"Who'd like some Uncle Bluto's Perverted Rice?" (What's long, white, brown or tie-dyed and crawls up your leg at the dinner table?)
Of course, the whole shiteree is basically about selling fancy decorations, I make my own, with my hand and colored pencils. Turkeys, everyone in Palmdale is having a GREAT TIME! and maybe getting dressed up like "Pilgrims and Indians." "Hot Dang! We been waitin' hundreds of years f'er this!"
Sure, YOU wear the funny hat and I'll let YOU pass ME/US a Smallpox infected blanket while YOUR Boys and Girls Clubs are raiding the cornfield and burning OUR houses down. More land for YOU. More food for YOU. What are WE griping about? WE got Smallpox and bigger issues to deal with here... "Civilization, HO!" "Hey, could YOU guys move over a little bit?" "O.K., bring in the stuff."
(Temporarily, Partially, Firesign Theatre)
My Family didn't come to the United States until the 1800's. 1820's on one side and 1898 on the other. We're "off the hook" (In so many ways that I'm not even going to get started...) for that set of capers. We're Ashkenazim Bavarians, Protestant and Catholic Germans, A smattering of Highland Scottish and Tuppence English (depending upon which part of the Family I'm talking about). I'll post a group photo of my Mom's Family sometime. They're the Ashkenazim Bavarians and Protestant, nee Catholic, (Everybody: "Used to be: Catholic, at one time.") Germans.
There's an Ontario Fur Trapper and his Sioux Bride hiding in the woodpile way back in the lineage. So the story went/goes. The part of me that gets stupid and falls down the well with no Lassie to save me when I get drunk. At any rate...What the fuck is this group of people doing celebrating: "Thanksgiving?" Don't ask me. I ain't got a clue. I will have a fairly simple meal and be "Thankful" for all the things I "have" (It's "temporary," trust me.) and lament the part of me that is The Noble Savage, which probably means the Scottish part. The Canadian Sioux part was/is far more civilized and worthy of praise and admiration. Human Beings. Dene'. The People. "What do you mean, 'WE,' Kimosabe?"
Now, if I had my 40 year old body back, I'd be out in the forest or at the beach, camping out and having a flame spitted fish dinner, some fire-roasted or baked potatoes, (fried in a pan is fine, too) a tomato, some type of baked gourd and washing it down with delicious "camp coffee" and a half a bottle of Maker's Mark. Or Wild Turkey. It wouldn't matter. I'm not all that picky about Bourbon. WW2 Surplus Vat 69 would work just as well, too. The coffee has to be the good stuff though. Fish, same. Trout or Salmon, Rock Fish or Tuna, doesn't matter. The fish gets the Chef-Slam-Dances-With-Steelhead treatment: Skewered onto a stick with cross-braces, whittled with one of my favored knives (I got a bunch of 'em) and splayed out, flesh toward fire like a "Fish Angel." (Think: "Anthony Hopkins' 'Deputy Sculpture' from Silence Of The Lambs." That ought to ruin your appetite.) It's a handy trick to know. Learn it. There's got to be a Wiki on the technique out there. I'm going to let you find it.
Alas, tomorrow's meal will be: A nice, thick, pork loin chop, a dab of A-1 Sauce (or gravy) on the side, "twice baked" potato(s) topped with sharp Cheddar cheese, (a bit of the Leek stuff? See below.) and maybe some garlic croutons, Yukon Gold's, of course. A serving of fruit juice (or wine, or both) marinated and sautee'd Leeks with bacon, some sweetened Pumpkin with cream, brown sugar, Molasses, Nutmeg and Cinnamon, baked with no crust. A couple glasses of MOTR Cabernet to wash it all down with. Yea, I know: "Red wine doesn't go with pork." Bite me. I do what I want and I don't care for white wine. Top it all off with 5mg's of Valium (Yea, I know: Valium doesn't go with red wine) a couple hours later and watch ANYTHING but a Holiday Movie. "Benzo Goes To Sleep For 12 Hours?" Sounds great! Who's in it? That "Doc Anchovy" Guy? Far out. The only thing missing from this picture is a Macanudo cigar for dessert. I'll tough it out with a pipeful of something good.
