Thanksgiving

Every year I celebrate Thanksgiving at my Aunt Donna's house in Queens. Thanksgiving, for those of you that don't know, is an American holiday that commemorates the first two-hand touch football game ever played between white people and Native Americans. Here are some photographs of things I ate. There's not many - my fingers were too greasy to hold the camera:

I didn't like mashed potatoes until about 5 years ago. It's a texture thing. It actually still is. But I figured out that I'm able to enjoy eating them if I just pretend I'm mad old and it's the only thing I can chew.

These are the peas that my mom makes. They're sauteed for a long time with diced onions and it makes for a good situation in the mouth. That's the designated pea spoon that my mom found when she was scuba diving inside a sunken pirate ship.

Allow me to expand for a moment on my feelings towards turkey. Like many of you, I take issue with its inconsistent state of dryness and/or juiciness, its generally bland and unremarkable natural flavor and the fact that the white meat is pretty much useless compared to the dark. But these are circumstantial issues. My true beef is with the turkey as an animal. I hate turkeys. Probably as much as I hate possums and turtles (yes, that's right). One time I was driving home from Cooperstown, NY and a turkey the size of a golden retriever sprinted out of the trees and into the middle of the road and I hit it going about 100 mph in my Nissan Pathfinder. When I tell you this turkey exploded into 6 million pieces I am not exaggerating. I looked in my rearview mirror and the air over the road was completely filled with slowly falling, almost stagnant feathers - like in a cartoon. It was one of the best moments of my life.