This Is Thanksgiving, Not Mother's Day

Friends, it's Thanksgiving! Raise a glass with me, and let us propose a toast ... to Mama, the Dearest on Earth to Us. You may be a perfect stranger to me every other day of the year. But please join in, for on Thanksgiving we're all family. Eh? Are you raising your glass? Raise it! And let us toast Dear Mama, just like we did way back when, on the very day they told us, "This is Thanksgiving, not Mother's Day."

It was actually a revelation -- however unwelcome it seemed at the time -- since we were admittedly a bit carried away honoring Mama. And ignoring the bird spread naked and golden brown on the ritzy dining table of that deservedly expensive hotel. They had a spread loaded with thighs, breasts, and drumsticks, and they charged an arm and a leg for it. What money? Money means nothing on Thanksgiving!

The real problem started with toasts. Most of us don't make toasts on a regular basis. Everything we know about toasts we learned from movies and TV. Which so often specialize in fictional happenings, goings-on, stories with a plot, a conflict, working through the conflict, and resolving itself in a happy ending. Meaning, if a toast doesn't sound like it sounds on TV, there's something wrong.

We went out for Thanksgiving, the whole family. Daughter, sons, their kids, Papa and of course Mama. Mama's the center of the family in most families, especially if your family is anything like ours. She makes our heart melt. We have memories of her tenderness when Papa was gruff, or whatever. We nursed off her, literally, giving us the step-up in life we needed when other kids were bottle-feeding or seeking nutritional refuge in the arms of a goat or something worse.

So when we went out for Thanksgiving at the best place in town -- Expensive! So expensive it's like throwing money down the drain -- it really meant something. We were very sensitive about the experience. Usually we pinched pennies, now we were living it up, like the Rockefellers or the Gettys. Papa had his money withdrawn, it was big-bucks time at Thanksgiving! Every plate was expensive, crazy expensive. So much you could've eaten five times somewhere else and had money leftovers.

It's the same feeling you get at other holidays when the expectation is to go beyond your ordinary means. Christmas is the biggest example, but each person's individual birthday is a mini version of the same thing. Or New Year's, when Papa came home with eggnog and salami and chocolates and candles. You're wondering if it's the same guy who's always so tight. Papa's family went through the Depression. They had to scrape for everything they could scrape together.

OK, so there we were at this hugely expensive place. And naturally, with the money buying us the biggest, best Thanksgiving meal, our tender thoughts turned to Mama. Who was spared cooking the big meal for a change. But would've gladly done it if we hadn't gone out. She would've come up with a turkey, cooked it, carved it, made dressing, made pies, all the fixins, bread by the bushel, and drinks.

I took my drink and lifted it by way of a toast, and the rest of the family immediately joined in. "To Mama, the center of our family, our life, our common love, our heart, our soul." "Here, here," the others said. Then my next brother, not to be outdone, lifted a glass and cleared his throat: "To Mama, who binds us together as one, not just our life but our everything, the best Mama we could've ever hoped for." Then my next brother (3), who of all the siblings saw Mama over the years more than those of us who'd moved away, had a tear in his eye. He lifted a glass and toasted her: "We should probably be toasting Papa," he started to chuckles, "because Papa is the one who found Mama. She was a natural beauty, although, as we've all heard, she was 'a diamond in the rough.' But she had the upbringing in her own family and saw the example of her own parents, and now has exceeded them, which I say not to question the merits of Grandma... Family, raise a glass to Mama!" The fourth brother had a decent toast, and the daughter (5) and the last son, last but not least. His toast was a tearjerker, because when you're Number 6 you're just happy to be alive. Statistically, Number 6s are rare, and reflection on that gives you a keen ability to make good toasts.

When all was said and done, I led the way for everyone, including Papa -- barely able to walk even with a cane -- to get up and go over to pat Mama on the back and give her his own personal plaudits. She was trying to wave us off -- her wonderful modesty and self-effacing nature, further reasons to love her so much. But we went on anyway, patting her, giving her kisses, hugging her. True, the food was getting cold, but that's OK. Thanksgiving comes but once a year, whether or not you have a Mama, and we knew someday we'd lose her. But it wasn't that day! That day she felt the fullness of our love. Even though she tried to wave us off, that was her day!

