A family has a party... the crazy uncle arrives with dancing life-sized dolls and he gives the little girl of the house a nutcracker. Is that supposed to be some sort of domestic, gendered statement? If this was a modern story would he be giving her a cuisinart? I mean, a food processor doesn't lend itself as well to anthropomorphism, but it pretty much boils down to the same thing. And quite frankly, if mutant rats are attacking, I think I'd rather have spinning blades on my side than a wooden novelty utensil.
So, we made it. Thirty posts in thirty days.
I don't think I'll be able to keep up that pace for always and, let's face it... I probably shouldn't. The quality of the things I pound out at 11:45p trying to eek under midnight just aren't worth the blogosphere space. The English language doesn't deserve to be bastardized so.
There were bad days and there were worse. There were cop-outs and there were photos, but by and large I accomplished what I set out to do in making navapants a cozy new writing home.