What I Learned on Thanksgiving
Our dog, Cassidy, will wear a festive, holiday-themed bandanna without protest if one is tucked into her collar. Will she like it? Not really. Will she look cute? You better believe it. Is the bandanna reversible? Yes – Thanksgiving on one side, Christmas on the other. Do we have three other reversible bandannas for upcoming holidays? Oh, hell yes.
"menwholooklikekennyrogers.com" is an answer in the 20th Anniversary Edition of Trivial Pursuit. Unscientific research has determined that, if you are unsure about an answer in this game, your best odds are to guess "Belarus", "Kurt Cobain", "John Updike", or "Sweden".
My father is wrong about meat thermometers. He is on record claiming that they are "overrated", and that you "might as well just cut into it" if you want to see if your turkey is done. The day after Thanksgiving, at a different gathering, a meat thermometer calculated our turkey's cooking temperature in both Celsius and Farenheit, and also projected when the bird would be done with pinpoint accuracy. In fairness to my dad, that meat thermometer appears to be from the future, but if anything, it is underrated. And if we keep underestimating it, that meat thermometer will kill us all. Just not with salmonella.
Denver Broncos quarterback Jake "The Snake" Plummer is not particularly snake-like. People sometimes claim, "Oh, he's elusive, like a snake," or, "He often gets ill-advised passes intercepted, like a snake," but really, no one ever thought Jake Plummer was treacherous or venomous. The only reason he got that nickname is that "Jake" is one of the few male names that rhymes with the name of a dangerous animal. Currently, Plummer does have the best mustache in professional sports, narrowly edging out Jeff Kent and Bill Cowher. However, snakes cannot grow facial hair. That is a fact of science.
The dog would really like some turkey, if there's extra. Or turkey bones. Or turkey skin. Or even turkey fat. The dog isn't picky. Did you just eat some turkey? Or just throw a turkey bone in the trash? The dog would love to lick your fingers. OK, fine, but if you change your mind, the dog will be out in the garage.
It is a sad sign of one's maturity and old-growing when the most exciting part of Thanksgiving dinner is roasted brussel sprouts.
If you were willing to show up at Best Buy by 5 AM on Friday morning, they would have sold you a brand-new laptop for $300, and thrown in a free, white, Christian baby for your trouble.
My parents insist on referring to stuffing as "dressing". Even though I should have become accustomed to this practice by now, hearing them argue about how much dressing to make, given the weight of the turkey, still briefly evokes a disgusting mental picture of a turkey cavity filled with Hidden Valley Ranch.
Not that I didn't enjoy this year's turkey, but I feel almost compelled to up the ante next year, by preparing a turducken (a duck stuffed inside a chicken stuffed inside a turkey) or by deep-frying a turkey next year. If we do end up making a turducken, I think we ened to follow John Madden's example. The choicest cuts of meat go to the family member who showed the most toughness during the holiday, through drinking or tenacious Scattergories play. Every portion is distributed along with a brief speech about what they contributed to the successful Thanksgiving, and, if our budget allows, a Telestrator explanation of the contribution. Also, Dad will talk incessantly about the turkey's cankles, and yell "Boom!" ever time he makes a slice.