Lately HiddenCity.net's mail accounts have been under siege by Russian and Chinese zombie farms. I'm not sure why, exactly, but there are messages containing a handful of variant Trojan programs coming into the server at a rate of 30-40 per hour. None are getting through, mind you, but when combined with the crazy levels of spam winter brings, reading e-mail has become a chore. If you'd like to get in touch with me, your best bet at the moment is to send e-mail to my Gmail account (mkhall@).

I've also been prey to a bit of a physical virus, although it seems to be clearing up now. This may have been brought on by an unanticipated end-of-year project that caused my vacation to be delayed until after the first of the year, but perhaps it is only an errant bit of bacteria taking advantage olf my weakened condition.

At any rate, my New Year's morning plan to watch the sun rise on 2007 at Haulover Beach are unchanged. A few people have indicated they will be joining me; I hope you'll consider doing the same.

"Next to a circus there ain't nothing that packs up and tears out faster than the Christmas spirit." — Kin Hubbard (1868-1930)

The days after Christmas are always a bit awkward, and a bit melancholy. Once the gift-giving is over, leaving behind the impending doom of credit card statements, the real world reasserts itself, and we find ourselves staring down the requisite end of year soul-searching. If it was a good year, this isn't a big deal. If not, well...

There were seasonal stories I drafted, but never got time to complete. Sure, I could publish them in January or February, but what would be the point? Instead I'm trying to finish them up and put them away for next year. The post about my turn as an MC, though, may see daylight sooner than that. And I failed to share any of my oddball collection of Christmas music with you.

Okay, maybe you should be thankful for that one.

If you chose to celebrate, I hope your holiday was to your taste. If not, I hope you at least got a good story out of it.

It is a sad fact that people suffering from various forms of depression are often poor housekeepers; combine this with a lack of visitors, six cats, and a tendency to collect stuff, and you have a recipe for a visit from the HazMat team. While my home had not yet reached this level, its growing disarray had reached the point where it was starting to contribute to my depression, kick-starting a vicious circle.

So yesterday, in a effort to drag me out from under this cloud, my friend Diana came over to help clean my house. This is a significant sacrifice for her, since she is allergic to cats. Fortunately, she is one of those people who always look fashionable, even in an Army surplus gas mask. While I would love to say that we kicked the clutter's ass and am now submitting the place to House Beautiful, the reality is that several hours' work only got through the bathroom and the living room. Hey, it's a start.

So for no reason at all other than to say "thank you" to Diana, and to amuse those of you who might be curious as to the environment that spawns my personal weirdness, here's a short Flickr set of one room of the Hidden City HQ. Notes are provided for the interested.

And no, I am not cured of what ails me. But it does feel good to have a little more organization in the living room.

I have little to report, but wanted to let you all know that I have not yet shuffled off this mortal coil. My current situation has simply not been conducive to taking the needed time to complete any of the fragmentary messages I have in various stages of development.

As an adjunct to the myriad of stresses in my life at the moment, my body and brain have decided to retreat into behavior I've not experienced since high school: excessive sleep. It is quite frustrating, but time I would normally spend writing or reading is instead spent fighting a losing struggle against Morpheus. I traditionally stay up until 1-1:30am; lately I'm hard-put to make it to 11:00pm, and am then often woken by extreme leg and/or abdominal muscular cramps around 3:00am. It takes me an hour or so to return to sleep, and then too soon it's 6:00am and time to get up for work.

On a positive note, this fragmented sleep cycle means I've been remembering some extraordinary dreams.

Anyway, if Santa brings me some peace of mind this Christmas I'll be back soon.

Ah, the holidays! It's the most something time of the year, but wonderful isn't the word to spring to mind these days.

To all of you toiling in the fields of commerce during the final weeks of the year, try to stay calm, and don't let them bust your ornaments too much.

In case anyone is interested, come New Year's Morning I'll be watching the sunrise over the ocean at Haulover Beach, near the marina. Yes, it's early, I know; according to the US Naval Observatory the morning's civil twilight begins at 6:42am, and actual sunrise will be 7:07am. However, having done this for several years now, it feels good to start the year this way.

