2007 was an awesome year. I’ve been thinking a lot about the last
year lately and all that’s come with it. Changes, new experiences,
new & old friends, new jobs, new apartments, new places, new
restaurants, hell- lots of “new” in general. 2007 was the year of
shiny and new for me. Last year, today (12/26) was my last working
day at Joslyn. It seems so strange now that I spent five months being
a Janitor. Then again, the last few years have been pretty weird on
their own sometimes. I spent the next couple days getting my
apartment completely clear of all the clutter & built up crap I’d been
carting around for five years. I spent a couple nights on my sister’s
couch after clearing out of the old apartment then hit the road.

I think every month this last year I’ve thought about where I was in
2006 and what was going on at the specific time. Thanks to a
catalogue of blogs and e-mails it was even easier to follow along.
There was a brief career in Corporate training, to a nervous
breakdown, various failures & successes in life & love, to
unemployment, to a night of a thousand states of mind, to a mugging,
to a janitor gig, to various solo shows in bars & houses- good times,
bad times, and all points in between- the dark and the sweet- three
beards,two jobs, temp gigs, etc- jesus, it’s a veritable list. And
now, after an entire year of constantly looking back and examining
things that have gone by, I’ve reached the point where I left a lot of
things behind to move on.

2007 has really been an amazing year. I can’t remember when I last
felt as good as I’ve felt this year. While still having routines and
what not, they haven’t turned the volume down on life too much.
There’s plenty of excitement. I’ve got a great set of friends. I’m
writing & creating again with renewed effort. I’m in a good place
again. I love this city and it really feels like home. As 2008
approaches I can only wonder what happens next. I’m looking forward
to finding out. I’ve been at my current job for almost a year (1/29).
I’ve been in my apartment for almost a year (& recently signed a new
lease for 2008). I’ve got favorite places to visit.

I’d raise a glass to 2007, but I’m at work, so the glass becomes a mug
full of lukewarm coffee (such is life). To 2007! And to 2008!

I had a good weekend.

I spent Friday night at the radio station with Keef recording material
for the Union of the Hideously and Improbably Deformed. We’ve had a
regular smattering of shows lately. The past two Fridays have been
spent recording various spoken pieces that we’ll use in noise
collages. The recording sessions have been a lot of fun. We’ve
kicked out some pretty funny material to boot. It’s been a very
productive time for creating things and reawakened my creative side a
whole lot. I’ve been writing a lot lately- stories, songs, guitar
music, what have you- good times.

Saturday was spent errand running with Barb & Keef. We hit up Costco,
World Market, a book sale, & Spec’s. Costco provided us with a
special case of Leffe, Hoegarden, and Stella Artois beers. They were
a steal at $20 a case. I did a little sampling of each beer last
night and have to say I am satisfied with my purchase. The trip to
Spec’s was also eventful in that they had Whiskey samples. Now,
Spec’s usually has liquor samples of some sort when we visit, but not
usually whiskies. I had a Glen Livet 15 year scotch, some Dewar’s
White Label, and some Royal Crown. I also had some wines, but they
were not as memorable. After getting comfortably boozey on samples I
picked out a bottles of Beam and Johnny Walker. Ah, the niceties of
life.

Saturday night was spent attempting to see Austin’s Trail of Lights
with Barb, Keef, Dan & Melanie. It didn’t work out. We showed up too
late. We took a good walk though and got to see a gigantic light
spiral light display in Zilker Park. After our failure at seeing at
the Trail of Lights, we went to Halcyon for drinks and snacks.
Afterwards, I stayed up until 4 AM jamming on my guitar and recording
shit on my four track.

Sunday I hung out with Dan all day. He’s house sitting a labor law
professor’s house and taking care of their dogs. The Professor had a
“Bread and Roses Strike” framed print in his office. I dug that a
lot. The house is incredible. It was like walking around on Cribs or
something. We played some pool on their rec room table. Now, about
the dogs- the Professor owns two Standard Poodles. For those of you
like myself who would imagine that means they have two tiny dogs,
Standard actually refers to the big ones. These are some seriously
massive Poodles, folks. I’ve never seen a Poodle as big as either of
these dogs before. The name Standard Poodle sounds incredibly
misleading. We took the dogs for an afternoon walk around Hyde Park.
I never pictured the day I would be walking a gigantic Poodle around
Austin. Never in my weirdest dreams did I think I would. We also had
a chance to listen to some songs that we’d recorded a few weeks ago.

