Post-Thanksgiving continuing food coma report

Posting from my apartment in Brooklyn, to which we returned a few hours ago after driving down the fury road of I-95 this morning. I feel terrible for my future children, as whenever Becca and I have to drive through the great and glorious state of Connecticut, we swear like not just sailors, but weathered seafarers whose skin and vocal cords are crusted over with so many years of salt and slime.

Actually who am I kidding, if my kids can learn a colorful vocabulary and know how and when to use it, I’ll be a proud father. Not that this is happening anytime soon. I need y’all to send me half a million dollars for a house first.

Anyway, we drove up to Becca’s mom’s neck of the woods on Wednesday night, got to bed at around midnight, spent all of Thanksgiving stuffing our faces, and then got to bed early in order to head back to New York today. Between all the eating and sleeping and driving, I feel like I’ve been in a walking coma for the last thirty-six hours. The Thanksgiving military-industrial complex is no joke, folks. The whole point of it is to wear you down.

Think about this now: You spend a good deal of time traveling in close quarters to other folks who make you wanna eat glass. Then you eat enough food to support most countries. Between the amount of stress you build up during travel and the calories you inhale, you end up in a daze that lasts all weekend and in no way prepares you for the amount of work you have to accomplish on Monday morning.

Now of course, I speak for folks like me who work in corporate jobs and can afford to travel or eat like 15th-century French royalty. And I do want to give my best to all the people whose Thanksgivings were a little bummed out. Look, there’s no real way to celebrate Thanksgiving. The traditional middle-class Saturday Evening Post ideal of the holiday is kind of a hassle, and folks all around the world have come up with solid alternatives such as Friendsgiving, Sandwich Night, and so on. Mainly, the spirit of any holiday is just surviving to see another day no matter what. So if you had to work this Thanksgiving, or if your dinner was leftover turkey scraps, or if you didn’t have family or friends or a home this weekend, then I hope the sun comes out for you somehow, folks.

That’s some mindfulness mumbo-jumbo that means fuck all, I know, but in most places around the world, Thanksgiving is just another Thursday. You made it through Thursday. Let’s keep going.

Anyway, football kind of turned out how I thought it would. Lions lost their tenth game of the season to a last-minute Bears field goal. Raiders pulled of a surprise overtime win against the Cowboys on a Daniel Carlson field goal, and families all around America got a nice Thanksgiving show when the two teams got into a scuffle on the field. The Bills pummeled the Saints in order to retake the AFC East lead, but somehow I think they’re going to have a hard time protecting their reign from the Pats. Maybe the Titans will beat the Pats and help the Bills out this week, but next week the Bills will have to do the work against the Patriots themselves.

Big Sean played the halftime show for the Bears-Lions game and Luke Combs performed for the Raiders-Cowboys game. People in Becca’s mom’s household had negative things to say about both regarding the music. I was more focused on whoever was running the camera crew. Those angles were atrocious. Also I’m surprised that Big Sean can still get a gig and surely they didn’t put real alcohol in Luke Combs’ red Solo cup, because you cannot legally drink on network television.

I’ve got leftover turkey and mac & cheese in the fridge, but I feel like I need to go run a few miles on the treadmill in order to earn a second round of a food coma. If I don’t kickstart this body back into action it will succumb to entropy. Not that it won’t do that someday no matter what I do, but I’ll try like hell to delay the process however I please.

Related Posts

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.