It would be great if some of you decided to come by and join me. If you think you will, let me know. Perhaps we can make a pre-dawn picnic of it. Otherwise, Rascal House isn't too far away, and they have the best corned beef hash on the face of the earth.

I received the following in my ACLU membership newsletter. I can't find it on their site, so I'm publishing it in its entirety. Perhaps this will help those of you with a blind hatred of the ACLU's work to understand their position.

The ACLU and the So-Called "War on Christmas"

By Jeremy Gunn, Director, Program on Freedom of Religion and Belief

A few years ago, a group called Public Advocate for the United States (which claims to defend America's traditional family values) sent some Christmas carolers over to sing in front of the ACLU offices in Washington. Carrying signs reading "Merry Christmas" and "Please Don't Sue Us!" — they also seemed to carry with them some rather strange imaginings about an assault on Christmas. I don't know what the carolers thought might happen.

To tell the truth, the ACLU is not often serenaded by Christmas carolers. More likely, we realize the holiday season has arrived when we start to receive angry phone calls, emails and cards accusing us of trying to destroy Christmas. So it was with some excitement that the staff went outside and joined in the singing. They brought with them cookies and warm drinks to share. One staff member, who is an ordained Baptist minister, did a little witnessing about his faith to some astonished proponents of family values.

This is just one example of how some groups have used a mythical "war on Christmas" to demonize the ACLU, crush religious diversity, and make a few bucks in the process. Not only do they claim that there is a "war on Christmas," they insist that the ACLU is leading the battle cry. Of course, nothing could be further from the truth.

The ACLU supports the rights of Christians and all religious people to celebrate their holidays in public spaces. What we do oppose is government action that promotes or endorses particular religions or religion over non-religion. Our views are dictated by the Constitution of the United States and are motivated by our commitment to religious liberty for all Americans.

The ACLU works to ensure that people remain free to choose which religious beliefs (or none) they wish to express and that governments, school boards, and legislatures do not become involved in deciding which religious beliefs should be promoted or in spending taxpayer dollars to support religious activities and symbols. We remain fully engaged in defending a broad range of constitutional rights, including rights related to freedom of religion and belief. It is sometimes wrongly imagined that the ACLU does not vigorously protect rights of freedom of religion, particularly of Christians.

What the people who attack the ACLU don't understand is that our real strength is sticking to fundamental principles — we know that for true religious liberty to flourish, everyone must be free to practice their religion free from government interference. Thank you for everything you do, and have a peaceful holiday season!

I'm not much of a joiner, but I have a membership in the ACLU. If you believe in the American ideals of freedom, it's essential to support them. If you are stuck for a gift idea for a friend, consider buying them a membership, or making a donation in their name.

Events have conspired to take me out of action for a few days. December's like that sometimes. With luck I'll be back in a day or two.

I don't usually do this sort of thing, but since James asked, I'll play along. As requested, here are six weird things about me.

1. There is some sort of weird energy field around my body that prevents watches from working properly. It doesn't matter if they are mechanical or digital, they either break down completely or just fail to keep proper time once they are on my person. I've recently discovered that the same energy inhibits the functioning of any Bluetooth device; I'll never be a part of Generation Borg.
2. I have a lot of clocks in my house, from antiques to thrift store trash. All of them are intentionally set to different times. I'm non-linear, even temporally.
3. I used to ghostwrite erotica for friends, like a porno Cyrano. Reports are that it was successful; when the duplicity was revealed, one of the recipients dumped her boyfriend and went out with me for a while.
4. Although I was a terrible Boy Scout, I don't like being caught unprepared, and carry a purse full of odd but useful things. This mania extends to running through possible outcomes of any scenario in my head at all times, and even behavioral weirdness like occasionally showering in the dark, just for the practice.
5. There are huge gaps in my memory, sections of my life I can recall only dimly; I also retain clear memories of events that never occurred. I remain uncertain as to whether my memories or false, or if this isn't the same universe I was born into.
6. Love comes easily to me, far too easily. Once I love someone, I never stop loving them, no matter what happens between us — I am committed. As I have grown older this has become a source of both comfort and melancholy.