We were laughing, praising Mama, and outdoing one another something fierce. "This turkey is probably the most expensive turkey in the world, since the meal is so outrageously expensive at this fancy-schmancy place, but it's nothing compared to the turkey Mama could've made!" Similar sentiments were shared. Praising the different aspects of the meal, but discounting it compared to what Mama could've done. When the waiter, obviously at the beck and call of the head cook -- who probably should've been demoted to assistant chief bottle-washer for the remark -- came out and scolded us, saying, "Folks, we'd like to remind you, This is Thanksgiving, not Mother's Day," our table became stone quiet. I looked at my brother like, "What the fu-?"

We might've rioted -- I was personally that close to gutting that particular waiter, and Brother 3, with his greater familiarity with Mama and the over-protective nature he'd nurtured, looked like he was daydreaming of a noose for the head cook. We would've hung him high right there over that very table had Mama not stepped in, saying, "The waiter is only doing his job, beloved family. And he's right. You started in praising me, your Mama, and of course I appreciate and love each one of you always, but in the sentiment of the moment we were all carried away. So let us get back to our meal, dear ones, because as he said, and he was right, "This is Thanksgiving, not Mother's Day."

Another Thanksgiving Meal Goes Bad

I suppose it's the world's oldest cliche, that a family like mine, cursed as it is to occasionally be together, would have troubles sharing a Thanksgiving meal. Truth is, we suffered through it, but survived.

It's actually been a while since we attempted it. Holidays have a way of going sour -- normal people know that -- but when there's a lifetime of grudges, deep jealousies, various resentments, and painful failures, plus this, that, and the other person simply doesn't get along, things get ugly, then uglier. The good news in the long run is I'll save money, since I've been paying the last couple times...

I'll just admit it, overall my family's been financially embarrassed. Various ones have been taken in by schemes over the years, risky ventures, and threw away their money. A lot of the resentments are rooted there. My Aunt Lois thought she had a big future in aquarium stores, for example, opened one and threatened to open another, and her money was lost forever. No doubt you've heard of the problem fish have with "ich," a disease. It was especially bad between 1970-1972, as I'll never forget. To this day Lois hates fish, the raw ones swimming or the dead ones cooked.

Like I said, I've been paying the bill. I've had two good steady sources of income. The disability I get from my game toe. And the money I make off this blog. I get a pretty good traffic stream. And a few of my posts have "Google Ads," which have been a real goldmine for me. I give 10% to this allegedly shady home for crippled children, whose only activity (6 days a week with a strict Sabbath) is clicking my ads. The kids are wasting away, they say, but their clicking hands are enormous, muscular. You wouldn't want them to get a hold of you. Just keep your distance.

Anyway, the family's behavior hasn't improved a bit since our last meal three years ago. We arrived and I went around and gave everyone a handshake or kiss on the cheek when we got there, ever the optimist. "Blessed are the peacemakers." But jealousy immediately raised its ugly head, since a few thought they saw favoritism in who I started with and how long I lingered. And it was more trouble when someone said I rolled my eyes as the accusations began. It's been this way as long as I can remember: Rolling your eyes is the Original Sin that even blood can't atone for.

The restaurant, I should say, was a fancy one. A nice big round table, the classiest folks, a buffet with heated silver food servers, deserts made by professional chefs in the finest tall hats, parsley and other greens scattered aesthetically between the entrees, and flowers. The gravy was delicious, pineapple was spread out in big chunks, and there was literally a mountain of cold shrimp. At $25 a pop and an automatic $45 tip for the table, you know it had to be good.

Everyone got their meal and the shenanigans began. Any word not spoken clearly enough or loudly enough was about me, it was assumed. Someone's tight-lipped over here, and that's not wisdom but standoffishness. I saw some unwisely looking up and motioning with their heads at someone else. A comment about the food taken or how big the portions were was veiled criticism. When a couple of drinks -- coffee and water -- were spilled, it could've only been intentional, with eyes rolling in response. The baby urped and someone said, "He's never liked me." It was wondered aloud what you were talking about when I was away from the table. Pretty soon voices were loud enough for everyone to hear, with various accusations being flung about, now enunciated clearly, no ambiguity. Our circle was deserving of the stares we got from across the room. The crowning moment, bringing silence to the entire place, was when Uncle Barnes crushed an aluminum teapot in frustration, or just for the hell of it.

Some of the talk went back to the aquarium store days. Which is a coincidence, because just the other day I was in the pet store -- true story -- and I had that temptation a guy always gets to buy an aquarium. Then you start thinking of all the bad things that'll happen. Ich, cleaning the damned thing, fish dying, and all the money -- tons of money -- you'll waste on it. And how you eventually end up with a dry, dirty aquarium with dirty fluorescent blue rock piled up in one of the corners. Someone from the family comes over, goes to the garage to get a box for something, sees the aquarium and kicks a hole in it. Now there's glass everywhere and the carcass form of the rotten thing sets there forever.

