And that’s a wrap. No, I’m not talking about the writer and stagehand strikes, I’m talking about Thanksgiving. Gone as quickly as it came. Or at least as quickly as the land was taken away from the Indians by the white man. Gone. We throw a parade, eat some turkey, watch some football, and then it's over. On to playing the Christmas albums, decking the halls, and wearing our gaudiest sweatshirts with little bells and cats in Santa Claus hats. Ah, yes, 'tis the season.

This year was the first time in my entire life that I wasn't at home for Thanksgiving. Although I missed my friends and family and, of course, the traditional Fantasy of Trees, it was nice being able to just relax and enjoy the city. And by relax, I mean muster up the willpower to face the hoards of tourist at the annual Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. I'm not gonna lie, it's better on TV than it is live. Because unless you hit the streets at like 4:30 a.m., you won't get a good enough spot to be in on the action. And if you were able to be a part of the action, that meant you had already been standing for five hours only to watch a baker's dozen of balloons and pep bands slowly float by. Trust me, it's more exciting on television.

So by now you're probably thinking that I'm a scrooge. And to you I say, "Bah, humbug!" So the parade wasn't that exciting. Sue me. You know what was exciting? Seeing my Tennessee Vols come down to my neck of the buildings and play basketball at the Prudential Center. Yeah, I was there. We beat West Virginia but got smoked by Texas. Oh, well, what can ya do? I'll tell you what you can do: check out another blog I started at http://www.joshlay.tumblr.com/. Fear not, I'm still going to be updating this blog, but with my other one, I can quickly throw up random pictures and whatnot. I also posted some Thanksgiving pictures on there that you should check out. Seriously. I'll know if you have or not. And if you haven't, I'll tell Santa. Once Santa knows, you won't get anything for Xmas but a bag of coal. And no one wants a bag of coal. No one. Except maybe a talking grill. He would definitely want coal. And perhaps his own TV show. And if the writer's strike doesn't end, he might get his wish.