eight years

Monday marks eight years of marriage for Nikki and myself.

Eight years. Imagine that.

In the course of eight years we've gone through multiple homes, changed careers, set up businesses, bought too many books and comics, travelled back and forth, lost Kotik, and collaborated on our most wonderful joint venture - Sage.

We recovered one of the posed-by-the-Christmas-Tree-pre-wedding-shots we had a photographer take, with me twenty million pounds lighter and with absurd frou frou hair; Nikki, as always, was simply beautiful - it boggles my mind to know that I'm married to someone who is everything I've ever wanted in a partner.

Wife, I love you.


book lust

I'm ludicruously easy to shop for during Christmas. Socks and underwear - and I'm delighted.

But this time, I actually know what I'd get myself (because to ask anyone for it induces much too much guilt in me).

It's the twin hardcover slipcased complete works of Gary Larson, one of two favorite cartoonists of all time (the other one is Berke Breathed, the creator of Opus and his friends). Borders sent me email telling me I can pick it up at their Las Vegas branch (or any branch for that matter).

Sigh.

It's time to write my father, I guess.


the human touch

There is nothing like going to a spa and getting the full treatment.

Once in a while, I reward myself by going to (what has become) my favorite spa along Roxas Blvd.

After a hot dip, wet and dry sauna and a battering massage, I like to go up and have a glass of red wine while looking at the city lights.