Get Your T-Day Turkey by Drone

After all these years of lagging behind -- check any key index -- my town has something to finally be proud of, something to put us on the map. I'm hoping this will spur greater tourism, as folks will come from near and far to see where it happened. Certainly it'll be a boost to our reputation, as we'll be able to claim the title, "Home of the First Drone-Delivered Turkey."

Those are the larger issues, but the main thing is how attractive this is for the local consumer, not having to go to the grocery store and stand in long lines, your temperature rising, the feeling, cramped in as you are, that you're going to explode and massacre everyone. We're looking forward to getting rid of that. Because it's Thanksgiving, folks! A sacred holiday, a day for family, friends, and food, not erupting in bloodshed at the local supermarket.

And finally there's something to celebrate in the field of technology. This is technology that actually enhances life and doesn't detract from it. I used the think the computer and all our other gadgets would be a blessing. Instead, crime against children is up, brutality against women is ever-present, banks are being robbed faster than they can build them, there's shoplifting, arson, and bullying. What's the one thing all those have in common? The perps more often than not have used a computer at some time in the last 15 years.

Plus, this is something I can actually get excited about. I'm like everyone else, as above: I hate the inconvenience of grocery stores. You find a parking space (good luck), you go in, the antibacterial towels for wiping the cart are usually out, then you're jam-packed with other people with the same basic goal in life, hunting and gathering food. You get to the checkout and there's always someone ahead of you. Usually with a squalling kid, nose running. It's almost enough to make you go berserk. Thank God most stores are now open-carry.

Anyway, technology to the rescue! Little drone planes promising the fullest measure of convenience for getting your turkey, greater than anyone could've imagined. That's the way I like it. No fuss, no muss. Just go out, get in line, wait your turn, etc. Then some time, be it an hour, or maybe a few hours, the mighty drone plane will come in with Turkey on Board for you! They'll take your souvenir picture, you load it in the car, and you're off.

Being new, though, with everyone wanting one, there will be a little competition to get your turkey. But don't worry, it'll be fun! When you get to the airport, stop by the main booth and get your bidding number. Then make your way to the runway. No crowding please, there's room for everyone. Pretty soon, the store will have loaded the drone and sent it flying, and it will come into view with a beautiful frozen turkey. Hands will go up fast, of course, because everyone wants one. But wait! With supply and demand, the only fair way is to auction it off. No one should complain. Why do you think you needed the bidding number if you weren't expecting to bid? The auctioneer will start every sale at 49 cents a pound, and depending on how many haven't yet got theirs, it might go for 89 cents a pound, or you could wait till the crowd thins out and get it at the minimum. It's all good. The store will keep sending them while buyers are still present.

Once you've got your turkey -- and checked out the drone, very cool -- the only thing left is to buzz by the store and get everything else you're going to need, dressing, beets, yams, pies, and don't forget you'll probably need a big aluminum pan.

That's what happening this year, exciting enough. But for the future, the sky's the limit! I'm looking forward to the day when someone makes the attempt, the first transatlantic delivery of a turkey by drone to France, with throngs of excited Thanksgiving revelers waiting on the scene.

Take the Thanksgiving Pledge: I Shall Shop!

I'm up in arms this year, as I understand there are various ones agitating for businesses to be closed on Thanksgiving. Of course this is just more of the same, the undercutting that we've unfortunately come to expect of our valued American traditions. Apparently their philosophy goes something along these lines, Anything old and established needs to give way to something new, something modern. And so it is, they want something different simply for the sake of being different.

Like I said, I'm up in arms about it and I'm not going to take it lying down. I'm fighting back. By making a pledge, along with a warning to businesses, that I will be shopping on Thanksgiving, as always. With the warning that if any store is not open on Thanksgiving, I will never return there. And that's a biggie, because I'm totally hooked on shopping, and it might be tough for me to keep that particular codicil. Still, surely there will be thousands joining me whose discipline in that regard might be stronger. Plus, just issuing the warning, stated as strongly as it is, will give businesses pause about daring to close on Thanksgiving.

