happy bird meat day

I do not have a particular purpose for posting, but I feel I would be remiss not to take advantage of this time when I am sitting on a couch with no particular immediate responsibilities, other than the responsibility not to abuse the hospitality of the Nelson-Penlands by vomiting a Thanksgiving medley on their upholstery. If nothing else, I suppose this day provides me a conveient template in which to structure my thoughts. In the spirit of the Pace Thanksgivings of my recent past I would like to go around the table, and each of us will say what we are thankful for prior to eating. I will be playing the roles of everyone. Bear in mind that the object is to see how far we can make it before someone makes the first exceedingly sarcastic comment. Usually this is about as far as Uncle Bob.

Today I am thankful for:

The spilling of beans all over the kitchen and into the cranberry sauce, thus creating the first annual beanberry loaf.

The imminent winter.

The movie Bad Santa and the continuous joy it brings me to hear Billy Bob Thorrnton say "fuckstick."

That we decided to so thoroughly document our high school experiences, allowing me to get nostalgic last night and scan through a goodly number of pictures of Joel. Joel looking dumb. Joel eating a sandwich. Joel laughing uproariously.

That my parents and sister will be here in a week, and that my sister wants to stay in my house, a house which contains among other things, Christopher McKay who will likely offer my sister pot, sex, or both. (And there it is. That must have been Bob.)

That I might not have to be at home for the predicted death of Sandy the dog, which will take place within the next 2 weeks to 1 month. I don't really want to see what happens to the dog, or my dad.

Please feel free to add your own heartfelt contributions. I will see you bastards soon. Keep it unreal.

Masculine E. Tea: The Bitch is Dead Now...

Yesterday I went to Casino Royale... This movie caused my head to fall off, and I thought I should tell you about it.
The movie was one that David, Peanut and I had initially attended as a means by which to bolster some vague sense of masculinity which we claim to possess at some level. Casino Royale was not in fact the sort of film that one would ever want to go see in the hopes of reinforcing modernist metanarratives of masculine power and accomplishment. Casino Royale was great and frustrating because it refused to cop to these notions, deciding to instead reenvision and comment on the typically modern agenda of Bond movies with a truly subjective, postmodern outlook. The Bond that we are left with at the end of this film, the Bond who is now realized as the modern man-weapon stereotype spy that the world knows as "Bond, James Bond",is a creature who finds himself in this mindset only after first coming to reject it and with full knowledge of its flaws. He casts off his sociopathic spy persona only to find himself betrayed in every instance and hurl himself back into the relative comfort, security and simplicity of his double-o life.

Creepy, right... and then we had to stop so David could buy himself some Lebron James's...