Here's the part where I am supposed to "tag" six more people to do this. Not gonna happen. If you'd like to pick this up for your own site, say so in the comments and have fun.

Mustang Bobby of Bark Bark Woof Woof reminds us that Newt Gingrich wants to run for the presidency. Topping his list of priorities is correcting the First Amendment so that it doesn't apply during an eternal war against an undefined enemy.

Over at recent blogroll addition Same Thing, But Different, Joke gives his take on holiday preparations. As you might (or might not) assume from his non du blog, Joke's style is light and humorous, but still insightful.

I retain fond childhood memories of picking out a live Christmas tree, bringing it home, and decorating it. However, years of apartment dwelling broke me of that habit. Jen's very funny story reminds me why I made that decision.

It's that time of year again, that strange season when Miami is ablaze with big-A Art — Art Basel. More importantly, this is the time of year when the wealthy descend on the area in search of the newest and hottest artifacts to add to their collections, when rich and reconstructed jet-set women wield AmEx Black cards and wads of cash big enough to accessorize a '90s rap video. It is a heady time of parties mingling the creative and the consumers, the artistic and the opportunistic, the high-life and the low-life and all points between. There's nothing else like it.

Or so I am told. Personally, I can't imagine going. Hanging around people who wipe their asses with my total net worth is rarely my idea of a good time, and partying with those sucking up to those people even less so. More importantly, though, art intimidates the hell out of me.

Well, that isn't exactly true, either. I enjoy art on my own terms, and am always interested in gaining a more educated perspective. Unfortunately, art critics and aficionados get on my last nerve. There's a kind of self-appointed elitist arrogance I have found to be all too common when I talk with people who are into art, the kind of condescension that inspires the easily parodied nose-tilt and arched eyebrow, the type of attitude that brings comments like "Oh, you like Chihuly? Do you also collect Franklin Mint plates?" Art, it seems, doesn't have a place for interested novices, and the least important aspect is your actual enjoyment of the work.

However, I don't want to discourage anyone else from attending, particularly those with US $50–60,000 to spend. (Few pieces, I was told, go for less than $5k.) There is a lot of free liquor available, and if your bullshit tolerance is greater than mine — not too difficult, given that my bullshit tolerance is used up daily at the office — you'll have a good time. (As a bonus, I hear there are a lot of hot goth-y gallery chicks imported from Chelsea for the event.) Find out more about the event at Miami Beach 411, Critical Miami, The Next Few Hours, and Worm Hole Laboratory.

Me, I'll be at home maintaining my ignorance.

To be a book-collector is to combine the worst characteristics of a dope fiend with those of a miser. — Robertson Davies

In reading a magazine article I came across a brief profile Dr. Mark Allen, CEO of a medical business logic software company. In the article he defines the neologism corticon as a unit of logic. Okay, he coined the word for the name of his company, but it is still a cool and useful word. However, I would amend it slightly, as he missed a good opportunity.

corticon (n.): a class thought-based which together form the basis for all discourse; consisting of two opposing types, logicons and emoticons.

My anecdotal evidence amply supports the existence of these particles.

The AIDS pandemic is still terrifyingly real. In 2005 alone, 2.6 million people died from this disease; over 25 million have died since tracking began in 1988. Even worse, over 40 million people are living with AIDS, but only 1.3 million people have any access at all to treatment.

It doesn't get much press now; I guess the epidemic's fifteen minutes are up. Without a big media push and the involvement of an A-list celebrity, it's tough to get people to care.

Anyone who is connected enough to read these words has been touched by AIDS; it is unavoidable.

• World AIDS Campaign
• World AIDS Day
• Wikipedia on World AIDS Day

Since today is World AIDS Day, take a moment to think about how the pandemic has affected your life.