I don't know exactly where all this trouble started, but if I had the resources it'd be interesting to trace it and find out precisely who is to blame. It could be the employees of the big stores and shopping centers who are merely lazy and looking for a way to take the day off. Laziness is epidemic, as we all know. I know some kids, for example, who don't have a single muscle on their skinny little bodies. All they do is vegetate on couches, sometimes mustering up the strength to play video games for a few minutes before collapsing. You figure they have parents, and that some of those parents work at these stores. They're jealous of their kid's lethargy and dissipation, so they want a day off.

What I actually think, those I believe are probably responsible, are all the bleeding hearts on Facebook. You see their posts all the time. They're sentimental about every puppy, every kitten, every dying horse, every selfie their idiot kid comes up with, every Bible verse, every "witty" saying, along with cartoons of little old ladies saying ironic things that undercut their dignity, etc. Of course they've gone soft. Then there's grandchildren, and we all do love our families. But instead of taking the day off, that's a huge reason why I'm calling us back to our senses. Don't do away with Thanksgiving shopping! Your kids are depending on you!

I used to listen to my grandparents as they reminisced about the old days. Which would've been the 1920s and '30s. They got married in 1920. It's kind of funny, but the little old town Grandpa came from had only one general store. If they didn't have it at the general store they didn't need it! Anyway, that little store was run by some funny little man who spent a whole hour just lighting the stove. The rest of the time he was waiting on customers. As long as there was a dime to be made, he was there. And it's a good thing he stayed open on Thanksgiving, because that was the big shopping day back then. It took them a week to get there, and he'd better be open! And kids had muscles, too, not like today...

I venture to guess that today's kids have never heard a story like that. Everything today's so confused they don't know what to believe. So someone like me, who does know the traditions, and does value our past, has to spell it out, as I'm doing here. Whether they read my blog -- or even know how to read -- these are things I don't know. It could be I'm merely pissing into the wind with my words, but piss I will! As long as I have breath...

I hope everyone has Happy Holidays this year, and that you get your holiday shopping done, as it should be done, right away, bright and early Thanksgiving Day. Let me wish you all the best for a splendid and blessed Thanksgiving, as you accomplish your shopping, then gather to do ... whatever ... fatten up the little skeletons on your couch playing games ... introduce them to a turkey leg, and bring them back from vegetarianism and let them eat like healthy people. Meat, potatoes, and meat.

Happy Thanksgiving shopping!

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Lest any of this seems obscure, like you're reading this in the year 2034, when common sense has returned to mankind, the above graphic comments on the following graphic that's made its viral way around Facebook:

Enjoying the Thanksgiving Lights

It's been a great Thanksgiving so far. I just got up from a long nap after eating the big traditional meal. And now all that's left is to drive around town and see the Thanksgiving lights.

That's a lot of fun -- even though I don't personally decorate for it -- the way the neighbors and folks around town go all out, their houses decked out in lights, lawn ornaments, and the whole bit. They really get into it, outdoing one another if possible, with displays that are very elaborate.

Of course we have the poorer side of town, where they're lucky to have a small lit turkey. Those aren't really much fun, although I guess everyone has to start somewhere. You never know, you might hit the lottery and be able to step up your game. Certainly everyone's trying to hit it, those with an extra dollar every now and then. One family I know of has a little lame son, and that's his dream, to win the big prize, hopefully then to get his leg fixed, but more importantly to be able to get into the Thanksgiving spirit with the best of them. Until then, he and the others just stumble along.

My own neighborhood is between that and the others. We're not too poor but neither are we rolling in it. The decorations are nothing to get excited about but neither are they anything to be overly ashamed of. Any lame kids we happen to have are more or less secure, and more or less proud of what their family puts out. A decent medium-sized turkey, strings on the trees, an inflatable pilgrim, etc., they're doing OK.

Frankly, I like driving around neighborhoods like mine. I don't get angst pains, as you can readily imagine a sensitive guy like me gets when I know people want to do better but are frustrated and stumbling along. After all, it's meant to be a fun thing, not frustrating. Although I'm just as quick to throw out a word of encouragement: No matter how poor you are, there's always someone somewhere worse off. So be encouraged! However, and this is equally as important, you need to do your best, because they might catch up and leave you behind.

Then there's the real fun, the culmination of the whole thing, getting over to the rich side of town. Where they've got enormous turkeys, and every color of the rainbow for lights, and elaborate pilgrim scenes with moving parts. It's great, with the only downside being the traffic. The folks over there are playing for the crowds. And that really takes some effort, with a couple of families even putting out a short-range radio signal for passersby to hear the story of Thanksgiving and their good wishes.

