Cranksgiving

Something wicked is afoot, and it might very well be my own, foot that is. If that darn thing decided to break again I would be rather bummed. But enough about me, I think I got a little ranty/preachy a post or two ago, and everything's really rather peachy. Okay, and now for some more about me. I was on the internet just now, seeing what all had happened at the state cross country meet in the state I grew up in because I'm nerdly like that, and gosh, those kids are awfully good at running. It has been a decade, but to say they would kick my ass seems an understatement. But nearly as intriguing to me, was one of the photos I noted in the sidebar to the newspaper article I was leafing through (technically, I was scrolling). Said photo is featured below:



Now, is that girl pinching the jaw of the other? Yes, it's like a minor skull-crusher, how absurd. Actually, the touch has a delicate look to it, as if she might be trying to get an eyelash off her cheek. I'm sure that was it. Her teammate on the left is carrying out a rather self-explanatory easily riffed upon mock sexual act. We're tough in Jersey. I'm not, but I threw my share of elbows and pushed and shoved when necessary. I sometimes forget the rage of competition. It's kind of raw and exciting.

What I really came here to do is rattle off a bit on my favorite holiday: Thanksgiving. Cranksgiving, not so much, as I'm anything but cranky this time of year. Actually, that is not entirely true, given the state of my foot. But I will be excited to visit the east coast and this region we call New England. Even though I grew up there it retains a sort of mystical quality. Perhaps it is because I grew up there. At any rate it will be good to return and briefly live the fantasy of my own quaint New England home, teaching writing to undergrads and such, sipping bourbon and whiskey when the weather gets the chill it has now. Maybe a fireplace or something. These are good as fantasies because, as much as I don't know whether I shall attain them, I am not sure either that I would really want to. The allure of a simple life is alluring many times until we have it.

But like, this holiday is about what we're thankful for right? Because we fabricated a story about how well some settlers got along with some natives as the weather turned brisk 380 or more years ago (I forget the date of the first Thanksgiving and am not going to look it up and let's face it, as I said, it's largely fabricated) and like, that relates to things to be thankful for right? Good thing we slaughtered those natives, there'd be no USA. I know I'm thankful for that. But in all seriousness, if the day is an excuse to bring my family together and eat some delicious food and just kick it and hang out, I can sort of deal with the facetious tales of origin. If it weren't for photos, I might not even believe Abe Lincoln had a beard. And I've never seen any photographic evidence of buckle-hatted rifle-toters dining avec some Native Americans, aka NAs, aka not applicable.

Tangents, I love 'em. I go off on them and I can't tell you why, but again, back to this holiday. I'm just gonna say go and have yourself a great one, whether you're reading or not. I can only wish that each and every one of you has a group of blood family or adoptive family, as friends really can become, to spend the holiday with. It's the hope to be with the humans you value the most on that day. As I get older and cheesier, this is driven home to me more and more. So I'm rambling, and sure it's my blog, but even I can get sick of my own shit, so happy holiday to you and yours, ya turkeys. Leave room for pie.