It's a war zone out there, what with the rockets' red glare, the
explosions, the crazy neighbor
attempting to scare off the old year and in the process, scaring in the new
year as well as the neighbors. No way I'm going out there in these
conditions. Even Murrow
would give pause before entering the mæstrom of fire emanating from
across the street. No fool, I (or Murrow).
So, from the relative safely of Chez Boca, I bid you Happy New Year.
At least this year we don't have to worry about the world ending in an
Emmerichesque orgy of disaster porn or New Age woo-woo mystical
nonsense. Thank <insert deity of your choice> for
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You have my permission to link freely to any entry here. Go
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