With money comes great responsibility. Your town depends on you for the good stuff. And obviously some of them get an early start, probably sketching out their display as early as July, and getting the stuff up anytime throughout October. As for their lame kids, if they have any, they're waving from the windows, beaming with great pride, happy as clams.

I Raised My Own Thanksgiving Turkey

I did something a little different this year. I was with a friend at a farm sale and bought a baby turkey, just the cutest little thing, not nearly as big as a full grown bird. The idea, of course, was that I would raise it for my Thanksgiving meal.

After I got it, then, I realized there was lots of stuff I needed, actually making my meal this year more expensive than if I'd simply gone to the store. You need a good cage, a bunch of feed, fresh water, etc., right down to shots and an occasional visit to the vet.

Anyway, I don't want to dwell on the downside. Because having a baby turkey is actually a lot of fun. A rewarding experience. I had a good time petting his little feathers when he was young. And I named him, Sammy. My little Sammy! But he wasn't little for long. Sammy got some real girth on his bones, a good display of white meat and dark, all covered with some pretty cool feathers. One of which is going in my scrapbook. That is my vow.

Most of you might recall this wasn't exactly a great year for me. My mom died in August. And there were a couple days around that time when I didn't have a single friend in the world to share my feelings with. Except Sammy. Who patiently listened to me, and even seemed to reach out a drumstick as a gesture of comfort. It was about that time that I gave him a middle name, calling him Sammy Dale, and even sang him to sleep a few times: "Go to your sleep, O Sammy Dale..." Thinking about it now still makes me emotional.

But, you know how it goes, time stops for no man. Thanksgiving has been drawing near for the last month, and there's been no stopping it, no matter what. Sammy Dale was raised for this purpose, and so he couldn't be spared, no matter how much anguish it caused me to lift that damned hatchet and bring it down. One thing I was careful to do was to make it swift and sure. No rust on the blade, the thing completely sharp, nothing that would cause suffering and prolong it.

That was all yesterday, Tuesday, because I wanted it to be far enough in advance of Thursday to get rid of the emotions, allowing me to detach as much as I could from the bond we shared.

So tomorrow, then, Thanksgiving Day, it will be into the oven with what's-his-name, and he will be a beautiful spread of meat on my table. Carving him will be an experience, I hope not too sad. Because of course he's already passed on. There's no time for regrets when it's too late to go back. And honestly, he isn't really any different than any other turkey I might've gotten at the store.

Plus -- and I know you'll think this is pretty cool -- I will have one extra thing to be thankful for this year, that we had that quality time through the year. I bet most of the birds at the store didn't have that luxury. 

It's Thanksgiving All Over The World

One of the reasons Thanksgiving is so great is it's one of the few holidays that brings the entire world together in a common celebration. Most of the other holidays, while being great, are so much more provincial, Christmas, New Year's, the Super Bowl, and even Arbor Day.

But for at least one day a year -- this day -- we can all be Pilgrims and Indians, recalling the old days. That's what they mean by "Celebrating Thanksgiving in the Olden Manner," that we bridge the years back to the holiday's original spirit.

The fact that Thanksgiving is held in common, and treasured in common, around the globe makes it something so much more special. Because we're truly able to see, much as when we glimpsed the Earth from outer space in the days of the astronauts, that we have one planet and one family, one common humanity.

Thanksgiving of course has a religious significance, as we give thanks to the one true and living God for His rich bounty. It's a day that brings all men together in harmony, even atheists, to reflect on our blessings from above and to yield up the spirit of thankfulness from reflective hearts.

We see Thanksgiving's magic in the micro sense around our own dining room table, with loved ones who won't speak to each other any other day of the year suddenly embracing in tears before enjoying the sumptuous feast. Every divide is bridged!

Abraham Lincoln, one of our best loved presidents, having a special place in the hearts of his countrymen, had it right when he proclaimed what Nature had already dictated, that men everywhere need to and long to give thanks to a beneficent Creator. We are suddenly reminded, as though we could forget, that who we are and what we have is found in that common, ultimate Source.

Lincoln issued the first proclamation long ago, declaring that, "Few will remember or long note what we have said here today." But he was wrong on this point. Indeed, few were present in that small room as the president spoke. But those few took his word to a few more, then those to a few more, and so forth, until the proclamation had touched the entire world.