Finally, Sunday night, Barb, Keef, Dan & I made a second go at seeing
the Trail of Lights. When we were walking towards Zilker Park from
the car we heard a dad say to his kids in a thick Texas accent “WASN’T
THAT BAD ASS, KIDS?” Well, that fucker got our hopes up a whole lot.
The trail of lights had a couple neat displays, but for the most part
it had all the comforts of being herded through a Gulag. The walk was
packed full of people, many of whom would unpredictably stop. It was
hard to pay attention to the lights. Finally our ordeal ended.

Today is Christmas Eve. I am at work. I’ll be at work again
tomorrow. I’m hoping it stays quiet all day.

Last night we had dinner at Little Thailand. Little Thailand is
outside of Austin in Garfield, TX. I wish I could give sensible
directions there, but I’m more than just a little bit sketchy on how
the highways and interstates work around here.

When visiting Little Thailand one must first mingle in their bar.
It’s a bar that looks like it belongs in your (or someone else’s if
you had teetotaling Grandparents like I did) basement. There are
pictures of cowboys on every wall. There are bar towels bearing the
names of beers hanging from the dropped ceiling tile. The bar is
round and you can easily chat with everyone you’re sitting there with.
The owner, Dick Simcoe, chats it up with his patrons in a very
personable style. I’ve never been to a restaurant quite like that.
He’s there when your glass runs empty. He’s there to make sure
everyone’s tried out the family style plates.

He’ll also point you to the jukebox that plays 45’s (”Only one in
Austin,” he asserts). It’s a big wooden beauty of a piece of stereo
equipment. There’s plenty of old rock n’ roll & country to choose
from too. The next you’ll know as he’s mixing up a Bloody Mary for you
(made with Garfield water) you’ll be bobbing your head to Seger’s
“Night Moves”. Get a pen and write that down. You want a Bloody Mary
at Little Thailand. You need a Bloody Mary from Little Thailand.
Hell, two of the damn things had me in a lovely dinner blur by the
time the meal was served. I hope to god I wasn’t slurring like a mad
man.

Strong drink and good food mix so well together though. Knowing next
to, well, dick, about cooking I especially enjoy a meal that kicks me
in the taste buds. The Pad Thai was delicious. The Beef salad most
excellent. The curry- Christ, I can’t even remember which curries we
had, but they were great too. The chicken curry (I remember that one
especially) had that sweet taste of coconut milk. Then, finally at
the end, it was time for a fried banana. I don’t usually dig deserts
(aside from bourbon cake ala Barb) and few assorted other goodies here
and there (pecan pie for instance), but the fried banana makes me
happy. It combines all the good parts of a glazed donut and then
improves upon the formula ten fold having that wonderful real banana
inside.

Little Thailand is worth the time tracking down. End of story.

Two men are walking up a spiral staircase side by side. One of them-
the taller of the pair- is a Defective who only speaks in a series of
non-syllabic grunts. The other man, who is of much shorter stature,
runs his mouth constantly. His lips are always in motion. Sometimes
they move when his mouth makes no sound at all.

The Defective is wearing a paisley dress shirt, blue tweed pants, and
a pair of measuring tape suspenders. If you saw him walking down a
street you would say “that man looks ridiculous” and you would be
correct.

The shorter man wears workman slacks and a uniform shirt. His clothes
are very clean- possibly too clean- they are riddled with creases as
though he just removed them from packaging and put them on without so
much as even ironing them.

The pair walk step after step up the spiral staircase. The Defective
is grumbling- numbers, presumably- after each step is touched. The
grunts bare little, if any, resemblance to speech. They come out
exactly like farts and sometimes just as memorable.

The shorter man begins a monologue of sorts. It goes like this:

“I, uh- I remember the sheep in the wintertime on the farm the most.
It’d get real cold at night. Dad, Jimmy, and me- we’d have to bundle
up and walk outside and guide the sheep to the barns to stay warm.
They would ‘baa’ and so forth and we’d be pointing them along and
herding them to the big, wooden barn doors. After we got all of them
inside the pen- Jimmy and me- we’d stretch out and go to sleep right
on the barn floor in the pen. We’d stay all bundled up in our coats
and warm clothes and curl up right next to a few sheep and go to
sleep. Jesus, I really miss those days.”

