedecked with dazzling white lights that reflect prettily in the kitchen window. (Picture to follow.) I believe I saw a goose that was putting on weight, too. Holidays are happening, and happily.

Unrelatedly, Miriam will be able to come to Hogmanay, thanks to some unexpected niceness on the part of people I barely know. So the holidays are even happier.

The Santa Hat meme

This is the best meme ever! How has SWIL not latched onto it yet? From supergee:

1. Steal a friend's icon.
2. Badly edit a santa hat onto it.
3. Post for the delight and edification of others.

I have completed three so far. Mwa ha ha.

They will be forthcoming.

(Think of my LJ as a big advent calendar, only each time you open one of the little windows I'm embarrassing a new friend. Maybe it will be you!)

Wolfery

As a professional pornographer, I resent big-name writers getting away with writing bad sex. That's why I'm pleased to see that Tom Wolfe has won the Bad Sex Award:

Judges poured scorn on a passage that reads: "Slither slither slither slither went the tongue, but the hand that was what she tried to concentrate on, the hand, since it has the entire terrain of her torso to explore and not just the otorhinolaryngological caverns - oh God, it was not just at the border where the flesh of the breast joins the pectoral sheath of the chest - no, the hand was cupping her entire right - Now! She must say ‘No, Hoyt’ and talk to him like a dog ..."

Slither slither slither. I'm exploring your otorhinolaryngological caverns.

(Thanks, supergee.)

[Edit: the long list of nominees is available at the Guardian.]