And so it is today, in places as different as the Ukraine, the Netherlands, Africa, the Congo, Europe, Asia, and, yes, the United States and the Americas, men will sit and break bread, as well as roasted turkeys, and offer up a heartfelt word of "Thanksgiving" to Him who sits on high.

Our children will watch with wondering eyes, perhaps not entirely aware of the significance of the day. But the lessons they see will sink in, until the day they reach the fullness of manhood, and are called upon to pass it on to their children, and their children to their children, as long as life and the world shall be.

Happy Thanksgiving, world!

In The Past It's Always Thanksgiving

Most of us from time to time get sick of normal old daily living. It's tiresome in its sameness, some even dare to call it boring. The word I use for it is prosaic, which means something like stultifying. It's easy for our brains to go immediately numb when we wake up.

As for myself, I'm always trying different mental tricks. I couldn't make it through a normal day without mental tricks. Just a quick example will suffice. There's something wrong with the base of my toilet. It rocks back and forth when I sit down. I hate it, but I've got a mental trick. I open the back, toss in a quarter, then tell myself it's a drug store horse like they had when I was a kid. A quick ride and I'm feeling better.

Everything can be sort of boring. But nothing's more boring than eating by yourself, which I do a lot. So the mental trick I came up with is to think of Thanksgiving, when eating is a lot more fun. This is a mental trick you can really immerse yourself in, because, think about it, if you have enough Thanksgivings under your belt, you can relive those memories forever. And because Thanksgiving lasts all day, every waking minute can have something to do with it.

Of course mealtime has the closest connection to Thanksgiving memories, because it goes along with piling food on your plate, about 20 different things, so much that there's no more room but you're still stacking it a mile high. One of the big memories of Thanksgiving is that everyone else cares about what you're putting on your plate. If it's not enough, there's a comment. If it's too much, there's a comment. It's the one day of the year when your plate is everyone's business.

And how about the laughs on Thanksgiving. Not only are they commenting left and right about what's on your plate, but it's also a subject for great merriment. There's nothing prosaic about a plate piled high. Right now I'm reliving a Thanksgiving memory, a constant, my uncle's big belly laugh at family meals, especially on Thanksgiving, when he really kept track of what you were doing. It was not enough, it was too much, your eyes were bigger than your stomach.

You could even take Thanksgiving Past with you to the dentist. I need lots of mental tricks at the dentist, but most of mine involve meditation and the shifting of conscious/unconscious states, transcendence. But Thanksgiving memories would be just as good. They want you to open your mouth for the suction pipe, but to you it's a magnificent drumstick. They have a wedge for your back teeth, to keep your mouth open, but to you it's a piece of pecan pie.

Cold Turkey Leftovers

I was listening to John Lennon's song "Cold Turkey" today: "Cold turkey has got me on the run..."

Today of course is the day for cold turkey, the day after Thanksgiving. But I didn't have any, maybe for the first time ever. Some of the family was over, and I had the foresight to send all the leftovers home with them, thinking how much I hate them, the leftovers, not the family.

It'd be better than nothing if I didn't have any other food. But there's something about turkey that makes it ultra dry as soon as it's been cooked. It's very disgusting stuff.

But I've got a few leftovers today, bits and pieces, snippets of ideas, and stray ideas that I want to get rid of:
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I'm looking for a diner with the lady in white or pink serving hot roast beef sandwiches with mashed potatoes and gravy and happy to see you. I think it's a dying breed, like __________ (whatever).
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Church of the Embittered Shepherd -- "Some wolf bastard stole my sheep!" -- "The end of your search for an embittered church."
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Concrete Football League -- All games played on cement fields for real bone-crunching action. 8 hour games because of constant injuries.
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Doodletron illustrations. Colorful backgrounds with doodles overlaid.
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Overheard on 11/14/2010, a guy on the phone: "Oh man, I just did the front page like an hour ago." Must have been some big news!
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Driving on college campus: Didn't see anyone carrying or waving pennants. Saw lots of gadgets, and a few Gidgets on phones.
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What color was the wood? Wood-colored.
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The worst part about going blind, not being able to see.
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Turkeys these days are nothing like the ones I had when I was a kid. Back then, each of the kids got a wishbone from the old bird, so they were happy.
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Have I ever seen a cute ear? No. Nicely proportioned? Yes, most often known by not being too big.
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The process of dying is tough, but it looks like you get used to death right away.
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Facial hair grows overnight, meaning Santa sleeps a lot!
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Man speaks with forked tongue spooning with daughter, must get knife.
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The heart, of course, is susceptible to heartburn.
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I've Got An Itch Right Here

I'm bugged about itching and scratching. There's way too much of it.

