Most people use thanksgiving to think about all they should be thankful for, but I’m here to say one thing: you’re welcome. You’re welcome for all the enlightenment and entertainment this paper has provided. You’re welcome for it making life more beautiful, and perhaps reconnecting you with your absent father. Yes, this paper has done many things, all of which I’ve ruined with this stupid opening. Oh well.
Every time thanksgiving comes along, I promise myself to look up the history of the holiday. But then I eat a little turkey, drink a little wine, and after awhile I don’t seem to care anymore. I think it has something to do with a cattle drive or wheat or the liberation of turkeys, I don’t know. The focus is the meal.
You got the turkey, gravy, cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes, and then all the other sides people pretend to be interested in to placate the cook. Sometimes the conversation with your family is light and pleasant, and other times it’s a nasty political argument, or an awkward exchange that begins with, “So Chason, what have you been up to?” Yikes! To get out of it, I always make a joke or pour wine on my pants. It’s never failed me.
After every thanksgiving dinner I always offer to do the dishes, but that’s only because it allows me to pick at the remaining food. The next day people say, “What happened to the turkey? Did someone let Chason do the dishes?” Hey, they’re done aren’t they? How about you be a little thankful and shut up about it? Jeez.
As a Canadian-American dual citizen, I have access to two thanksgivings. Jealous? Well, you shouldn’t be. Having two thanksgivings is like having two Christmases because your parents divorced. Canada tells you bad things about the U.S., the U.S. says bad things about Canada, and you’re just stuck in the middle, like Jesse Eisenberg in “The Squid and the Whale.” If there’s a difference between the two holidays, it’s that the turkeys in Canada are humbler and more polite than their American counterparts, though I’m only mentioning that because I like to promote stereotypes.
Of course, we must be thankful (I think). There’s a great deal to be thankful for just here on Capitol Hill. I’m thankful for the everything-but-tennis tennis courts at Cal Anderson Park that light up the night sky. I’m thankful for Hot Mama’s and Big Marios – two of the best pizza joints in the city, where I get a slice every time I have a bad stand up set (I get a lot of slices). I’m thankful for my editor. I’ve referred to him in my articles as a brutal out of touch capitalist, a power-hungry madman, and a donkey, but I want to assure you that it’s all been in good fun, because the truth is much, much worse. And I want to thank you, dear reader, for having a pair of eyes to read these words and a brain to process them. It really helps the whole thing.
So, what are you thankful for Capitol Hill? Yes…right…that’s a good one. Yes, he is very nice. Uh huh, oh can’t forget that. Ok. Anything else? Are you sure you’re not missing something? Nothing? Unbelievable!!! You couldn’t mention me or the paper? Slipped your mind? You know what? Forget it! I take back everything nice that I said! You have revealed yourself to me dear reader, you have revealed yourself.
Happy thanksgiving, I guess.