The Day Itself

It's Sissy Spacek's birthday. Also CCH Pounder (an actress I particularly admire) and Humphrey Bogart's. I think it must be difficult to be a Christmas birthday (I always wanted to reassign my birthday to June, just so I'd get presents half way though the year when I needed the lift), at least in a country that celebrates Christmas. So happy birthday to all the December 25th people everywhere.

And Merry Christmas, too. I made sticky buns this morning, and am now lying in the sunshine on the couch, listening to Emily (who disemboweled two dog toys this morning, and is exhausted) snore, and Aimee Mann wonder whatever happened to Christmas. In a while we will drive north for Christmas dinner with the Spouse's lovely family. Right now, though: the annual Christmas Sloth has descended.