Dear Reader:

Nick and I have been busy this year. We hooked up a new DVD player, and then climbed both slopes of Mount Kilimanjaro (the first task was the more difficult). We also adopted a small goblin who claims to be from Milwaukee. Milwaukee—Algonquin for "the good land." Mostly, he lives under the sink and tampers with the hot water heater.

In January, Nick will be beginning a new career as a secret agent for the CIA. His code name will be T-Rex, and his secret signal will be pulling his hands up to his chest and screeching. He'll be swinging on the Riviera one day, and probably buying bootleg copies of Stargate in a Bombay alley next day.

I've been buying a lot of v-necks lately.

I'm doing research for a book about the mating habits of the ibix. It will include observations gleaned from twenty or so Kenyan safaris. Sure, I've never actually been to Africa, per se. But I am an unlicensed private detective, and I've collected quite a lot of satellite photos that will do nicely.

Nick won the Nobel Prize in Science Stuff for his calculations proving that the answer to the question "What is the meaning of life, the universe, and everything?" is in fact 43, not 42, as previously believed. Turns out the error was the result of a misplaced tuna sandwich.

Lucky us! We have secured one of the first spots available for commercial space travel. Turns out the tricky part wasn't gathering the substantial cash required (we are both heiresses and filthy rich), but convincing the recruiter that we have strong enough stomachs to tolerate high speeds and zero g's. In all likelihood we'll projectile vomit all over the other passengers, but hey, it's outer space, so at least it'll look cool.

Let's see, what else? Nick and I figured out how to turn ourselves invisible. Now if only we could make it work for other people.

Happy holidays and best wishes from the Vaughn and the Studt (Karen & Nick)