The Chistm - err - Holiday Party

Oh shit. I mean, this is good. I need to write for a bit to forestall the photos. Just back from the Fidelity Xmas Gaaalaaaa. Sufficiently hammered. Some observations:



• Enough with the Cirque du Soleil thing. So 2004.

• “the short woman who let’s slip a sly, mischievous, little giggle every time she says hi” told me I’m one of her “favorite people in a company full of assholes”, seven glasses of Chardonay in. I, wasted, am humbled. By “short”, I mean 4 foot 8ish? This 60ish Irish-American woman, originally from Central Square, once punched out a kid who was messing with her brother. The kid she knocked out later went to prison for killing someone. This lady kicks ass.

• The food was … average. Ok, there was the make-your-own bruschetta, sliced prime rib, sushi, etc., but it was a little too heavy on the pizza stands, chicken fingers, etc. It’s not like the Glory Days of 2000, with the troughs of shrimp.

• What else … ummmm … tons of douchebags.



Ok. enough. Fido owns this town. Can they get the three New England Patriots’ Lombardi trophies for their party? Of course. Can they get me to drink excessively and pose with them? Also yes. Can … ah forget it. Enjoy:






Yeah. I thought I had reached new levels of photographic creepiness with the Detroit Stalker photo, but this is something else. It started out as a puffed out chest shot but the photographer took it slightly after the exhale and it ended up looking like a photo that would (will?) be photocopied and stapled to every telephone pole in town.










[a note on the sweater: this is my official 2005/06 winter party sweater, so get used to it. Two insults of note from my co-worker Bill: "Dan, Jim Henson called. He's going to need the sweater back" and "Does that sweater itch? Because it did when I threw it out." Nicely played, Bill. Kudos. And Kudos again]