There's a big difference between sleeping and being awake. I hardly ever itch when I'm asleep. It's like at funerals I've been to, the difference between being alive and dead. Others are scratching, but the dead are content.

Just thinking about itching makes me itch, and I've heard others say that too. I have some thoughts about localized and universalized phenomena. When it comes to itching, for me it's localized. There doesn't seem to be a general field of itching. I don't feel other people's itch. Still, just like yawning, if I saw others scratching like crazy, I'd probably start itching too.

One itch I've had for years is itching in the ears. That's very annoying. The ears have a nasty construction, being open yet you're not supposed to mess with them. But how can you not? It looks weird to be scratching your ears in public, but we don't associate them with erogenous zones, so no one thinks anything more about you scratching than how weird it looks. The appearance of an ear itch, for me, is immediate. There's no arc to its appearance. It's just there ... 100 mph.

Then we all know about scalp itch. I haven't got much more to say about it, except it's well addressed by consumer products. I'm thinking about shampoos.

Then, more embarrassing, there's the region where everyone's action takes place. Why that would be itching all the time, I could make some guesses. For one, there's too many folds and creases, and too much rubbing together. Nothing's really nailed down in a permanent place. It might be left, right, center, up, down, big, little, tight, or loose. Then with some exertion, you get perspiration, and it all interacts in a negative way. And it builds on itself, with perspiration accumulating in the surrounding garments, and next, dirt, various leakages and minor soiling from an inability to meticulously clean oneself.

All the nasty regions are so concentrated in that one area, in my opinion, there's no better place in the universe where the conditions are so right for the spontaneous generation of new strains of harmful bacteria. We try to blame it on African monkeys, but I'm not so sure. If you have an itch, you need to get it checked out. And if you happen to scratch, please clean under your fingernails before you shake my hand. The only positive thing about crotch itch is you can reach it in an emergency. The same thing goes for the ear.

The itch that has the worst placement is in the middle of the back. Normal length arms aren't long enough to reach it. So you're left seeking out a pasta stirrer, or getting someone to help you (left, right, up down), or buying a professional backscratcher. For me, the downside to a backscratcher is that it makes it itch again within seconds. So it's best not to scratch your back too well, just touch it enough to take care of the immediate problem. Touch a tree but don't rub too hard.

Time doesn't allow me to get to all the other itches, like the bottom of the foot, the top of the foot, and the tip of the nose. The tip of the nose itch is the worst of these, unless you're dealing with a foot fungus on the others. Because the itch you get on the nose is always some little bacteria that needs to be killed.

It's strange, speaking of bacteria, why we don't get itches in our internal organs. But thank God we don't, because they'd be really tough to scratch.

P.S. -- Happy Thanksgiving!

The Real Happy Meal

It's soon almost going to be that wonderful day, when family gathers from far and near to eat the stuffing out of the turkey. Of course I'm talking about the holiday known as Thanksgiving, commemorating the time that the pilgrims first did it.

We're more blessed in that we have more modern conveniences than they had. We go to the store to get the turkey that a slaughterhouse has killed rather than having to pursue one through the forest, making a bunch of turkey noises with a turkey call. Actually, I knew a guy who hunted his own turkeys, and the way he described it, you have to sit there very quietly because a turkey has very sensitive hearing and is easily alerted to danger.

The pilgrims -- they had it their way. That's what they were used to and they didn't know any difference. It's weird for us to try to imagine life without a refrigerator or freezer, but at least they had the advantage of never knowing any difference. So it looks like, once again, ignorance is bliss. But put one of us out there, nothing but a blunderbuss and no idea how to use it, and we'd show up at home with nothing and the kids would be sitting there hungry.

Fortunately, we've made progress since those earlier, darker days, of which I don't know much more than that. They were used to a lot more hardship that I'm frankly glad isn't typical for the general American populace. They had a lot of family and fellow travelers dropping dead on the boats just to get here, so how any of them kept their happiness ... it's beyond me. They were coming here for religious reasons, right? So they must've done a lot of meditation to keep up their spirits. And maybe they were visited by a hedgerow of warring pilgrim angels so that at least a remnant might survive. That'd be something to be thankful for.

