Happy Belated Turkey Day
As Brett Favre once said, "I don't like Thanksgiving. No Presents."
As a kid, I never really liked Thanksgiving very much. There's nothing but parades on TV, and you sit around a house that smells really good for hours and hours and hours, eat for half an hour, and then it's over.
Once I moved away, I developed more of a fondness for Thanksgiving. For the last nine years, I've spent a single Thanksgiving with my family. The first year, I was completely miserable. I spent it with my neighbor's family, and I discovered that the only thing worse than spending Thanksgiving alone is spending it with complete strangers.
Since then, I've had some pretty interesting Turkey Days. One year, my roommate, friends, and I had a feast at Dominos Pizza. My friend Kathy was the manager, and we cooked a huge taco pizza, and brought in pies and stuffing to eat with it. Afterwards, we went bowling, then out for bloody marys.
I spent at least one Thanksgiving with Rich's family, and one year, I cooked a Thanksgiving dinner for all my co-workers. To amuse myself, I've also changed my outgoing message to an abbreviated version of Adam Sandler's Thanksgiving Song (lyrics above).
The last time I spent Turkey Day at my parents' house was in 1998. The NCA convention was in New York City the weekend before Thanksgiving, and since Truman was paying my way to the conference, I caught a three-legged flight and headed to Detroit.
My last few Thanksgivings have been pretty sad. I've worked the last several, and though my old station would (usually) cater us a Thanksgiving dinner, the station where we work now has a catered lunch early in the week, and those of us who don't get the day off are on our own on Thanksgiving day. Two years ago, I went to Shoney's with a couple of coworkers. Last year, I got a carry-out cheeseburger from Denny's.
So actually making dinner this year was a big treat. Sure, it's a lot of work, but it was so nice to have the day off, cook a turkey and watch football. Tomorrow, it's back to work. Blech.
I did not, however, drink this in celebration of the feast.
As Brett Favre once said, "I don't like Thanksgiving. No Presents."
As a kid, I never really liked Thanksgiving very much. There's nothing but parades on TV, and you sit around a house that smells really good for hours and hours and hours, eat for half an hour, and then it's over.
Once I moved away, I developed more of a fondness for Thanksgiving. For the last nine years, I've spent a single Thanksgiving with my family. The first year, I was completely miserable. I spent it with my neighbor's family, and I discovered that the only thing worse than spending Thanksgiving alone is spending it with complete strangers.
Since then, I've had some pretty interesting Turkey Days. One year, my roommate, friends, and I had a feast at Dominos Pizza. My friend Kathy was the manager, and we cooked a huge taco pizza, and brought in pies and stuffing to eat with it. Afterwards, we went bowling, then out for bloody marys.
I spent at least one Thanksgiving with Rich's family, and one year, I cooked a Thanksgiving dinner for all my co-workers. To amuse myself, I've also changed my outgoing message to an abbreviated version of Adam Sandler's Thanksgiving Song (lyrics above).
The last time I spent Turkey Day at my parents' house was in 1998. The NCA convention was in New York City the weekend before Thanksgiving, and since Truman was paying my way to the conference, I caught a three-legged flight and headed to Detroit.
My last few Thanksgivings have been pretty sad. I've worked the last several, and though my old station would (usually) cater us a Thanksgiving dinner, the station where we work now has a catered lunch early in the week, and those of us who don't get the day off are on our own on Thanksgiving day. Two years ago, I went to Shoney's with a couple of coworkers. Last year, I got a carry-out cheeseburger from Denny's.
So actually making dinner this year was a big treat. Sure, it's a lot of work, but it was so nice to have the day off, cook a turkey and watch football. Tomorrow, it's back to work. Blech.
I did not, however, drink this in celebration of the feast.
Labels: the daily grind
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