Another backdated entry. And... (drumroll)... I'm online here in the UK finally! Entries after this will no doubt be packed with all my complaints about English business habits and Why They Aren't a Great Capitalism Superpower. Anyway... Boxing Day... what the hell is it? I don't know, but one thing's for sure: Sunset was spectacular, up on a hill in Coventry looking out over the winter Midlands countryside -- usually a patchwork of green partitioned with runners of grey rock

This is a backdated entry which had to wait to upload until after I got back to San Francisco for a visit. Hopefully I can get online in Cambridge soon. Anyway... I'm living in England for a while. Everything is, as you can imagine, weird. We have a furnished apartment in Cambridge with heinously ugly furniture and positively garish curtains, as well as blue carpets. The sofas are apholstered with what appears to be the leftover shirts from Haitian cabana boys, in orange and

Yesterday I did this tremendously girly thing. I went shopping for an evening gown! No, not just for the hell of it. Ashley's company Christmas party in Cambridge is being called "formal," so I assume that means long dresses and tuxedos? God, I hope I'm not the only one there in an evening gown. They'll be all, "Stupid American! What did she think, it was the Oscars or something?" On the advice of my dominatrix friend, with whom I had just finished a photo shoot Monday night,

Does it seem to you like it was *ages* ago that the stock market was burning the sky like a space shuttle? Every week or so it's another spectacular drop. The little squiggly line since March shows the market doing the same thing my Mom's sewing machine did when set to "buttonhole": a crazy zigzag. And it's ending up much like any sewing ends up with me at the helm: zooming downwards off the page. Maybe you know someone (or maybe it was you?) who found themselves richer and r