The Defective grunts. The pairs’ heels click down in time on the
steps in perfect rhythm as they continue to spiral up the staircase.
They are moving up. They are making progress.

The Defective sneezes and explodes snot across his face in a spitty,
gooey, display of gruesomeness. He wipes the snot away, but only
succeeds in smearing it around a great deal. He grunts loudly and
stops walking up the stairs. The shorter man stops walking too. The
Defective bends down a little bit while the shorter man removes a
handkerchief from his pocket. He wipes the offending mess from the
Defective’s face. The Defective smiles. Satisfied and clean they
continue to spiral the stairs.

“First job I ever had was as a paper boy,” says the shorter man. “I
carried those papers all on my own. I knew my route with my eyes
closed and to this day still walk it in my dreams. I remember one day
though- in the winter it was- it stands out above all the other days
on that job.

“I’d stopped off at this Vicar’s house- what the hell is a ‘vicar’
anyway? I don’t remember what he was- Lutheran, Methodist, Catholic-
do Catholics have vicars? I’m not sure. Anyway, it’s this Vicar’s
house. A real stern fellow, if you know what I mean. He also had
this dog- a German shepherd- a big gray bitch- don’t look at me like
that, that’s what they call them. Anyway, the dog is sitting on the
front porch as I walk past the house to drop off the paper. I lift my
arm to toss the paper to the porch and the moment my arm drops the dog
leaps off the porch and wraps her muzzle around my snow booted ankle.
The damn thing just wouldn’t let go. I just stood there and watched
(my boots provided ample insulation from the dog’s teeth) too confused
to know what to do next. Right then, one of the Vicar’s sons saw what
was going on and ran over towards me and the dog with a snow shovel
and thumped her across the skull. The dog ran off. I got a big
Christmas tip from those folks a month later. I wonder if that was
because of their dog? I don’t know, hell, I didn’t think about it. I
just went back to work and walked on.”

The Defective nods and grunts approvingly. He is a big, beautiful,
bashful creature. He smiles ear to ear and blurts out incoherent
noise. The shorter man grins too. They continue their ascent up the
stairs.

The spiral climbs higher and higher. They’ve walked many floors
already and the end still seems miles away. Every new step is a small
turn in another direction. The Defective, feeling dizzy, slows
slightly. The shorter man keeps pace alongside and lets loose another
solo.

“I remember when our collie dog died. Her name was Lucy. Dad thought
it was very important that Jimmy and me understand how life and death
works. He couldn’t stand the thought that anyone would tell their
kids that their beloved dog was headed off to some farm to run around
and enjoy wide open spaces. He didn’t ever want us to maintain such
ludicrous fantasies. He wanted us to know cold, hard, reality. He
marched Jimmy and me, with Lucy in tow in a wagon, out behind the
barn. He told us to say good bye and whatnot to Lucy, so we hugged
her and pet her our respective last times and then Dad screamed “get
outta the way!” and popped her with shotgun shells. Jesus Christ
almighty- she got spread all around the back of the barn. I ain’t
never seen such gore in my entire life. Poor Lucy. That was my first
experience with sending an animal to the farm.”

The stairs stop.

The Defective and the shorter man stand on a small platform at the top
of the stair case. The skies surround them and they are totally
cloudless. The stars shine brightly and fill the sky. The
Defective’s eyes are wide like dinner plates. He nods slowly, gurgles
out a noise, then leaps over the edge. He falls forever. He falls
until he is just a tiny speck scarcely noticeable to the human eye and
disappears. He continues to fall even past that.

Review of: Sleep
By: Me
From: “Last night” (12/18/07 from 01:00-0:730)

Grade = D+

My most recent sleep was decidedly not the best material I have ever
put out. I just want to make that clear. I, like everyone I know, am
a big fan of sleep and sometimes some performances are just more
disappointing than others. Last night was no exception.

I got to bed some time around 1:00 AM. I know that because at the
exact moment my head hit the pillow and I was finally starting to
relax and drift off, my next door neighbor’s who play Halo all night
blew something up and made a lot of excited noise about it, which kept
me awake another ten or twenty minutes while they kept blowing shit on
the television screen up.

