Happy Thanksgiving!

Well as usual, when I have the time to sleep, I can't sleep. It makes me nuts. I ate something before I turned in, since rice noodles burn off like flash powder, but still woke up at 3am. I got up for a bit, and eventually made it back to sleep, but woke up at 6:4 fucking 5 on the dot this morning.

I got up and made a cup of coffee, and messed around online for a bit. I smoked a cigarette. I talked to Robert for a bit online, and then did a 15 minute routine for him on the phone. I just love to make him laugh. Apparently he's now my biggest fan. It's flattering, but I don't know if I can consistently deliver on that kind of high expectation.

Eventually, I finished getting ready and went over to Mom and Dad's. I was pretty much as close to looking like a Nice Young Man as I ever get these days. I had on my new magic pants, a tasteful heathery-purple oxford cloth shirt, and my oxblood penny loafers. I had shaved, and had on earrings so small they were practically a white flag of surrender. Dad HATES my earrings, but when I turned 30, I just basically started ignoring it. Usually you can directly relate my earring size to the attitude I'm sporting for a special occasion. I have medium-sized ones that I wear for every day, but when I want to be larger than life, I have two extra-attitudinal sizes to choose from. Since they aren't just jewelery to me, but my tiny "fuck you" to traditional mores and gender roles, I just can't bring myself to go without them. I feel naked. And not in the good way. So wearing tiny tiny earrings today was my compromise. I don't know how much longer I'm going to be able to get away with wearing them though. I mean, I'm 41 now. I saw this guy at Penny's last night, who was old. Prolly in his late 60's. Wearing earrings and a jacket and tie. It just looked weird. When I used to go to the gym, there was an old guy that came in wearing bikini underwear with gray tummy hair snarfing out over it. Although I could wear it beautifully at the time, I said a silent prayer to the fashion gods that I would know when it was time to stop wearing them (my tastes changed before it got to that point). I now offer a similar plea to the jewelery gods. May I have the self awareness to know when it is Time To Stop. Although since I have decided to either a) adopt a unisex mumu look or; b) grow a luxurious silver mane and dress in a Quentin Crisp or Kentucky Colonal manner in retirement, I may be able to wear earrings in old age. But I won't be walking around looking like a Baptist deacon who just might be wearing lace tap pants under his slacks. That's too kinky even for me. I'm not ready to let go of my earrings yet. They're kind of like Sampson's hair to me.

After some conversation at the house, a call to Grandma Shumate, and watching some of the Macy's parade, we headed for Richard's in Greer. The food was good, but frankly, did not live up to the raves. The green beans had no seasoning at all in them. The sweet potato souffle had no butter in it, and thus no salt and fat to balance the sweetness, and was fairly a one-note flavor palate. The mashed potatoes had no salt in them, and were kind of pasty, rather than fluffy. They had biscuits instead of yeast rolls, which I wouldn't have done, but the biscuits were very good, and homemade. (I'm Republican about Thanksgiving bread - it's pretty much Parker House rolls or nothing, at least when I'm serving.) The dressing was phenomenal, but full of sausage. The texture was good, the sage was just right, and it had a gloriously perfect crust that only reckless disregard for fat grams can bestow. The gravy was good too, but it was dark, not pure poultry gravy. (I bend the rules a bit when eating Thanksgiving out. I know the dressing has broth in it {although usually not pork}, and I eat some gravy. I hope I haven't disappointed you Robert.) There was a corn souffle that Eve is very impressed with, and which was good, but I know how to make it and it's fairly simple. He had put peppers in it, which is good, but I thought he got it too spicy, and it didn't harmonize well with the other dishes he was serving. I liked it, but I fear it may have been a bit of a rude surprise to some of the older people expecting more traditional dishes. The cranberry relish was very good too. They had an uninspired tossed salad (I think it was bagged - fine for a casual meal, but I expect a bit more from a restaurant - especially for Thanksgiving Dinner), but the dressings were homemade, and the blue cheese I had was excellent. The pumpkin pie filling was fairly pedestrian, but the crust was perfect, crisp and flaky. So it was a good meal, but I could have done it better.

They guy that runs the place is a truck-driver during the week, and just does brunch and lunch on the weekends. Its a family business that they run out of the downstairs of a lovely old house. Its about the size of the kind of place I'd like to have. 15-20 tables, and make what I feel like that is fresh and in season. Greenville is ripe for a vegetarian restaurant. If I don't do it, someone is going to beat me to it.

Dad, however, was not on his best behavior today. He kept trying to get into politics. His views largely come from Rush Limbaugh, and the weird gun people who come into the store - not exactly a balanced viewpoint. He's also upset about the election, although his business is booming. Since the gun people and the Chicken Little conservatives tend to overlap, there is a run on guns nationwide (I actually read about this on the Newsweek website not long ago). The alarmists apparently really believe that Obama can either a) take all their guns away; or b) signal some kind of racial overthrow of the country. Never mind that when Bill Clinton was elected Dad thought his business was going to be outlawed then too. He's convinced the country will dissolve into bankruptcy under the weight of entitlement programs. Never mind that the the Republicans have run up the largest national debt in the country's history through tax cuts for the rich and war-mongering. In the meantime, sales at the store are through the roof. He also brought up Paul and Cindy and tried to put me on the spot about that. Eventually we got him off those subjects, but there were some tense moments in there.

When we got back to the house, Dad found that his new house key didn't work, so we rode over to a friend's house to pick up an extra key. The remainder of the visit was fairly amicable. Dad talked about a guy who collects guns he knows, and I talked about glass. It's interesting, but men who have a grande passionelle for collecting something seem to be able to understand each other, regardless of the disparity of their interests. The monkey on your back is remarkably similar.

By the time I got home, the heavy meal, the warmth of the day, the lack of sleep, and the relief that things had gone relatively well conspired to pretty much put a big ole nap at the house with my name on it. I lay down, cleared the cats off me, and slept for two and a half hours.