A week of not much

Did you think I died?  Sorry about that. I'm back. I kind of had a cold and then it was Thanksgiving and then I was reading a book and watching TV and you know how it goes.

Ooooh.  I have an idea.  Let's make those headings and then all the banal things I've been up to will suddenly be lent a sense of gravity.  Headings are great for that. As you can see, I am prepared for a career as a designer and/or editor.
 

I Kind of Had a Cold

See?  Important. 
So, I did. Kind of have a cold. The weekend before Thanksgiving, I was plagued with mysterious late afternoon headaches and nausea, which is to say, headaches and nausea that came out of the bright, clear nowhere with no preliminary keg stands or heat exhaustion or anything.  More like, "Hay, I'm doing the dishes and it's so sunny in the kitchen. Isn't it nice that the house is clean at last? Tra la la la. Oh. I think I have to throw up now."  Sunday's version of the same thing was, "It would probably be more fun to be at this movie if I didn't feel like my head was going to explode." followed by "I wonder if I am going to vomit here on the BART platform before or after I burst into tears?  Where is the damn traaiiiiiinnnnnn?"  So that was fun.

It never developed into anything, but for several days now, I've had what I am referring to as undertonguenitis.  There is a little forked thing under your tongue. Not that I've looked under your tongue. Ew. I just assume that everyone's tongue architecture is the same.  Currently, one half of my personal sublingual fork is swollen. The right side, if you're curious or want to apply astrology to your diagnosis or something. It's nothing I could recommend. It creates a kind of perpetual Princess and the Pea situation in your mouth, but it's not the worst thing that could happen.

New heading!

It Was Thanksgiving

This year, my wee family was adopted by Marja's wee family and, at last, I was given Thanksgiving as I imagine Thanksgiving to be, which is to say, peopled and traditional and festive.  Were there more than three of us?  Yes. Did we gather round a table? Yes. Was there turkey?  Indeed.  Did we play games?  We did! 

My gratitude for all this was so significant that there was barely room for all the other gratitude with which I was meant to be brimming. Belatedly though, let it be known that I am fully aware that I am leading a blessed life and I am duly and truly thankful. Don't let all the complaining fool you.

Unexpected elements of the Thanksgiving holiday:

  • Pink Floyd. Marja's dad sneaked it onto the turntable. He couldn't help it. He is a big, big fan.  I'm not. Don't worry. I realize that I'm supposed to be.
  • My father's unwavering commitment to "unicorn" even thought the answer was "rhinoceros"
  • Marja's choosing "redneck" as more illustrative of "revolutionary" than "Thomas Edison".  I may still be feeling a little bitter.
  • Salted caramel sauce on the pumpkin pie and vanilla ice cream. This, it turns out is a very good idea.

I Was Reading a Book

Sometimes, I manage to find a moment in my very busy television-viewing schedule to read a book. In the last week or so, that book was The Goldfinch. This does not make me unusual; you're going to be seeing a lot of people lugging it around with them (or secretly reading it electronically). I think you should be one of those people. It is [here I had a whole list of adjectives and I decided that they were silly].  It is a wonderful book. I galloped to the end and now I miss it.

I Was Watching TV

What?  You didn't watch any television over the Thanksgiving weekend?  Liar, liar, pants on fire. During I Kind of Had a Cold, I watched all the Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries that were available to me. I am grateful that people keep making more period detective shows. I assume they do it just to please me.  There is no lady detective I've yet seen whose wardrobe rivals that of Miss Fisher.  She is a sartorial marvel.  Also, there are murders, but that strikes me as decidedly secondary.

Then, just in time, my friend Bill brought me two seasons of Deadwood. We were supposed to go to dinner, but since I Kind of Had a Cold, I canceled. He brought me two seasons of Deadwood anyway.  I think that's how you can tell who your real friends are.  I would say that Deadwood is an acquired taste, but once you've got it, you risk becoming a sleepless just-one-more-episode enthusiast. It's pretty brilliant. After all, why would Bill be such an evangelist if it were not?  Exactly. He wouldn't.

Alert: It is difficult to keep a civil tongue in your head (even without undertonguenitis) after watching, say, 50 hours of Deadwood.  Here's the main take away:  during the gold rush, it seems there was a great deal of profanity. It is worryingly contagious. Consider yourself forewarned.

And now you know everything.