Greetings, beloved Family, Friends, and People We Maintain Casual Relationships With But Don't Actually Care About,

Happy Holidays! Since you are all undoubtedly frothing at your mouths wondering what we’ve been up to for the past 11 months - what else could you be doing? - I am pleased to report that 2008 has been a busy, wonderful year for us Perrys, filled with many changes. Mostly involving the poop-freighted diapers of a certain Perry gal in our household, and, from the looks of her sheets on many a morning, one hyperactive bladder. Ew! And then, of course, there's Emma. Ha, I kid, I kid... Carolina did recently change her method of birth control, though – can we lump that into the 'changes' department? Make no mistake, the contents beneath our spruce on Dec. 25th are the only surprises this Perry is anticipating in the near future.


Ah, but ‘tis the season, isn’t it, Friends? To love and be loved and appreciate all we’ve been given, and what a lavish bounty it is. Except for the millions who’ve lost their homes to reckless investments and predatory lenders, but we won’t let those bitch-ass Grinches piss on our mistletoe! (Last time I checked there were soup kitchens around, and I hear they make a mean minestrone). While you are no doubt stupefied at the thought of The Perrys getting any better than we already are, I must admit we reach stratospheric heights of excellence during this time of year. The other day I left some empty beer bottles out by (rather than in) the trash so that Chinese guy with the shopping cart could come by and get them. If that doesn't say "Merry" I don't know what does. Carolina is showing her holiday spirit by humming traditional Christmas carols around the house, and by not calling me a “no-good, abusive bastard of a womanizing, douchebag husband” as much as usual, and I’ve reduced my habit of being all those things. Sorta. The yuletide spirit is upon us!

As for yours truly, I’m just merrily plugging along, especially now, in this season of cheer… my job still affords me the rewarding privilege of rewarding the privileged. Why, just the other day I got my first crack at aiding a well-heeled, borderline senile gomer in a wheelchair, and aside from parking the ornery coot directly before the fulminating exhaust pipe of the van that was to transport her to her new home in the nut hut – thus nearly extinguishing the remainder of her short life right then and there – I am proud to report the experience was a success.

Emma continues to grow and amaze us with each passing week. 21 months spent learning colors and shapes, and yet still she manages to confuse rectangles and squares. Carolina suggested she may one day grow up to be an architect, but unless we light a fire under her ass and she shows some serious improvement soon, I suspect that we’ll have to be satisfied simply with her one day growing up to be an adult. She is a cutie, that Emma, having inherited Mommy’s kind, intelligent brown eyes and, judging by her assigning a dog’s bark to non-dog animals, Daddy’s dyslexia/attention deficit hyperactivity disorder. When our girl is feeling particularly spirited she’ll pitch one of her feisty meltdowns in the local supermarket, stomping her feet and screaming bloody murder before tossing herself face-down on the public city floor trafficked by more vile bacteria than might be found along a toilet rim in a tawdry strip joint’s unspeakably squalid bathroom. Then, of course, there's Emma's tantrums...

Our welcoming apartment in Allston continues to provide a cozy little nook for us to collect and lay our heads at night, our own little slice of city heaven furnished with numerous creature comforts. Literally, in some cases: the community trash barrels offer a decadent playground for the skittish rats who scurry about, squealing and playing hide and seek when you’re taking out the trash. Don’t let those fuckers nibble your fingers! And while we are wary of the wizened, morally bankrupt gangsters that troll the city streets, always looking for old ladies to mug, rape, and kill, come September they’re all back in the local elementary, so the danger really is minimal. And our neighborhood mainstay, Blanchard’s Liquors, provides ample opportunity to warm your soul on a chilly, late autumn evening; the kiss of a finely aged scotch upon gently tinkling ice cubes is almost enough to forget the perils of our crumbling economy and omnipresent threat of international terrorism which threaten to crush the very future for which we plan.

In October we were very fortunate and blessed to have the opportunity to open our doors to Carolina’s family for nearly a month; a full, nonstop month, which provided all the love and affection and language barriers you could ever want. Or stand! "La familia too mucha," I liked to joke over dinner, earning me hardened, withering Peruvian glares bearing the tacit specter of estrangement. The in-your-face feeling of joyful, unrelenting togetherness in our small apartment was palpable, like frenzied, Spanish speaking bees clambering over one another in a bustling Allston hive. I was the odd bee out! By week four, their bedding was looking temptingly flammable. Still, that’s my kind of togetherness. Fortunately, Maritza and Raoul kept their kind of togetherness confined to occasions when Carolina and I were away, thus leaving us to merely speculate about which areas of our household had been debased. Bzz!

As you can plainly see, it’s been a singularly pleasurable, fulfilling year here in the Perry camp. Just think, if things keep going in the direction they are headed (economically speaking), the Perry camp may soon be defined literally, with tents and sleeping bags (and plenty of cheap vodka... pass the crack pipe!). I hope (but doubt) your family is as great as ours. Happy Holidays to all!

ps. send $$

I love Christmas!!!