There! Can we quit crying over my angry quote-hating now? Because I just quoted from Office Space. And I just quoted the most over-quoted lines from Office Space, right after "m-m-my stapler," and maybe the thing about getting to show her your "O"-face. Now you can all point and laugh and shout "hypocrite!" at me if it makes you feel better to do that.
Thanksgiving worked out all right. I took a picture of the wreckage afterwards--the kitchen before clean-up--but then I realized it looks like every other kitchen after the almighty Day of American Gluttony. Which, about that: If you were upset by my quote-hating you will probably also be upset to know that my attitude towards people who have to mention, every year, that Thanksgiving is kind of a big lie is a simple but derisive one. It goes something like, "Hey, I wrote that composition! In eighth grade."
See, I know the Pilgrims weren't such great friends to America's indigenous people. EVERY AMERICAN who did not drop out of school in the fourth grade knows that the Pilgrims weren't such great friends to America's indigenous people. Likewise does every American with that education know that "weren't such great friends" is a massive understatement of the situation, and also do we know that there's something horribly unfair about the way we push ourselves away from the table groaning while people all over the world are starving.
And it isn't that I don't care, so much as it is that the man and I are going to be living off that 10-pound turkey for weeks, and in this house that is officially A Good Thing, maybe even something to be, get this, thankful for. Just because a holiday originates in bloodshed and racism is no reason to mire it there eternally. I believe it can be reclaimed.
Anyway, I am very thankful that I was able to have a good meal, the result of which will be many more good meals to come (I don't pat myself on the back often, but I am damn good with recycling leftovers), and I am very thankful that I live in a country where this is not horribly difficult or impossible to do. I hope your circumstances were similar or even better. That's all.
And now, a trivial complaint: I keep getting calls from someone named "Martha Quinn," calling from "1984." It seems an employee at Supercuts gave me her mullet the other day, and she wants it back.
And I'd give it to her, except every time she calls I find myself telling her all about how she was the VJ I hated the most after J.J. Jackson, and she cusses at me and hangs up before I can get an address to send it to.
So listen, does anyone want Martha Quinn's 1984 mullet? Email me. We'll work something out. It can be my early Christmas present to you.
(By the way, did you know Christmas steals a lot of its shtick from earlier pagan rituals? And pays homage to a very patriarchal God besides? Now ask me if I give a fuck. Just because I'm not watching Elf repeatedly does not mean I don't love me some Christmas.)