Truth be told, I’ve always been one of those bloggers who tends to skip over the obligatory Thanksgiving blog post. I always mean to write one, but I never quite get around to it. I suppose this is what you might call an attempt, despite being three days late.
It’s been what you might call a rough week where shit went down. Shit I don’t really want to talk about publicly yet despite writing a handful of blog entries not for public consumption which I may consider publishing publicly in a year from now. Maybe. Dust just needs to settle. I may be getting older and wiser.
So, how did I spend my Thanksgiving?
The original plan for Thanksgiving was to go with my friend Suzi and her parents out for dinner in the West Village and then to the Village Vanguard for a show. However, her parents were both fighting off colds so the day of, they decided that it was a better decision to just stay home and get well instead.
Faced with the choice between alone and feeling sorry for myself or going out and doing something potentially fun, I texted James and told him to put me on the list to go see Strawberry Fields at BB Kings.
And being a holiday, I figured I’d dress up in my retro regalia, too. I should have gotten a picture.
Strawberry Fields is a pretty solid little act. I’m not really sure how many times I’ve gone and seen them (they do brunch every Saturday at BB’s) but they always make me smile. There’s just one thing that tends to get to me… The fact that you get a crowd full of people in their 50s and 60s and not a damn one will get up and dance.
They just sit there.
This boggles my mind.
You get a bunch of 90-year-olds and play tunes by Glen Miller Band and those fuckers will get up and dance. They might just stand there barely swaying, but at least they’ll get up. But The Beatles generation? Apparently they’re too drugged to care.
There’s been many a brunch where I’ve sat there depressed as fuck watching the motionless crowd and didn’t do shit to change the situation because I didn’t want to be the asshole to get up and dance.
After downing a martini, I decided that I was going to be that asshole. I ordered a shot of liquid courage (aka tequila) and decided enough was enough.
IT’S NEW YORK CITY ON THANKSGIVING. WE ARE FUCKING DANCING, MOTHERFUCKERS!
So, I did. And it was fun.
Granted, I got more big smiles and thank yous than actual dancers but it felt good.
Thanks for making my Thanksgiving, guys.