I slept for a little while. But only a little while. Somewhere
around 2:15-30ish I hear the other neighbor’s guitar amp crackling out
a very poor rendition of “All Apologies”. This continues for another
five minutes until he either realizes it’s after two AM and playing
guitar is a bad idea without headphones on or somebody complains or
something.

Finally I drifted back off to sleep once again. This time, shortly
after 3:00 AM some really drunk dudes show up to freak out my next
door neighbor. They kept pounding on his door shouting “Police!” and
“We don’t need a warrant” that I crawled out of bed to look out the
keyhole and see what they looked like. That was also how I figured
out they were frat dudes and not cops. Anyway, their friend finally
drags his ass out of bed and answers the door. They chat loudly for
another fifteen minutes. I finally drift off to sleep. I have to
wake up in four more hours for work.

I sleep for a longer stretch this time. Somewhere around 6:00 AM I am
awake again. There’s a loud banging noise come from the other side of
my wall and it continues in rapid bursts for the next ten minutes or
so. I conclude that my next door neighbor’s morning wood is getting
jumped on. I roll back over and sleep until 7:30 AM when I finally
hit the snooze button for the last time and crawl of bed to shower.

Now I’m at work. There is no coffee made. There are no grounds to
make coffee with. My most recent sleep was certainly a flop. I hope
my next effort is much more successful.

I slept in this morning and did everything I usually do to get ready
out of order to save a little time. I woke up and ate a bowl of
cereal while making my lunch, then headed to the shower. I showered,
got dressed, packed my bag for the day with my lunch, book, and
notebook and headed off to the bus stop as though I hadn’t managed to
have spent an extra twenty minutes asleep.

I got to the bus stop around 8:15 AM and had enough time to kick up my
heels and enjoy a cigarette. As I was approaching my bus stop (21st
and Guadalupe, right next to the University of Texas’ campus) I
noticed a rather large woman at the stop who was orating to, well,
somebody. She had a hand raised to the sky like Hamlet and one hand
behind her back. Her speech sounded like she was reciting Tennessee
Williams or Margaret Mitchell soliloquies. Or perhaps I think that
just because of her southern accent.

“I’m a woman! I’m a good person! You don’t deserve me!” she shouted
to the sky dramatically shaking her fist. “You don’t understand
because you cain’t understand!”

Scarlett O’Hare meets Stella Kowalski? Perhaps. The two bums who
are at my bus stop every morning, beers in hand, looked completely
terrified. Their eyes were wide open and they looked like they’d just
seen ghosts. I wondered what I had missed. Deciding this woman was
now my hero, for at the very least terrifying two homeless morning
drunks by way of ranting, I decided I’d sit down at the same bench she
was on, smoke my cigarette, and listen in.

“You just walk right out that door! You just walk right out that door
and never come back, you hear?!” The cars drove by and she kept
quieting down and mumbling before blasting out more (rehearsed? I
don’t know) thunder.

“I have a heart! It feels! That’s more than you can say!”

I restrained laughter and the bus (#5/26) finally showed up. I
boarded and so did my hero the Orator. Having decided I would rather
sit down and read the book I’d packed (”Moon Palace”; Paul Auster), I
resigned myself to the back of the bus only occasionally hearing
blasts of speech from the front. I read comfortably for the next
forty minutes until I hopped off the bus at Wickersham and Oltorf to
catch my transfer (#331).

I have a friend at that bus stop who’s name I don’t know and as far as
I can tell cannot remember my name either. It’s unimportant. We see
each other at the bus stop every day and smoke cigarettes and make
note of the permeating weirdness around us. The biggest difference
between us, I think, is that he thinks we’re the sane voices of the
buses we ride and I think we’re just as much a part of the show. So
it goes. Regardless, we chat every day, we see each other at the Hole
in the Wall and share passing laughs in the beer line.

“Oh man,” said my friend. “You missed the lady up front today. She
was going off like we haven’t seen in a couple weeks!”

“The lady who sounded like a Tennessee Williams play?” I asked, big
eyed and grinning.

My friend slapped his knee and started laughing.
“STELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLA!” he shouted. We laughed.

It was about this time that our bus was rolling up and instead of
stopping, while we waved our bus passes at it, drove right on by.

“What the fuck?!” my friend shouted. He was faced with being late
for work and being passed over by a bus did not bode well with him.
He grabbed his cellphone out of his coat pocket and dialed up the
Capitol Metro complaint hot line only to be greeted by a voice prompt
menu.