Anyway, the family gathers for this important day of chowing down. Everybody brings something, maybe a cranberry salad, a basket of buns, a pie. And we pool it all together on one big table -- sometimes a second table for the kids -- and we realize that we've all got it pretty good. Still, you have to think of the hardship those other folks went through -- the pilgrims, the death -- and realize it could happen to any one of us. After all, we look around the table and we can picture the faces that aren't there from bygone years... We're all going to die.

Do I really mind the facts of mortality that much? No, I really don't. I'm not crazy about the idea -- don't get me wrong. But what can you do? Nothing. I actually use the facts of mortality to try to stretch out my lifespan. Like this, I don't engage in dangerous behaviors: criminal activity, risky friendships, interpersonal relationships with people when I don't know where they've been and what they've been doing with it, which includes everyone. My basic philosophy is: Be happy with a normal life, with a serious substratum, admittedly, of Sit quietly until you die.

We do that at Thanksgiving, everyone sitting there, thinking the same thing. All those people who used to sit around this table aren't here anymore. Could I be next? Lord, is it I? (The kids' table isn't like that ... they're very happy.)

I see the general run of kids playing at McDonald's when I'm there. They've turned the restaurant into a playground, and it's very loud in certain sections. There was a crowd one day, so I was sitting right next to the playground entrance, which turned out to be a terrible place to eat. It made me think, we ought to make a pact with the parents that they wouldn't allow their kids to go to the McDonald's playground because the rest of us want to eat in peace. If we could just persuade kids that they need to sit quietly till they die, the world would be a nicer place.

But, no, there they are, with their little Happy Meals, taking a few bites, then running off to the playground. They definitely don't have the pilgrim spirit. In 1600, they would've been dead the first day!

Thanksgiving, whether these little hellions know it or not, that's the real happy meal. So sit there quietly and eat it!

This Thanksgiving

My Thanksgiving tweet:

On this beautiful Thanksgiving day, I'm most thankful that my enemies have either been completely destroyed or seriously neutralized.

Seriously neutralized! Seriously, I don't have any enemies. Not this week anyway. Who knows, some might flare up next week. But as for this week and today the world is at blissful rest.

We endured a turkey today. Turkey is one of those meats that sounds better in theory than it turns out to be in practice. It's never quite as good as you think it should be. It has a weird stringiness, striations both in the white meat and the dark. The drumsticks seem like they have odd additions, unlike chicken legs. I think if you weren't really picky and careful you could easily die eating a turkey drumstick.

Then there's the unpleasant leftovers. I haven't had any yet. I'm thinking about going and having a slice. Because hope springs eternal. I hope it will be good even though I know at some level it won't be.

And finally, what's worse than the tiredness you get after eating turkey? We've all heard it by now, so maybe it's psychological. But they say it's in the meat. I don't remember getting tired as a kid after eating it. But when you're a kid you have a lot of natural bounce in your step that you lose later. So we were down for a very necessary nap. I even gave the dog a little bowl of turkey, and she, like always, also took a nap.

I'm thankful Thanksgiving only comes once a year.

It's Turkey Graduation Day

This is the day that every turkey looks forward to.

It's a whole year or two of eating and getting fattened up. They put themselves through the paces, jumping rope normally and in that confusing crossed way that dedicated athletes do, absorbing the pain of the moment for the gratifying joy of finally accomplishing their course. This is it.

Turkeys know they're put on this earth for one thing and one thing only, to be the centerpiece of a Thanksgiving meal for human beings. That's what they learn when they're small and what they keep in mind all along the way.

It's a great goal, of course, but none of it's easy. Of which I don't want to say much, except to say turkeys have challenges like the rest of us. There's a whole pecking order, some overcrowding, a lack of privacy, and all your friends are turkeys. But no matter how hard it is, all of them -- the good ones, that is -- grin and bear it, put their head down and charge through, onward and upward, toward the finish line.

They say that all of us, as our final moments are coming, are granted a glimpse of the afterlife, meant to assure us that life is good and that a beneficent Creator is looking out for us. That also applies to turkeys, who, it is reported, are given a glimpse in dreams of the Thanksgiving table they will adorn. Isn't that great? It's a very satisfying thought. I like it. And I like an additional thought along those same lines. That is, that the turkey, its spirit looking from above, gets to witness the complete satisfaction of the family gathered around the table. It's so good!

A turkey goes from being a small fry, ten to a handful, all the way up to the enormous 18 pound (on average) bird that covers your best platter. They're destined for it, and they're happy to do it. This is their joy, their glory. This is their graduation day.

May each turkey who's come this far graduate with only the highest honors!