Gratty-tood

I hate Thanksgiving, or any prescriptive time where we're supposed to be doing something because it happens to be a certain day of the week or month. I would never barbecue on the Fourth of July or Memorial Day, for instance, because that's when you're "supposed" to barbecue and it's like: what the fuck are we all, mind-controlled or something? What if I want to have crab cakes on July 4th? And what if I want to make them in a fucking pan?

I guess I'm a communist.

I don't like Thanksgiving because it forces the idea of command-style gratitude on us and, while it's great to be reminded that there are things in life to be thankful for, I don't especially think we need to have it marked on our calendars for us. So, with that in mind, I'm going to tell you today, on some random day in August, what I'm thankful for and, if you feel so moved, you can feel free to reciprocate.

No pressure. And no fucking cranberry sauce either.

I am thankful for:

* ties, of the neck and bow variety.

* Monty Python

* my travel mug

* folk music

* hiking

* Richard D'Oyly Carte, for bringing together Gilbert & Sullivan

* my parents

* air conditioning

* books about, not necessarily by, Mark Twain

* you

* that my eyesight is bad enough to warrant glasses, but not poor enough that I'm supremely dangerous to myself or others without them

* boxer shorts that don't do the army crawl thing up my asshole

* my banjo

* the ability to communicate through the written word

* those who've stuck around

* my job, imperfect as it is

* my beautiful wife

* the ability to not be embarrassed when I repeat myself

* my beautiful wife