I'll be safely ensconced in the bosom of the family, as my sea of brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews, hangers-on, dates, neighbors, assorted friends, and various orphans that have nowhere else to go for the holiday, along with their assorted boyfriends, girlfreinds, exes, and future exes, will congregate at the parental mothership ancestral abode to eat, drink, watch football, and play dominos until such time as we are all too drunk, sated, and tuckered out to drive home, at which point we'll load up all the beds, sofas, and empty spots on the floor with snoring turkey-stuffed blobs of protoplasm, until we wake up on Friday, and drink hair a' the dawg until all the canines in the local family group have given up their fur to such point as they are all as bald ass nekkid as Sinead O'Connor and Vin Diesel's love child. It is not unknown in this clan for a few such luv chilluns to come into being at any of these holidays. :-)

A good time will be had by all, though most of us will not remember it. :-)

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I need a 36 hour day. Work, working at TRF, and various enjoyable social aspects of my life (which always ratchets up during the faire season) have left me busier than a nine-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.

I've a hard disk full of great pics from faire, and some really nice stuff from Halloween. I could expound for days over the recent election and the geopolitical ramifications, along with my always accurate prognostications. It was my aim to blog each day about the day's adventures at faire, and there have been quite a few. My inbox looks like Times Square on NYE.

Other, less fun things have happened. Primary among them would be the fact that Cookoff Girl spun out driving down the highway last Sunday when she hydroplaned during one of the near-daily thunderstorms we've experienced here for the last two weeks. She wiped out the left rear wheel and bent the axle on the Supra into an L-shape. She was extremely lucky not to have flipped it, and/or totalled it. As it was, she got off with a nasty bump on the noggin.

This happened a week after we lost all our keys to Otto, leaving us with no driveable vehicles, as the Blue Bomber was sent out to pasture after the transmission started getting cranky, waiting for me to give it a tranny transplant, as two people only need two vehicles, right? Advice to Mercedes drivers - don't lose your keys, as you'll burn about five C-Notes before you can drive the damn car again.

TRF has been a compleat bomb this season - we're down about 100,000 patrons from last year.

If my blog were one of my hounds, it's stomach would be thinking that it's throat had been cut. It's malnourished. Sorry. Life gets in the way sometimes.

Anyway, I'm going to cope. Rather than do a long full-fledged journal entry/photoessay on faire, which was my original plan, I'm just going to post a nice pic or two each day, with a quick description of the subjects.

I'm going to call each of them the TRF Pic of the Day. The first one is here. I am going to try to put up two or three a day, backdating them to fill those vast holes I've left in the blogging calendar over the last weeks.

Stay tuned.

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Well, I'm flattered that y'all seem to be jonesin' for my deathless prose, but you're going to have to get used to it for a while.

My accustomed and preferred workload is about two days a week. Since my last entry, I've worked every single day, long days, save one. I'm so far behind I can't even see caught up. I needed to leave the house two hours ago, but I've been ruthlessly triaging through my inbox, and writing this so that y'all will quit, lessee, (rereads the latest comments) taunting, yelling, whining, and pouting.

Posting will resume when my life does, but right now I'm on one of my infrequent income generating binges. Consider this your opportunity to read through the back catalog, as I doubt there is anybody that has read everything I've posted here.

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