MacBaren's Navy Flake or something. NO, not that Hippie Cabbage. I don't "smoke weed" anymore. I inhaled the shit out of it, as a Nipper, but, them days are long gone. Just don't like it since it began to make me drool and only want to watch cartoons with Jimi Hendrix in the headphones. The "stuff out there" (and I live in the smack-dab-in-the-middle of Marijuana Nirvana) is just too fucking strong. I don't remember hallucinating on buds when I was younger. Lady Finger Hash laced with Opium from Cambodia/Laos, maybe. Well, there was that One Time when I: "Visualized musical notes." Somewhere near Gilroy, Ca., I think. (Coulda' been the: "Garlic Aroma That Would Level Tacoma," too) Gentlemen and Ladies, start your Tribal Fusion Drum Circle. And: "Pass The Antibiotics." Not.
So. Here's wishing you all a fine: "Thanksgiving." Don't do anything stupid, like: drive drunk, insult a Native American and get your ass Royally kicked, fart/belch/puke at the table, become Uncle Bluto or fuck up the Sacred Turkey. My "Ex-Mother-In-Law" has never forgiven me for falling asleep while on Turkey Guard Duty and letting the bird get dry. Hey, it was Pittsburgh and it was freezing cold outside and I was tired. The house was nice and warm, the smell of burning flesh was in the air and I was "right where I needed to be," watching the John Wayne (or, was it Randolph Scott?) movie on the inside of my eyelids. Our Lady Of Perpetual Snoring was on my side. Pretty weird for a guy with Bavarian Ashkenazim and Canadian Sioux in the woodpile. Heinz Foods, eat y'er heart out. We'll make gravy outta' ye'r liver... Or, mine. I ain't usin' it.
http://youtu.be/EPSPlysSemo http://youtu.be/ZYk-5IgTKr0
And, for the longer winded of you, this wonderfully humble offering, as Leo always serves up. This, with Mike Gordon (from that awful band, "Phish") Ew. That band smells funny for days after you listen to them. I like him just fine on this recording. The Phish Phans are the ones high on weed, breaking bottles and yelling at The Guys. Or, maybe it's just a Loud Bartender Revolt In Progress. Whatever... "Stop it! You're messing up the recording!" Leo "schools 'em." Kind of. The Phish Assholes are still yelling and: "Yippy-ing, Whoo-Hoo-ing." Fucking Hippies.
The last time I saw Leo Kottke, I had a Strong Trouperette III in my hands. Just Google: "Strong Trouperette III" if that's Albanian to you. Aw, heck, I'll do it for ya'. I'm such a nice Techie.
The time before that, I was in the audience, (A show I actually paid to see) in Lahaina, Maui, Hi.. Well, Ka'anapali anyways. Me and my Buddy, "Peckerwood." (His "Real Nickname." I gave it to him.) A Leo Kottke song title, coincidentally. See, I told you: "Wonderment" would sneak in here at some point. It ain't much but: It's nearly that magical day when everybody serendipitously becomes: "Thankful-For-Whatever..." "Etch-A-Sketch?" "Flexible Flyers?" "Beeman's Gum?" "Not Stepping In Dogshit?" You get the idea... Leo's banter is always a big bunch of fun, homespun and colloquial. It makes you feel (Or, fall down) like you're Part Of The Family:
I hope Indians never show up at your door, if you're a White Person and they're REALLY HUNGRY.
Wait a minute. Of course I do. Hell, I might be with them. I'll be: The Guy In Warpaint And A Yarmulka.
Then again, it might just be Mormons dressed up in Mil-Spec Combat Gear, wanting to make gravy...Relax.
Out. -Doc, "Is That A Fish In Your Pants Or...?" Anchovy
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