The New Puritanism

It's actually pretty hard to do night photography without a tripod or a super-flash, particularly since I'd been up since two fucking ayem the night before sorting, winnowing, rereading, chuckling, in the throes of that peculiar organizational frenzy that always grabs me by the throat at the year's end.

As it turns out I sent out no fewer than forty New Year's cards with personal letters – take that, Maria's mother! None of them were to acquaintances. All of them were to people to whom I felt a karmic connection. With one exception, they were all to people I'd shared my life with twenty years ago or more, the exception being my mad little _____ who kept texting me all evening long.

I worry a lot about __ ever since he confided that he likes to have unprotected sex with his club boys.

"That's a big risk, isn't it?" I asked nervously.

"Oh, I think those health statistics are inflated," he laughed. "Welcome to the New Puritanism! And anyway, so what if I get AIDs? It's not a death sentence anymore, it's just another chronic disease."

A poignant exercise, those New Years cards. A message in a bottle. Where are you now? Are you still the same person? In between, I sorted through boxes of bills and fought with Robin who was determined to set a personal record for sitting in front of his computer administering his Beyond network.

"It's a gorgeous day!" I'd scream. "Get out of the house now! Or I'll take that router away for the rest of the week."

"I have nothing to do!" he'd scream back. "All my friends are spending time with their families, doing family things."

Oh, dear. Knife to heart.

I cooked a ham for New Year's Eve dinner. Did the whole diamond scoring thing, studded it with whole cloves, smothered it with brown sugar and pineapple.

Then after dinner we walked downtown to check out Monterey's First Night celebration.

"I don't want to go," said Robin. "It's too cold."

"The better to see the stars, my dear. Look! There's Mars. See how big it is? It's very close to the earth right now."

"It's too cold," Robin said. "And First Night sucks."

I'm inclined to agree with him about that.. If there's one night when everyone who isn't in a 12-step program should be out drinking, it's New Year's Eve. Another symptom of the New Puritanism! But Robin wanted a family outing, and a family outing he would have.

"Hello, Robin," cooed some ghoulish girls in light-up rabbit ears. This was the head gear du nuit – electric Playboy Bunny ears.

Robin ducked his head. "Hello," he muttered.

"Who was that?" I asked.

"I dunno," he said.

It occurs to me that in this past month Robin has crossed some sort of threshold. He went to bed one night a precocious boy, and woke up… a teenager. He has black hair on his legs. He has spots. The proportions of his facial features have changed. And he's almost as tall as his father.

Eventually Robin wandered off with a pack of friends and Ben and I walked down to the wharf which was where the vampire New Years celebration was taking place evidently, very lurid and backlit. Here we have the Fine Dining Experiences of the Damned:



And here we have the Devil's line cook:



The high point of the evening was wandering in to this bizarre little store that sold a combination of antiques and strange English treats. Wanna know what Thomas Hardy's favorite cookie was? Read the shelf talkers.

Home again, home again. Champagne at nine – hey! I figure 2008 in New York City is 2008 as far as I'm concerned.

On the venue today is an outing to Point Lobos with the Max-meister and more work on JDK's H-2B visa website which I'm doing for free because when all is said and done I feel a karmic connection to JDK.

Though I didn't send him a New Year's card.