Oh, Holidays

Three 

cheers 

for

righteous 

imperialism!

I'm by no means a "holiday person." My favorite days are those in which holidays don't occur. That said, Thanksgiving might possibly be my least favorite drudgery to lug through. While that has plenty to do with the tarnished history, embarrassing behavior of early Americans, and the historical inaccuracies, my distaste also has to do with finding the idea rather glib; why do we need a designated day to recognize to whom and for what we're grateful for, and why do we need to conflate gratitude with overindulgence and insatiability? Is there a reason you're practically bathing your chow with globs of gravy? No matter how you arrange it, your food is not a dried canyon; it doesn't need its crevices filled with rivers of slop. Don't you find two slices of pie celebratory enough? Perhaps that last mound of turkey actually was a touch too much? I'd sooner hope to see a holiday where we give our arteries, our cholesterols, our hearts, and our waistlines a much needed respite, treat them all sweet and kind for a day like the deserving honey-babies they are before sending them back to the gastrointestinal hell we've consigned them to. Happy is the man when thanksgiving has gorged itself and left the table.