“English Goddamnit!” he shouted into the cellphone. “ENGLISH GODDAMNIT!”

A jockish looking guy walked up to the bus stop and looked
apprehensive about approaching a stop where a man was screaming
“ENGLISH GODDAMNIT” into a cellphone, even though, in my experience
with bus riding, the only thing weird about hearing that phrase is the
presence of the cellphone. Luckily for that guy a car rolled up to
the stop and he got in. My bus friend tried to get the driver’s
attention for a possible quick ride up the street to his job. But the
driver ignored him.

As my bus stop friend turned around to bitch about not getting a ride,
I’d noticed that the jockish looking guy was now lip locked with the
male driver of the car in what looked like a very passionate and
urgent embrace. I chuckled to myself. It occurred to me just then
that I was witnessing the irrational side of my bus stop friend that
prided himself on not being one of the crazy folks.

Just then, two #331 buses rolled up to the stop. Apparently the route
had been delayed due to a derailed train. On my schedule, everything
was still running on time. It also was on my friend’s. The ride was
quick and I got off the bus and walked the rest of the way to work.

I had a full weekend off work again, which was quite nice. I’ve had
full weekends off work since mid-November with no end in sight for
awhile. I can get behind that.

Thursday night I went out for what was supposed to only be a couple
drinks and instead turned into a 1:00 AM at the bar night. Whoops. At
least it was fun and good starter for the weekend.

Friday night I went to the Hole in the Wall for Karaoke Apocalypse,
the most amazing Karaoke band I’ve ever seen. They had a great
selection to choose from with loads of punk rock, new wave, butt rock,
cock rock, and party classics to choose from. I ended up on stage
growling out “Rise Above” in a haze that I barely recall, but it was a
lot of fun doing a Henry Rollins impression on a half dozen beers +
shots.

Saturday- oh Saturday- I was a little hungover in the AM. I got up
around 11:30 though and made my way down the street down to Kismet for
some Falafel and Hummus and other restorative delectables. The Hummus
was good. I sat around and read the Austin Chronicle for awhile and
then headed home to give my buddy Dan a call. We tried to get a guitar
part recorded for a song he’s recording all afternoon, but I was a
little shaky and playing like shit, so eventually that was abandoned
for the sake of dinner at Austin’s Veggie Heaven. I ended up eating
at two restaurants in my neighborhood that I’d been meaning to visit
all in the same day. That was pretty fun. After dinner Dan, Melanie,
and I went and explored a neighborhood lights display around 37th and
Guadalupe. There were some pretty far out designs. Afterwards we went
and rented Tenacious D: The Pick Of Destiny, which was insanely funny.
Jesus, I haven’t laughed that hard at anything in a long time.

Sunday I got up at the crack of noon and headed over to the Dobie
Theaters to go see “I’m Not There”, the Dylan biopic. It was…what’s
the word I’m looking for besides “not very good”. Bizarre? Confusing?
All possible good describers. I did enjoy the parts with Cate
Blanchett playing a Mr. Dylan personality- she did a very convincing
job. Also, David Cross as Allen Ginsberg was good. He did a very
good job picking up Mr. Ginsberg’s mannerisms and looks just like him
to boot. Overall though, this movie kinda blew. I then spent the
remainder of the day reading.

“I don’t give a ruddy damn about these people- or you. I am here
neither to Christianize, colonize, nor educate you. Nor do I come
bearing Coca-cola or Campbell’s chicken noodle soup. Nor do I seek
your bloody vote in the UN General Assembly. You see, I am
uninvolved, and my posture in life is one of detachment, irony, and
amusement, which may not be a particularly lofty posture but which
never the less has the redeeming merit of having not the slightest
notion of what is good for you.”

-Frederick Exley, from “A Fan’s Notes”

Dewey, Oklahoma sits twelve miles across the Kansas-Oklahoma state
border on US Highway 70. It’s a small town filled mostly with
memories of times long past. It’s only tourist destination is a small
museum for the old time cowboy actor Tom Mix and it’s nearest
neighboring town is Bartlesville, Oklahoma, only a few miles down the
road. It’s a slice of small town America that only exists in Norman
Rockwell shaped pies.

