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On the twelfth day of Christmas, 
substitute sent to me...
substitute sent to me...Twelve kooks drumming
Eleven burritos piping
Ten bathos a-leaping
Nine pataphysics dancing
Eight trainwrecks a-milking
Seven borges a-rollerbalding
Six perversions a-cooking
Five aqu-u-u-uarius records
Four william gaddis
Three macdonald harris
Two unironic pleasures
...and a brecht in a taxonomy.
There's a touch of frost in the air, it isn't quite Halloween, and we're all flat broke. Therefore it's Christmas Season, and I'm delighted to be the first to inaugurate it here on the LJ. I know some of you are going to say it's too soon, but if you really thought about it, you'd realize you want it to be Christmas all the time. Sure you do. Anyway, that magical time of year has come in which Santas on TV sell you subprime mortgages and inflatable pools, out-of-work actors in Dickensian clothing serenade you with faith-neutral carols outside the Chick Fil-A in the food court, and HR emails you jingly-bell clipart that blows up Windows. 
