Holidaze

Thanksgiving Novel (in a mere five words).

And so there I sat.

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Overheard at Thanksgiving:

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

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

No, really. I am.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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

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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?

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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?

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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.

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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.”

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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!

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

No. Really.

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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.

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Make: Believe.

Or else.