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Two Years of Ballading this month, and this would be the 500th post. 562nd if you count the slow opening chords over at the old site (but who does?). I've been staring at that sentence for the past few days, trying to come up with some kind of uber-significant post on identity or change to put a big fat punctuation mark on 500 posts of self-indulged drivel. And I can't come up with anything cosmic. These things are better left to their natural flow, which is sort of the point of the Ballad anyway, a rambling pastiche account of all things Nyet, a sad struggle to figure out what's going on and find heart in the process. Two years have provided quite a change in venue, marital status, job, friends, you name it. (The dogs are the same, though, so don't name them :) ). And sitting here on Christmas Eve in Phoenix in a new (old) house with the lovely Beck and two goofball pups makes me feel quite alright with the changes. So happy 500th, Ballad; keep on plucking away and knowing that despite pervasive tumult, there will be plenty of calm moments to savor. Or, you know, on this night of all nights, we could just turn things over to the King and his commentary on the situation: