Let's Talk Turkey

Hello World, Happy Thanksgivukkah! It isn't often that ol' Tom Turkey gets the chance to spin a dreidel with the family, so this is certainly an extra special occasion in more ways than one. They tell me there won't be another such alignment of these two events for another 79,000 years or so, give or take, so it really behooves all of us to take advantage of it while we can. Then it seems like the Thanksgiving left-overs are barely cold when the Black Friday extravaganza kicks into high gear, and every year, bargain-obsessed shoppers leave the comforts of hearth and home to camp out in front of big box stores, and get into fistfights with other customers over the latest gadgets and playthings. If that legendary observer of everyday life, Norman Rockwell, were alive today, I shudder to think what he would be painting as the typical family holiday in November, but I daresay it would bear no resemblance to his original heart-warming masterpiece of days gone by, alas. The mind reels. In other local news, alert readers may recall our first-ever excursion to Mohegan Sun at the beginning of October, where we enjoyed some good food, world-class entertainment, and a trip to the spa for some much needed pampering. What with one thing and another around here, it turns out that was the last time I was at a nail salon, and hadn't been back since, which is a good long time ago, and it certainly showed, I can tell you that. Over the last many weeks, my poor neglected nails had gotten so cracked, split, torn and jagged that an intoxicated vagabond hobo would be too embarrassed to claim them as his own, much less a respectable member of society within shouting distance of any number of salons, and could take their pick. In fact, they were so bad that when we finally went to the salon on Sunday, the horrified manicurist actually gasped at the sight of them, and if she could have held my hands away from herself with a pair of tongs, that's exactly what she would have done, I shouldn't wonder. Needless to say, I came out of there looking worlds better than when I walked in, and from now on, the hoboes will have to fend for themselves. I'm going to miss those campfires down by the freight yard, I have to admit. Even more alert readers may recall our incomparable auto mechanic par excellence, an old schoolmate of Bill's with the magic touch, and his son who has followed in his father's footsteps at the family business, carrying on a tradition of quality and integrity that has been a beacon of sanity and stability in a whirlwind of change. For years, I was amply bemused at the idea of this fresh-faced youngster working on my fabled Gremlin, which I was driving before he was even born, and which the dinosaurs will tell you, would be like sending Bill Gates in to fix your ancient Colossus encryption machinery from the World War II era. But the young lad was nothing if not game, and not one to shy away from a challenge, no matter how antiquated or arcane, often performing miracles far beyond the abilities of mere mortals. In his spare time, he plays with a heavy metal band known as Demon Boy, and for us devoted patrons of his mechanical skills, seeing this music video on YouTube was something of a thunderclap, showing us a side of him that was heretofore not only unknown to us, but completely unimagined. [Please feel free to go right ahead and watch it at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EP8At2Mbv-I and see for yourself.] Of course, we're more than happy to support the flower of American youth in their pursuit of self-expression, and wish him well in either one or both career paths, howsoever he may choose - but I would be less than candid if I didn't point out that the whole situation has made my new Chevy Aveo understandably jittery, and with good reason, I might add. Meanwhile, in the wonderful world of snack foods, untold legions of long-suffering fans were elated at the welcome return of Drakes coffee cakes and devil dogs, plus their beloved Wonder bread to store shelves at long last, following in the footsteps of Twinkies earlier in the year. Hostess was the big name in the labor dispute that snatched our favorite treats out of our very grasp, and the focus seemed to be all about Twinkies at the time, but the fact is that Drakes was part and parcel of the collateral fall-out, and took all of their branded specialties right along with them when the parent company kicked the proverbial bucket, bought the farm, bit the dust, met its maker, cashed in its chips and breathed its last, so to speak. It seemed like forever that we had to make do with inferior products from Little Debbie and Tasty Kake in the meantime, but anyone can tell you that forever is certainly not as long as it used to be, and now they have finally rejoined the ranks of the living, cheering the hearts (and tummies!) of a clamoring public. It's true that they are back again, although I won't say, "and better than ever," because that never seems to be the outcome in cases like this - but it's still better than nothing, so the dinosaurs and I feel that it would be petty and captious to quibble at this point. After all, it is Hanukkah, when the spirit of miracles ought to be embraced unequivocally, and let's face it, nobody wants to look a gift turkey in the mouth. Elle