Thanksgiving is here again! A time to get together with estranged loved ones to celebrate the beginning of the white man’s strangle-hold on this diversely fruitful land. Money is a little tight these days, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be resourceful enough to get together a gluttonous meal and enough booze to get drunk before the first punch is thrown. Here are instructions on how you can whip up a sumptuous feast for only $13.65! “Impossible!” you say. “A turkey alone will cost more than that!” True. But that’s when you’re talking about turkey, the meaty bird.

NOVEMBER FUN FACT:
On November 17, 1981, then-President Ronald Reagan declared that Milwaukee Brewers pitcher Rollie Fingers' mustache was officially "sweet".

Our fair and eternal cow town of Columbus is now in its second year of having its own professional hockey team. Thanks, Canada. Hockey is all we need, so you can take back Barenaked Ladies and all of those shitty comedians. Now, I love hockey, but I’m not a Sporto. You know the type: they start every conversation with, “Did ya see the game?”, then rattle off stats like it was some impressive feat like doing calculus or farting the I Dream of Jeanie theme song. Hockey is here in Ohio, but do we deserve it in it’s purest form?

I didn't go home for Thanksgiving this year due to what happened in September. My roommate Sid and I decided to join Little Brothers: Friends of the Elderly and deliver Thanksgiving meals to those who weren't fortunate enough to have a Thanksgiving dinner with family. We picked up the meals and the addresses of two gentlemen from the Temple De Emanuel in San Francisco. The first was a man by the name of Marvin. His profile described him as 78-year-old male smoker. We got to the apartment and were buzzed in. We rode the elevator up to the fifth floor.

It's Last Call on Planet Earth, which means Closing Time is right around the corner. For some it will come quite unexpectedly, while others have been eyeing the clock on the wall all along. God-- the Father, Son, and Holy Bartender-- flicks on the lights, and hundreds of shadowy little souls vanish in the fluttering apocalyptic glare. He rings the large bell (bearing a Secret Inscription and the Meaning of Life), which hangs behind the bar, and the booming tone rings out across the cosmos, pushing a mighty wind before it. Stars are extinguished in its wake.

Off the porch and past the morning glories, through the mists of odd memories and a menagerie of emotions. Off the swing and its rusted chains and rotten wood. Now crashing through twilight and desperation and the regret just over the thorn-covered fence where I left it. The gate is unlocked and guarded by a legion of fireflies glowing with the frustration of non-communication. To say the willow was weeping would be cliché, but not untrue.

With Christmas just around the corner, it’s time once again for loose-jawed ninnies like myself to remind you of what is important. Kindness to others and love are swell. But let me tell you, you would be a naked, bear loving fool squatting with a handful of kind maple leaves if it were not for our nation’s greatest unsung heroes. That’s right, I’m talking about truck drivers. They’re like a million bean-fueled Santas jockeying through the night, 365 days a year. Every item you own, from the lumber in your home to your car, came to you courtesy of a Mack-maneuvering man. What’s this?

The flower shop was busy, but it wasn't a problem; Jesse wouldn't be off work for another hour. Ian stood in the food court, looking in. Behind the counter he could see Rebecca, smiling cheerfully and helping customers. She was wearing her hair down today, letting it cascade over her shoulders. More than once, he thought, he saw those beautiful gray eyes turn to him, if only for an instant. He approached the door, stopping at the window.

I tend to offer myself only to those who will not have me. Safety. Take in only those who give with limits. Comfort. In the quiet darkness of a morning I do not want to face, only because I am not sure I remember your name, I offer coffee. You are quick with the smile. It is a pleasant thing that in the morning light you are not heinous. There is a comfort in the familiarity of this routine; the aloofness following the intimacy. The hurried departure after the remembered place that must be arrived at or the thing that must be done. This is my comfort zone.