Friday
As lame as Old Scottsdale is, right across the street is Scottsdale's gallery district, which is actually pretty good. It rivals (or did, anyway) the arts districts of much larger cities, and while the work on display often leans toward decorator-oriented stuff (best placed over a sofa or the dining room credenza), there are some galleries with truly good, thought-provoking art.
In my family, Christmas Eve dinner is much more important than Christmas Day dinner. We're Italian on that side -- my grandmother immigrated here when she was 8 -- so we do the traditional seafood heavy meal, with fried calamari and smelts, oysters Rockefeller or some other preparation, and a seafood gravy over pasta that's so good Peter has requested it as his birthday meal a couple of times.
For Danny, Christmas is still all about the presents, but back then it was a blinding force. He was 9 at the time, though, so it makes sense. By the time we finally opened presents, he was on the verge of a meltdown in anticipation.
Saturday
Maybe I can't remember Geronimo because Tombstone was so damn good. What happened to Val Kilmer? So much promise, and now he seems to mostly slum around in crappy B-movies.
That racist quote from the guy behind us at the theater? It was said in earnest and with a little bit of surprise. The guy had no idea how racist he sounded.
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