Thursday the 26th of November was yesterday.

Thanksgiving don't mean shit to me. That's one of the casualties of the gypsy life, family time. I love my family, and my extended family. They're the salt of the Earth that lot. Being in a place that is so alien only reinforces that longing to be with and around my family, and may even push my memories of them into the heady realm of fantasy.

So what.

Fantasy exists to protect us from reality. Some people abuse it like a drug, but it is so appealing to so many, that there is no other way to explain why the entire genre of fantasy writing and film is shabby, and embarrassingly bad. People want what they can get.

Fortunately I am not much of a turkey man. What I miss is pumpkin pie, brown gravy on my mash, and good ass wine. sigh.

I don't miss American football, Macy's parades, and the soulless day of shopping that comes after.