Thanksgiving, Sorta

Today, for the first time in my life, I spent Thanksgiving alone, which sounds sadder and more pathetic that it really was.
Ira flew back to Sweden Wednesday, and I don't have the time or money to fly to my folks in Nebraska, so I decided to go it alone this year. No turkey, no big gathering, no celebrating. Just a frozen pizza and a frozen pumpkin pie. I probably could've gotten myself invited to somebody else's gathering, but didn't want to publicize my situation and make someone feel obligated to invite me out of pity. Plus, I sorta liked the idea of laying low since I have so much to do this time of year.

Consequently, I spent the day grading exams, reading, sorta watching the boring NFL games on the tube, and eventually watching The Usual Suspects, which I was interested in seeing again since Zizek refers to Keyser Soze's familial sacrifice as an example of an 'act.' One thing I didn't do that I've done in recent years was to listen to William S. Burroughs's "A Thanksgiving Prayer." No, not this year.

After the recent election -- with Bush and co. prepared to shift even more of the tax burden onto the poor, working and middle classes, with the deficit growing and more spending cuts being imposed on social services, and with the war in Iraq being so grossly mishandled -- I'm not ready to hear Uncle Bill recite stanzas like the following:

Thanks for the American dream,
To vulgarize and to falsify until
the bare lies shine through.

Not now. Not by my lonesome.

I spoke with my parents, who were eager to head up to Gilbert Vaughn's place for dinner, and with Ira, albeit briefly. She'd just arrived home and was dead tired, having been sick for much of her flight from Chicago to London. Poor thing. I hope she's feeling better tomorrow.