If, that is, you’re opposed to the Afghanistan and Iraq Wars. Yep, Vermont’s millionaire “socialist” senator sat in the tony digs of the Sunday news talk shows yesterday and served up this bit of nonsense while speaking about funding the wars:

“No one is talking about bringing the troops home tomorrow.”

That makes me a proud nobody. And you?

Troops. Home. Now.

Thanksgiving Novel (in a mere five words).

And so there I sat.

–

Overheard at Thanksgiving:

It wasn’t so much that she was drunk. But she was interesting.

–

Oh fuck, I’m beginning to exhibit the obvious gaits of a turkey.

No, really. I am.

–

Yes, we’re homeschooling now. And, please, spare me your jokes about who’s teaching whom (been there, done that).

Thus, I found it necessary to declare the following on Thanksgiving Eve, as I reached for the specialty beers that I purchased for the occasion (Thanksgiving, not homeschooling): I am no longer your teacher. I am simply a man in the house.

Her mother wasn’t impressed. Been there, too.

–

Speaking of homeschooling, I think we’re getting places – fast. Last week, for example, as we were chasing each other through the Bread & Puppet Museum in Glover, VT, Bel stopped to begin this dialogue:

Student Bel: You know, let’s pretend we live in Australia.

Teacher Moike: Cool.

Student Bel: Yeah?

Teacher Moike: Sure.

Student Bel: Excellent, it’s summer break in Australia right now. Class dismissed.

–

Which reminds me, if you haven’t been to the Bread & Puppet Museum of late: Go. Now. Mind blowing, for sure. Or, if you must, look here for a poor internet re-creation of a real-life revolution: B&P Museum Pics.

–

Wait. Science break: Turkey and beer do not lead to a nimble mind.

–

Two Thoughts From An Overly-Mediated Mind

First Thought (after reading about the couple who crashed the White House dinner): If we all crashed the White House, would we have a better chance of getting the “change” we were promised? Second thought: Or could we at least get a free meal?

–

Major Fucking Dilemma: It must be hard to be a member of the mainstream media today. I mean, they’ve got to be pulling their hair out about which story to cover: The Tiger Woods crash or shopping?

–

Last night, while still deep in my food coma, I turned on the local news. And I’m pretty sure this is what I saw/heard: People are poor. But people are shopping.

God Bless America, indeed.

–

And so I thought: “Moike (because that’s what I call myself), why don’t you turn on some public television to get some smarter news.”

And so I did.

“Good move, Moike,” I thought to myself again.

Until, that is, I found Vermont’s public television station serving me a public affairs program featuring corporate lobbyists sitting on a kind of Romper Room-like version of a grown-up news show telling me that Vermont’s corporate lobbyists aren’t “big and bad” like Washington’s corporate lobbyists.

But then the nice-Vermont-corporate-lobbyists went on to talk about all kinds of issues, including the possible move to close the Vermont nuclear power plant. One of the nice lobbyists – with a not very nice kind of lizardly-like-tongue-thing going on – said something like this: Shutting down that nuclear plant would be terrible for those working there!

And I thought to myself: “Moike, I wonder who pays him to lobby?”

“Geez,” said the other Moike in my head (I know, I’ll get it checked), “I should Google that.”

And so we – err I – did. Results: Gerry Morris, of Morris & DeMag, is a contract lobbyists for – drum roll, please — Entergy Nuclear (owners of the Vermont nuclear power plant).

Wouldn’t you think such a thing would be disclosed? Nah. Not in Vermont. Because we’re “different.”

–

OMG. Forgive me Turkey Father, it’s been 132 minutes since my last bite of your delicious breast and here are my sins:

1) I had bad thoughts about America.
2) I had bad thoughts about Tiger Woods (is that redundant)?
3) I had bad thoughts about publicity-seeking people (yes, it’s redundant).
4) I had bad thoughts about Tiger Woods’ wife.
5) I failed to shop.
6) I had shopping-like thoughts about the new endorsements Tiger Woods could get based on his recent mishap.
7) I had more bad thoughts about America.
I passed out with one hand in the Doritos bag and one hand on a Coors Light.

But I’ll see you next week in church!

–

Worst Thanksgiving moment: Walking by the tray of pumpkin cupcakes intended for the children and taking a bite out of one.

No. Really.

–

Best Thanksgiving moment: Watching “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off” with our daughter.

Not as her “teacher,” but as the man in the house. Or wait. Actually, I was playing her big brother at that point.

It’s hard to keep track.

–

Make: Believe.

