To wish you and yours the best of the season, we thought there was no possibly better device then that of a photo documentary, providing you with snapshot glimpses into the everyday exceptionality of our life.
By conferring on you this great intimacy , you will at once feel humbled by our graceful lifestyle and yet closer to us, welcomed into the very bosom of the Rogue Goat, thus arousing the most valued of holiday emotions…avarice.
This photo says many things. It pulls you aside and says “This is evidence of great domestic prowess signified by a remarkable taste in kitchen appliance” and infers that we are remarkably adept in the kitchen, whipping up batches of scrumptious baked goods with rarefied ingredients whisked from nowhere, anytime you should drop by unannounced. This photo frowns slightly at your dirty dishes, feeling a warm breeze of condescending pity for your slovenly ways yet smiling gently as you struggle to perfectly fold your fitted sheets. Such troubles never exist in the world, our world, to which this photo belongs, a world in which mothers are never reduced to tears by the lack of matching socks for their progeny, for they are suffused with a breathless humour and casual joy in life denoted by the whimsical , retro, slightly shabby , Formica counter.
Ah, here…here you are sidled up to and a warm voice whispers in your ear “These people are preternaturally swayed by beauty, by the sweetest of simplicities, by the perfect pairing of a chartreuse leaning to lemon Crispin apple tumbled into a slab rolled porcelain colander, imprinted with antique laces.” It tells you that we are special, that our life is one long, sweet song of perfect moments savoured and never forgotten. It shudders at such people who may purchase Crispin apples not for their colour but for their name, synchronous with Crispin Glover and his lovely song about a rat and demented books, and then of course it would serve them right that the apples were actually quite shitty and granular for buying apples based on name alone, and it would further serve these people right if children squirreled away desiccated apple cores all throughout their house. This photo shudders at the vulgar use of the word shitty, and these terrible imaginary people, and turns back to us, who are obviously not like those people at all.
This photo is transfixed with its own wholesomeness, so much so that it has no time to tell you anything. What we do know however, is that this photo does not contain anywhere the idea of pornography, no , not even in the top drawer of the dresser on the right could that exist on this photo. The vintage lamp wearing a rabbit headdress and the vintage bed draped in casual and sophisticated neutrals know that, while the bedroom is where most people have sex most the time, this photo is free of the hint of say, harnesses or of the suggestion that transsexual chickens might be striding about outside the window. It cannot possibly have a framed photograph of a man doing lines off a woman’s ass, gifted by a popular Collingwood DJ. It is so free of these things, that it can also not even fathom that in some worlds there would be at times a pile of dirty laundry almost three feet tall under the window, a pile that might even be moved to the van when company comes over because there is no other place to put it. This photo, as are we, is speechless at that thought.
These are eggs. The dainty ones are rooster eggs.
And finally, a rustic snapshot of our front door, welcoming you to the perfectness of the way of life known as The Way of the Rogue Goat. The natural arrangements were not gathered by human hand , but delivered unseen by beneficent woodland creatures awed by our complete lack of dog puking incidents, iron throwing temper tantrums, our full and spotless soap dishes and that not one of the three boys and one man who live here ever, ever misses the toilet.
We hope that you have gleaned our gentle holiday message from our artful array of absolutely unstaged photographs. That is…slow down, enjoy the great friends and family around you, kiss somebody really, really hard and eat until it hurts so, so good. Oh and listen to some metal. We love you.
(Also Emmett Otter is the best Christmas show EVER).