Hey X to the Z--Pimp Our House!

My daughter informed me that at school they learned a turkey does not say, “Gobble gobble.” It makes a dull semi-clucking noise. Well, that sure ruins the holiday for me.

The airports are jammed. We will not be at the airport, so perhaps I am callous in saying I don’t much care. In 1994, we flew to Disneyland for Thanksgiving. It was the year after my father died and we wanted to be somewhere that would distract us. Since then, we have been in search of “the place” for the holidays. Tomorrow, we will have dinner at the house of the family of one of my daughter’s classmates. It will be nice, but we will not be home in time to watch the “Seinfeld” special on TV. I think these people are the sorts that don’t watch much TV, but we have a DVR, so I can watch Jerry Jerry over and over again. Amazon has yet to ship my three-season set—so much for spending the holidays saying Yada Yada.

Operation Thanksgiving is waiting in the mist--my wife’s plan to organize, clean and decorate/make our home into the sort of place that would be inviting (rather than off-putting) to those who cross the threshold. I said we could call the plan, “Pimp My House.” Are the guys from West Coast Customs on the way? Ish could work wonders with his magic fingers.