Praise be to ye

Medical made a recent trip to our fair city, covering administrative bases and generally making sure that we were "still alive." Perhaps the most substantial portion of the visit was the arrival, at which point we were doused in Christmas letters and packages that failed to make it during my time in NKT. Thank you to the following.

• Grammy Jane and Grandpa Bob, who sent 36 delicious oatmeal cookies, a Hershey's bar, and some packages of beef jerky. This box has been the most molested to date en route, arriving with multiple holes and the general appearance of a worn accordion. The powderized oatmeal cookies were tasty (I poured them directly from bag to mouth - cuts down on the whole "masticating" thing), and I attempted to ration the beef jerky, extending its life to a whole 40 hours. Still, overall grandparent feelgoodness arrived fully intact. Thank you very much.

• Isaac gets a superstar award for a sweet hardcover version of "What Is The What," wherein we will see if Dave Eggers can redeem his former glory after the disappointing sophomore effort of "You Shall Know Our Velocity," (or whatever he subsequently renamed it). This thing now officially ranks among the nicest possessions I own here, and I will vigorously guard it from the light fingers of other book-starved volunteers. Isaac, thank you from the bottom of my dry, dusty heart.

• Letters from Lizzie, Caroline, Meg, and Katie. Correspondence is still worth its weight in platinum ("ice," if you will). I'd be disturbed that more of my male friends don't write me, but the one-sidedness makes me feel cool. All cards are prominently displayed in my apartment, where my one visitor a month can bask in their Yuletide glory.

• Marc, I am at this very moment trying to restrain myself from punching a hole through the monitor as I listen to Cyantific's "Cover Story," and, ahem, rock the fuck out. I just finished downloading all the music you posted, and now cry nightly that I don't have my turntables over here. DT8 Project's "Narama," Photek's "Age of Empires," DJ Marky & XRS, and good ol' Laurent Garnier bounce me into a hyperactive trance at least 14 times a day, and for this, I am thankful.
  

Such is the never-ending Christmas here in Africa.

On a more bizarre note, a spider roughly the size of a small flatbed has taken up residence in my room, Omar has disappeared, and almost every morning I find empty cockroach husks strung up in my shower. I don't know whether to be disturbed or consider him a useful new pet, but the guy is seriously large and I have no doubt that in a fight against Omar he could pull the gecko limb from limb while killing three roaches simultaneously and doing a crossword. I guess I'll decide when I wake up to find an egg sac forcefully injected into the side of my face.