mutiny, i promise you

Since 1 January, my home address has shifted back to the East Atlanta Village, Twinhead has offically recognized Julian and me as their newest company members, snow has actually touched ground in Georgia, and Steven Soderbergh's brother intentionally sat in a cake that I decorated myself.

Julian and I finally extracted ourselves from the hellhole that had become Unit F at 684 John Wesley Dobbs, and although we certainly had some happy days with Joshua, Christopher, and the gang, we are now assuredly in an environment that feels a great deal more like a home than a filthy, hostile failure of a commune. The two of us and Becca now relax our spines at 720 Maynard Terrace, just two blocks from the paradoxical shanty of a mansion that was 705 Blake, the home we perhaps mistakenly (tho' not regretfully, due to the eventual deaths of the inhabitants that would have taken place if we would have stayed in such an electrical/air quality/natural gas hazard of a home) left back in June for the masquerading-as-greener pastures of the Virginia Cotton Dock Lofts. Back in the neighborhood I've loved more than any other, and only a few minutes' worth of a walk to Twinhead HQ over on nearby Newton Avenue, I'm miles more comfortable at home than I've been for some time.

My present and future with Twinhead is, as can be observed, the source of much of my excitement about the direction my life has taken these days. On 5 January, Twinhead held its third annual Great American Cakesit, wherein we astounded an audience with the likes of classic horror parodies Pastrygeist and 28 Cakes Later, culminating in the midnight titular event itself, whereupon every member of Twinhead, along with some of the braver audience members, dropped trow and sat in cake. I'm still more than a bit vague on how this became an annual event, but I think I might want to keep in that way. Oh, and as you may have gleaned earlier, a certain brother of a certain director of Ocean's Eleven and Sex, Lies, and Videotape was the lucky winner of the Cake Walk of Doom and was given the opportunity to sit in cake alongside the cast, and did so in a cake decorated by myself with the mosquito caricature that I initially deigned as my personal tag in spraypaint way back in Katy, Texas last summer.

It can't really be argued that New Year's Day isn't just another day once you strip it of numbers, words, and that crazy human construct called time, but I guess I seem to have been unconsciously following a few resolutions since then, from reluctantly keeping in contact with people to whom I'm apparently related; to consuming loads more fruits, vegetables, tuna, and vitamins (but I'm keeping the exorbitant amounts of sodium and meats, at least for now, because after all, there's that old adage of the futility of prolonging life if you're not going to enjoy it); to teaching myself more German vocabulary, reading up on advances in science and technology, training my ears to distinguish between the likes of Tchaikovsky and Bach and Prokofiev, and getting back into classical literature, all the while keeping up with the latest video gaming, comic books, and television (and there's more in common with Kafka and Animal Man than you think).

Oh, and I went to EPCOT by myself, and that was the best part of my family vacation there at the end of December. I mean, drinking margaritas with my father and sister, eating the most expensive food I've ever tasted without having to pay for it, and being surrounded by nothing but water for hundreds of miles was cool, but I mean, EPCOT. Seriously.