T-Day?

Thanksgiving.

I don't exactly remember the first time Thanksgiving was refered to as Turkey Day for me. All I know is that this year it offended me. Why is Thanksgiving Turkey Day? When did it become T-Day? What's wrong with Thanksgiving? Who was the first to decide that a day of giving thanks had to be euphamized and downplayed to the day we eat turkey. And when did it get abbreviated to just a T, so that the turkey itself isn't even important anymore.

Did we suddenly lose the need to give thanks? Is that somehow offensive to a certain group of people that we had to go with Turkey Day? Who was that person who decided there was nothing to be thankful for?

At the very least, be thankful for family. The ones that you spend your Thanksgivings with. The ones who raised you and paid for your college. The ones who anxiously wait for november to roll around so they can have an excuse to see you, since your oh so busy lives don't seem to include them anymore. The mothers who still go into the room you slept at in high school to dust it off, even though you haven't been home for six months. The fathers who grunt and shake your hand to welcome you back wednesday night, with that look in their eye like they want to say something emotional, but they can't, because it would be unmanly.

And if for some reason, you hate your family, still be thankful for the life that they gave you. And sure, you can disagree with me, but if you're reading this blog on my little corner of the internet, chances are your life isn't half as horrible as that twelve your old viet girl sewing nike labels onto sneakers. Be thankful you're not her.

So sure i'm bitter that people call it Turkey Day and I didn't get a damn piece of that bird this year. But i'm more bitter that I couldn't even spend Thanksgiving with my parents. My mom works holidays and who knows where my dad is these days. No turkey, no mom, no dad.

Somehow i'm still happy. So don't dumb down my day for giving thanks.

Master Chef of Some

One cup of mix.
3/4 cup of water.

Mix.

The hard part isn't getting the pancake batter ready. It's the cooking that really messes people up. There is an art to flipping pancakes that I think I finally mastered. The key is in the pan temperature. Sure, things like the amount of butter (not too much) and the spatula (a long flexible one) really help, but those are bonuses.

Too much heat, and the pancake sticks and overcooks while the top still is liquidy. Too little heat and well, I don't know. Too little heat and you get bored to death making a stack of pancakes.

Eggs are tricky too. Sure, any college boy can make some scrabbled eggs or an omellete, but those who can make eggs over-easy are the real pros. It's the same as pancakes really. It's all about having a medium fire and flipping at the right time.

I think i've truly mastered the breakfast foods. Now I just wish I could cook myself lunch and dinner.

Can't eat eggs, pancakes, omelletes and eggwiches all day.

MAKE IT STOP

It started with a clunk. I opened my eyes, wondering what made that sound. Doors clunk, but it was a different kind of clunk. There's also a bell on my clunking front door, so there's usually a jingle and jangle to the clunk. The other doors in the house squeek and click, but never clunk. I couldn't place it. So I closed my eyes again.

There came another clunk. From my position, I thought it came from downstairs. And then it clunked again, but this time I thought it came from upstairs. Upstairs is nothing, it's just roof space. Downstairs though is the neighbors. They clunk alot. They usually clunk this time in the morning. So I closed my eyes again.

The next was a BOOM. Nothing normally goes BOOM. Cars go BOOM, but there's tire squeeling involved, and it's usually accompanied by bangs and clatters. Guns go BOOM, but most guns go pop pop, unless it's a shotgun or a high powered rifle. If it was a gun, it wasn't fired twice. So I closed my eyes again.

Clomps and stomps and thuds made me open my eyes again. They were in rapid succession. They were followed by scrapes and scuffles. A few more BOOMS. A large number of small objects scampered across my ceiling. There was no confusion where the sounds were coming from now. Someone was having a civil war horseshoe toss party on the roof.

They have been doing construction on the roof for the past month, while at the same time, rebuilding my balcony. I shouldn't have been surprised to see it continued today. One look outside would have shown me the beautiful crisp autumn sky--cool breezes, warm sun, and not a cloud in the sky. Who wouldn't want to do construction during a day like today?

Today is the worst day so far in the last month of decent weathered days. The only day that can compare is the day the concrete on the balcony was jackhammered away. I thought we were under attack that day. It sounded like a machine gun and whenever they broke off a large piece of concrete, they threw it into a giant metal bin. Machine guns and grenades. Just close your eyes and pretend.

They're still scuffling up there. Though there are probably only two or three men up top, they make the sounds of tens of tens of men. With my little knowledge of reroofing an entire apartment complex, I can't even begin to imagine what they're doing. It sounds like scraping, but clomping, with the twangs of shovels scattering loose debris. Bits of objects, too light to be metal, clatter across. Feet stomp, wood creaks as it's pried and stepped on, and millions of tiny men do jumping jacks and cartwheels across my ceiling.

My only hope is to smother my face in a pillow and hope my whimpering cries for this to end drown out the civil war horseshoe toss party above me.