It’s early December in Dewey. Though snow is beginning to fall in the
North and winter is beginning to show her teeth, the weather in Dewey
is still comfortable and pleasant. It’s the kind of weather that a
person can comfortably wear a light jacket in for an after dinner walk
to the Methodist bingo hall or the corner hardware store.

A father and son are filling a wheel barrow fill of masonry supplies
and buckets of mortar. They’ve been laying the foundation for a new
shed adjacent to their one story brick house. The foundation makes a
U-shape connecting it to the brick work seamlessly.

The father is wear paint spattered Wranglers and a faded flannel
shirt. The son is decked head to toe in the best sweat suit that Wal
-Mart can provide. While they pull om leather work gloves from the
corner hardware store, the father sermonizes to his son about the
value of hard work:

“All right, m’boy. Today, when we’re finished we’ll get all changed
up and take the pick up into Bartlesville so you can go to the toy
store and get some ideas for Christmas. Then we’ll head over to the
mall so you can see Santa and tell him all about it. But something
you gotta learn is that sometimes in life you’re gonna work your rump
raw and there won’t be any reward for it other than getting by.
People might not even so much as say ‘thanks’ and you’ll have to smile
and accept that. There ain’t always smiles and there ain’t always
treats. Hell, some day, after all that hard work they may even hand
you a pink slip and send you on your way without so much as a care or
a good word. Today though, if you help your daddy out, there’s a
treat in it for you.”

The boy nods. The work will be arduous, but he can at least lose
himself in thoughts of shiny things with blinking lights, plastic
monstrosities with movable joints,
noise-making-remote-controlled-miniature-wonders, and Santa Claus: the
man that makes dreams happen.

The father pushes the wheel barrow and they walk out behind the house
to the foundation of the new shed. The wheel barrow parked, they
proceed to unfold a giant blue tarp covering a pile of great, big, red
bricks.

There must be two or three hundred bricks. The little boy wonders how
many bricks it will take to finish the shed. His father has already
told him it will stand six feet tall and connect directly to the
underside of their flat top roof.

“It’ll fit together just like yer Legos,” says the father.

The little boy nods understandingly. Just like Legos.

The father pints his son to the inside of the foundation and begins to
hand him bricks one at a time. First the pile has ten bricks, then
twenty, then thirty, and then finally forty. The little boy wipes
sweat from his brow, but thinks of the reward his hard work is earning
him.

“Now when I tell you to put a brick down, you’ll set it down like so,”
says the father setting a brick in place. “Once we have an entire row
down, I’ll slop some mortar on it with this trowel. Then we’ll do
another row the same way.”

The little boys nods and they begin. Just like Legos he stacks the
bricks around him on the foundation, connecting them up to the house.
The little boy’s face is stern. This is, after all, serious work.
After four rows have been laid and mortared the shed wall is a foot
tall. The little boy smiles as the walls go up around him.

And then a thought occurs to him:

“Daddy, don’t sheds have doors?”

His father looks him directly in the eyes and smiles. The little boy
smiles back.

“Of course they do, m’boy! And the door goes up last!”

The little boy nods. Of course the door goes up last!

They continue to stack and mortar bricks. As the bricks in the little
boy’s stack run out, the father hands him more. The walls are nearly
four feet tall and almost taller than the little boy.

“Daddy, I can’t keep stacking the bricks anymore!”

The father smiles and laughs to himself. The shed walls are indeed
growing. Their progress is moving along quickly.

“I’ll tell you what, m’boy,” says the father. “You just have a seat
and I’ll finish up the work. Then, when we’re done, you’ll get to go
see Jesus!!!”

“SANTA CLAUS!” shouts the little boy enthusiastically.

“Oh yeah, that’s right… Santa Claus. You’ll get to see Santa
Claus… and the toy store!”

The little boy smiles again. He’s so excited that waiting seems like
it’s taking entire months- even years. He sits down Indian style and
thinks about the magic of Christmas morning when, thanks to Santa
Claus, a little boy’s dreams come true. The walls continue to rise
and now the father is standing on a step ladder. The light is growing
dimmer, but every time the little boy looks and smiles at his father,
his father smiles back.

As the last brick slides into place, the little boy starts to wonder
how long it will take his father to add the door. It’s awfully dark
in the shed. It’s awfully quiet too. How will the door open through
solid brick walls? When will they finally go see Santa?

There’s nothing left to do but sit and wait.