Thanksgiving! A Time For Giving! (Also, Thanks)
I was admonished by my friend Genghis Jon because I didn't have a Thanksgiving entry to my blog. My apologies, Jon... some of us are too busy LIVING life to write about it.
Okay, that's not true at all. I have spent the last four hours trying to eke out a good fare to go home for Christmas. This is the sort of complex, multi-legged, carefully balanced vacation that comes from being a modern day child of divorce. One must take into account where you spent last Christmas, how long you spent there, when you saw each parent last, and on what grounds. If one leg of the holiday is shorter than the next, you have to prepare for the guilt you're going to receive. Either in person, or in the form of passive-aggressive holiday gifts. I'm talking socks, toothpaste, deoderant... pretty much anything purchased at your local pharmacy counts.
The truth be told, I love visiting my family. It's days like Thanksgiving which make me miss them the most - the comfort you can have in your own home, even when you're walking on eggshells, is amazing. Plus, being fed home-cooked meals it a good change. Sorry, Trader Joe, you got nothing on home-made lasagna or artichokes.
So this Thanksgiving, as I sit down to a small meal with a couple of food friends, I'll raise a glass to family. If I'm not too busy pounding the keyboard in frustrationg, trying to get my airplane ticket price down just a few more bucks...
--opus
posted by opus at
9:26 PM
I can travel through time. But I can only travel forwards, and only real-time. It's not a very good power, but it's all I've got.
posted by opus at
12:10 PM
Party Central, USA
Last night was supposed to be a nice get-together dinner with some old writing friends of mine. But one dropped out, and plans got rearranged and suddenly it was an all-night-super-party-time. Tom decided to join us for dinner, and then insisted we all go out afterwards.
I'm not exactly the nightclub type, myself. I knew that I was out of my element when I pulled my battered Ford Focus Hatchback into the parking lot full of BMWs and Lexii. When the valet guy asked me if I wanted the twenty dollars "deluxe" parking or the ten dollar "regular" parking I felt like asking if there was a cheaper option.
Tom knew the doorman, so we were just waved in past the line outside. Once inside, we were in a crush of hip kids, each bustling against one another in a constant attempt to get somewhere else. I am pretty sure I was the only guy in there, wearing a tie. Lots of people kept coming up to Tom, asking him for autographs and stuff.
Eventually some girls struck up a conversation with a few young ladies. One, named Persia, introduced herself by grinding her crotch against mine. Then she instructed me to hit her hand and call her a "bad kitty". Her friend remarked casually that she liked this.
Persia danced with me a while more, pausing occaionally to look me in the eyes and call me a brat. I was struggling to keep up with this. All I know was that a few hours later, Persia was on stage, and her friend was giving me dollar bills to tuck into her pants.
It was an interesting evening, sure. But I was glad to get my dinky little car back from the valet guy and move on home. The beat of bad hip-hop still throbs in my veins, the strobe lights still blink in my eyes, and I'm thankful I have nobody calling me a brat anymore.
--opus
posted by opus at
8:52 PM
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