WE ARE NOTHING IF NOT CIVILIZED.

So, there it was… the great American holiday season looming large on the event horizon like a rampaging moose on steroids.  Half the good parking spaces in front of every grocery store have been commandeered for christmas tree concentration camps and isle end caps are filled with useless seasonal dreck.

Shoppers still allow you to cut ahead of them at the checkout because you have just a lime and a bag of Fritos while they have two carts loaded down with pre-packaged holiday cheer but, of course, these self same people would cut your granny’s throat with a rusty straight razor if you attempted to take up space in their lane on the drive home…

In spite of the fact that we are strangers in town, had nobody headed our way for Turkey Day and really didn’t have enough disposable income to head for Mexico, we thought, “What the hell… we can always eat leftovers.”  That decision having been made, off we went in search of a bird of reasonable dimensions. This proved to be a daunting task since apparently the fast food industry is not the sole proponent of super-sizing and even Trader Joe’s, that bastion of singles and childless couples, had nothing weighing in at less than a moderately scaled side-by-side refrigerator.  Not having an oven big enough to parallel park a VW beetle, it took much snooping, poking around and cursing to finally find an eleven pound weakling that I was sure I could successfully wrestle to the table.  After shopping my favorite vegetable stand and another grocery store, we had amassed a pile of calories suitable for the occasion.

Up early on the official day to bake fresh rolls while Tama whipped out her annual scratch-made pumpkin pie.  Then prepping the turkey by cramming it into a baking pan and sloshing it inside and out with good Kentucky bourbon (ah, the joys of owning a giant basting syringe…), massaging its breasts and thighs gently with butter before covering them with spices and thick sliced pepper bacon.  11 o’clock rolled around and it was time for Tom to do his Hansel & Gretel impersonation in the hot box.   Plenty of time now for making the sausage-apple stuffing with dates, currants, cranberries and walnuts and boiling up yam to make mashed yams baked with brown sugar and fresh ginger root (and starting to cook down the mole sauce for Saturday’s leftovers variation).  Baste the turkey with the pan bourbon. Baste the cook’s stomach with the leftover bourbon. Repeat as needed. Finally we boiled the taters, steamed the veggie medley and sliced up a small avocado, tomato & cilantro salad.  Picking up the pace now… mash the taters, pull the bird, make the pan gravy, plate the cranberry sauce, slice the turkey and throw it all at the table.

It being so very sunny and warm we elected to dine out on the deck.  It proved to be so bright and warm that we were forced to put up our patio umbrella to keep from sweltering as we enjoyed the fruits (and vegetables…) of our labors.

We wanted to eat rather early so we could watch the game… but then I realized a couple of things.  1.) I hate sports, and, 2.) We don’t have TV reception. Damn it anyway.

I guess we could have forced our presence on our next door neighbors, Bob & Pam, who own two - count ‘em, two – humongous, ‘leventy trillion inch plasma-screen TV’s.  However, I hadn’t seem Bob since last week when he whipped off his shirt in the driveway and asked me my opinion of the rash in his armpit and I didn’t know what his plans were vis-a-vis after dinner entertainment.

Therefore I elected instead to engage in the manly pastime of making Christmas ornaments.

Geez, I am such a fag.