Or else.

I was just thinking about you.

And I thought, I can’t be him anymore.

–

I like it when they say that the boys racing their bikes up the Tourmalet are in a “spot of bother.”

–

Ready. Set. Don’t bother.

–

I read that democracy was dead.
Long live democracy.

–

Another man knocked at the door. Or should I say, Jack came knocking. Better yet, Jack came knocking with gifts. He said, “happy birthday, you old fool,” and we chatted like two pondering 46-year-olds do. Thanks, Jack. Next time, let’s rock.

–

I gave up politics for a month and I feel like I don’t need to shower as much.

–

For Thanksgiving I want to be a scary monster.

Oh wait, wrong holiday.

Nevermind.

–

Okay, fine, I’ll explain: Michel Houellebecq.

‘Nuf said.

–

A man at the supermarket walked out toward the parking lot with his five-year old daughter today. He slowly approached the crosswalk, looked at all the moving cars, stopped, and asked her: “What do we do here?”

“Shop!” she called out.

–

Fifteen years ago my wife, Stacy, and I hosted John Gatto at our Walden home. Gatto, in case you haven’t Googled him yet, is a homeschooling guru. At the time, we were childless and fighting the closing of Walden’s four one-room schoolhouses in favor of what we called the “factory school.”

We lost. Imagine that.

But this week we have returned to our homeschooling dreams. For the duration of the so-called school year I will be Isabel’s “teacher.”

I won. Imagine that.

–

Don’t worry, I’ll explain everything. Really.

–

The noise in the village was extreme. They said the road foreman struck a deal. We should all be so lucky.

–

The only thing worse than a mistake is a mistake with no meaning.

–

I’ve been thinking: You’re wrong.

But, as you’d say, I don’t mean to be judgmental.

–

No tyranny is so irksome as petty tyranny: the officious demands of policemen, government clerks, and electromechanical gadgets. –Edward Abbey

–

Cue the music:

–

“Whatever.” — Houellebecq

Tomorrow’s hunting day. I’ve got my orange and I’ve got my plan. I am, however, wondering why my wife has asked me to wear antlers. And why my daughter has asked me to wear a white hankie in my back pocket. Perhaps I’m just paranoid.

I’d like to invite Captain Beefheart into the Deer Camp to provide some pre-hunting merriment:

A man came to the door today. I was on the phone. He knocked. The dog barked. And I waited to see what would come next.

He walked back to his car where I could see him from my office window. I opened it and rather startled him with a “hello” from the second floor.

“Are you Michael?” he asked. “Michael Colby?”

I’m never really sure how to answer that. I think you know why.

“Depends on who you are” is my usual retort.

But I was on the phone. I could only nod in the affirmative.

“The same Michael Colby who came to my Cabot High School social studies class and brought all my students a copy of Ed Abbey’s “The Monkey Wrench Gang”?

This time I smiled and energitically nodded in the affirmative.

“I like to tell people that story,” he continued. “And the students loved it.”

“Can you give me five minutes and I’ll come down?” I asked.

“What kind of work are you doing now?” he asked in return.

I pointed to the horses standing in line along the fence.

After a few more pleasantries, Charlie Wanzer of Cabot High School was on his way, with a promise to come see me again soon so we could catch up.

But it reminded me: We need to keep trying to radicalize our youth. It’s our only hope.

That’s why I’m staying home. And listening to CAN:

Whatever.

It’s Veterans Day. So I went to find a local veteran. I thought to myself: “Moike,” because that’s what I call myself, “you need to go find a veteran because it’s Veterans Day.”

Another part of me thought: “Stop being such a douche.”

But the better part of me – apparently – went and found a veteran. Better yet, it was a veteran with a military kind of name. Something like – oh – Boots.

I couldn’t find anyone named Grenade.

So off I went to give a day of volunteer work to a veteran named Boots. Excuse me, but how fucking patriotic is that?

Nevermind that we spent the day undermining the industrial food supply (working on a greenhouse for winter greens and such), wishing for the collapse of capitalism, and contemplating ways to remain active in an inactive culture.

Lucky for me, Boots didn’t suffer any great ‘Nam flashbacks. Not a one. Well, other than a peculiar exuberance for his homemade kimchi. But he had a point: It was good.

I guess I keep forgetting that Boots’ ‘Nam-time was spent in Virginia – all three weeks of it. Imagine that: Boots was a pain in the ass to the military brass and they sent him home. Some things never change.

And what the hell did you do for veterans on Veterans Day? You communist bastards.