Contrary to what my wife may tell you, that ain’t me. In fact, on this not so brisk Christmas morning, I couldn’t be merrier. Much of that has to do with the fact that I’ve been on vacation for going on ten days now. That will change tomorrow, when I skulk back to El Ocho with a bag full of jacked-up toys slung over my one good shoulder. I’m expecting a hectic week: one filled with live shots, handheld soundbites and not a lot of news to go around. Whatever (doesn’t) happen, I’ll try not to complain, for who wants to hear the grumblings of a wordy camera nerd with garlic in his soul? Not me. For while my heart may be full of unwashed socks, my head is back in the game. 2011, with its bouts of doubt and toadstool sandwiches, is nearly a thing of the past. I’m looking more than forward to Twenty Twelve, if for no other reason it reminds me of a Rush album I dug in middle school. That and the world’s gonna end when this new calendar runs out. What better reason to get off my felt green ass and commence with the sentences? None that I can think of, so if you try not to roll your beady little eyes so much, I’ll try and do better by these pages in 2012 – even if I have to pillage the entire Piedmont Triad Googolplex to do it.

Merry Christmas.