When do the gifts stop coming?

Merry Christmas, everyone. Merry Christmas you wonderful old building and loan.

Every year, I think we're getting too old to get a lot of Christmas gifts. Look at our parents; they don't get shit anymore. When does this happen to us? 30? 40? I hope never.

We made off like bandits again this year, though our age was shown in the fact that our favorite gift (aside from money) was a vacuum cleaner. It's not a Dyson, but it's cool nonetheless.

We also got much Mizzou stuff, which was pleasing. Something about being away from CoMo brings out my Mizzou pride, and it doesn't hurt that I'm in the middle of Jayhawk and Purple-People country.

We now have Mizzou: folding lawn chair thingies, illuminated glass block with Tiger-head logo, Christmas ornaments (including Mizzou-clothed Santa Claus), picture of "Tiger on the Quad" (the snow scene), and much apparel, in addition to the license plates and absorbent-stone coasters we already had.

Heading to CoMo for New Year's. If you're going to be there, too, let me know. We're likely to hit the new 'Berg, where they're, "Continuing a Tradition of Bad Service," I learned on my most recent visit. 'Tis good to have it back, though.

Speaking of sandwiches

OK, so nobody was speaking of sandwiches, but I just had one of the most heavenly food creations I've encountered. This little bakery place down the street from the paper makes grilled cheese sandwiches that will "make you change the way you think about grilled cheese," they say.

They ain't kiddin'. It's made with french bread, which is drowning in garlic and butter, and, here's the kicker, it has cream cheese on it. A woman in the office and I decided the only thing that could improve this sandwich would be to add ham, so today we ordered them with ham.

Phenomenal. It's worth coming to Parsons just to eat one. And to see me, of course.