8 Thousand Calories, 8 Million Stories

"I almost burned my homemade cranberry sauce because I was so anxious the strangers my parents had invited from Craigslist to our Thanksgiving dinner would turn out to be mass murderers." - My cousin Royal, "Craigslist and Cranberry Sauce" (8 Million Stories, New York Press)

"Thanksgiving is a time when you show that you are thankful by eating and eating and eating and eating, but because you are so thankful that the food makes you grow two inches taller." - My brother Gabe, 11/26/09

Every year, the hilarity provided by my family and our random guests of Thanksgiving honor floods my system and mixes with my sweet potatoes.

I don't know what I'd do if I wasn't a writer. I'd probably end up puking wine, pumpkin pie, and Yiddish jokes.

The holiday began in earnest Tuesday night, with my personal tradition #1: Getting Drunk the Day Before the Day Before Thanksgiving. On Wednesday, I practiced #2: Buying a Bum a Full Course Meal and #3: Taking The Metro North Upstate and Sitting Next to the Most Obnoxious Person On the Train. (The girl who showered me in sour cream and onion chip crumbs definitely got the memo about this one.)

Thanksgiving proper began with a Dirty Joke Battle between Bernie, my "eighty-fuckin'-five" year old first cousin twice removed, and my uncle Peter.

Bernie, who is deserving of a post unto himself (and will convince every person of every race that they are somehow descended from Jews), is a bonifide celebrity, in the sense that he knows everyone on Earth. Or at least in Chelsea. The man responsible for getting me drunk on the night when I met Probably Homo, Bernie never fails to regale us with stories about the crazies in our family that I never got to meet. (A particular favorite this year was how his mother invited the prostitute in their apartment building over for tea, and set her up to be married.)

 Needless to say, the two of us went straight for the hard liquor. (Tradition overpowers sobriety plans.)

Our guest of honor this year was Ian, Gabe's friend from school, and his ever-so-patient parents. With two autistic teenagers at the table, my attention was split between an explanation of how to use DVD player parts to make a laser pointer that burns through things (Ian) and an argument for the fact that mainstream hip hop in 2008 was heavily influenced by "Electric Relaxation" era hip hop (Gabe), with a backdrop of two sets of parents yelling "That's enough (sugar, potatoes, talk about masturbation)" to their children across the table.

After we all stuffed ourselves silly (and I endured torment from all corners for being a vegetarian on Turkey Day), Gabe sat us all down in the living room to perform his latest rap, with Ian providing a laser-pointer lightshow in the background, and Uncle Peter making a "beat" that really just sounded like fart noises.

"Cruising down the Taconic in my 2004 Kia"
"Pfffft pfffft pfffft pffffffffffft"
"Eating pizza at the good ol' pizzeria..."

Doesn't get much better than that, folks. Now, please tell me, what made your Thanksgiving this year?