Gourcegiving Grouses Part 2: The Meal - Does it Ever Go Right?

Probably not. I have to admit that I have little to no personal experience with Thanksgiving dinner, since the Gonoughan clan is a sensible one, and we tend not to buy into ridiculous pageantry and foolish gluttony. As for my single self, well I’m just not a proponent of meals in any form. However, according to most of the people who’re fortunate enough to know me, Thanksgiving dinner is a very special occasion for a lot of families. This confuses me though, since it seems hard to believe that an annual disaster can hold such a special place in the hearts of the masses.
“An annual disaster? What are you talking about, Guiles?” Dear reader, I’m talking about Thanksgiving. Oh, I know, I’m sure your family’s celebration is always just as Norman Rockwell as can be, but the truth of the matter is this is not the case for the majority of the world. Don’t believe me? Try watching a sitcom for once in your life. Never (and I mean rarely) do these Thanksgiving dinners go off without one to twelve hitches, usually within the space of 22 minutes. Sometimes it’s just a small snag, like the dog dies because the mom fed the dog turkey giblets (all dogs are allergic to giblets). Other times the problems faced on Thanksgiving are greater, like when a boy has to talk to one of his insane aunts, and she is just so terrible to look at. He has to be polite though, because alcoholism isn’t something you’re allowed to get angry with someone over. Which is bullshit. These are the sorts of things that can only happen when everyone from a family is foolish enough to congregate under one roof.
And why turkey? This is a bird that nature has done its best to convince us not eat. It’s flightless, making it not fun to catch and slaughter, it’s brown (nature’s most boring color), and it’s hideous. What more do you people need? Maybe a stone tablet signed by God himself reading, “seriously, stop eating turkeys” would do it. But no, the unwashed opt instead to jam stuffing into the cavity the bird’s innards once occupied. That is seriously gross America.
Finally, I take issue with the giving thanks aspect of Thanksgiving. Thanking someone is admitting appreciation, and if someone knows you appreciate them then they’re bound to stop trying so hard to earn your approval. Is Thanksgiving just one gigantic scheme to get everyone in America to take each other for granted? Probably. The subversive nature of this damnable holiday makes me sick, the kind of sick that has to go sit in front of a TV for four to six hours instead of trying desperately to warn the world at a large about the danger sitting around interacting with their families poses. You’re on your own come next year.

People with Problems - Why do They Always Want to Talk About Them?

Anybody alive in this era of bit-rates and LCD’s is sure to be under a lot of stress, certainly more than their ancestors who were terrified (but not stressed out by) teletype machines back in 1925. I can appreciate that various changes in the social and political climate since then have given people a lot more leeway in terms of what is “okay” to talk about, but there’s one area of free speech that’s really been getting on my nerves lately: problems.
People it is time for you to stop talking about your problems, and more specifically, talking to me about your problems. It’s not that I don’t understand, or that I’m a compassionless shell of an Adonis of a man. It’s just that having to listen to the lamentations on daily life with which people I know constantly bombard me makes me want to tear their mandible from their skull, leaving their face distorted, hideous, and unable to articulate their vocalizations into such words as “this is the problem I’m having,” or “here’s what’s bothering me.”
“Why such a problem with problems, Guiles?” you ask, your word choice a conscious decision made in an effort to alleviate the gravity of the situation (no dice, nosebleed). Here’s why: often times when people have a complaint they wish to discuss they often want to complain about me. Now, I am highly aware of the importance of complaining, as is self-evident, but when someone has an issue with me two things happen. First: I get confused, because what on earth could someone possibly find to complain about with respect to me? Second: I get angry, because if this person has a problem with me they are obviously unfit intellectually to even engage me in conversation, meaning that whenever I hear their voice my time is being wasted.
Listening to people’s problems that don’t directly involve me is also tortuous, as I’m sure some of you know. These trouble-factories who are constantly whining seem unable to schedule their sob-story-sessions at convenient times. Usually it’s a phone call at an unreasonable time (any hour greater than 1 and less than 10, a.m.) that sets into motion these unpleasant exchanges. And, this being Gufts University, 93% of all people with problems are piss-ass drunk at the aforementioned hours. My avalanche of resentment towards the intoxicated is an entirely different grouse, one that would require more pages than I’ve got years to my name, so I will not go into it now.
The point is this: if you’re having trouble with your love life, your social life, your sense of political efficacy, your family, a medical condition, finances, or whatever, remember that hearing about it only makes me root against you that much harder.