A Thanksgiving Rant

I have been attempting so far to blog every day, but being home when there are so many fun things to do and awesome people to see (including meeting my four month old niece Sadie for the first time, yay!), it's kind of hard to even check my facebook once a day, much less keep up with a stringent blogging schedule. When I get back to L.A. I will try to maintain with my original goal. Anyway, on to the ranting.

I love Thanksgiving. It is my favorite holiday. I love it more than Halloween (which I actually hate because it requires too much effort, I am terrified of haunted houses, and I can never think of good costumes). I love it more than Easter (when you're too old for egg hunts and usually don't even bother going home, and are vehemently non-religious, it's kind of pointless other than eating festive candy like Cadbury eggs...mmm... what was I talking about?). I even love it more than Christmas (too stressful, expensive, and on some level always disappointing after it's over no matter how awesome it was).

I love the parade. It's cheesy, ridiculous, and often boring, but I love it. We usually put up our Christmas decorations while watching it, as my mom starts cooking and the whole house smells fantastic. I love the fall foliage in Foresthill that I so rarely see in Southern California. I love going to eat literally hundreds of pies at my grandma's or aunt's house that evening. It's a holiday soley devoted to food and family, two of my all-time favorite things. Plus it's an excuse for me to see most of my old friends who come home to stuff their faces as well. Not to mention leftovers. Thanksgiving to me is magical.

Don't blame this delicious turkey for our

jackass ancestors. He already died so that you might feast.

So why am I ranting? Because there's always that one person at dinner who brings up the Native Americans. What we did to them was real shitty. There is no denying that. But lots of great civilizations have sordid histories. It's terrible, but true. Our ancestors did it to their ancestors. No one alive today has been directly affected by those atrocities. I am not trying to justify or belittle their pain and suffering. All I am saying is, do we really have to bring it up EVERY SINGLE YEAR? It's like the one guy who always mentions 'tryptophan.' You're not revealing some startling new fact. We all know this. Can we just sit around the table, say what we are grateful for, eat our fucking delicious turkey, and not have our already formidable white guilt turn the meal that Mom worked so hard for sour in our bulging bellies?

With Facebook, this awful tradition has become global and therefore has increased exponentially. By updating your status with something about Native Americans, it doesn't make you seem intelligent and sensitive. It makes you a Debbie Downer. So please enjoy the day off from work, appreciate that you are not a culture that was shamelessly oppressed by another, and have another piece of pumpkin pie. And for that matter, anyone else who makes the oh-so-witty and original observation that Americans are gluttonous and mindless consumers should also be slapped.

Happy Thanksgiving everybody!

Unemployment the Sequel

Today marks day one of my auspicious return to unemployment. After working the last twelve days straight, it's nice to finally have a break. Six hours of relaxing in my pjs, watching Buffy, and eating chocolate in bed. Sounds like heaven, but already I'm bored and feeling discouraged. I've been dutifully checking job listings, updating my resume, and making a list of anyone I've ever known who might know of a job somewhere in the entertainment field (excluding the porn industry, though if it comes to it I think I could whip out a pretty solid adult script that doesn't sacrifice story or production value).

Before Edward, Bill, and Eric, there was Angel...

However I don't know if I have it in me to do this again. Unemployment just sucks the soul out of you. It takes all the joy out of lounging around, doing nothing. Usually this is my favorite thing to do (or not do rather). But the best thing about doing nothing is that you're doing it in place of something you're supposed to be doing instead. If you have nothing better to do, then it gets old fast. Hopefully this break from the work force will allow me to be more creative. I got to work on a lot of scripts last time around, so maybe it will be a good thing. Though I'm not so good with time management if I have no structure in my life.

One of my favorite things, a good Irish pub.

O'Brien's in Santa Monica is a damn good one.

If I have to be unemployed, I'm glad my last job ended with a bang. Between the awesome Irish pub night, stacks of free candy, amazing co-workers, and general satisfaction of doing a job I enjoy, this was a fantastic experience. Our big blowout wrap party was last night. Though it may have seemed like a typical schmooze and booze (I call trademark), a lot more was going on than just drinking absurdly pink cocktails and eating fancy schmancy hors-d'oeuvres. There was a palpable aura of relief in the air after a hectic two weeks of long days, several disgruntled and often unintelligent guests, sprinting towards the finish line. It was bittersweet, finally getting to bond with many people I never got to talk to even though we worked side by side for weeks. Good times were had, good contacts were made, musical sitcoms about a great pumpkin-sized tape ball we named Janice were conceived.

Meet Janice, forged from the tape that kept all the

cables and electrical wires in place so klutzes like me won't trip.

It was a fantastic night on the rooftop of Santa Monica place. But I'm sad to think I may not see some of those people again. It was kind of like the end of camp. Maybe we'll all be back next year, but many of us are looking for something just as awesome, but a little more permanent. So that takes us back to today. And massive amounts of Buffy while I wait for a phone call or e-mail from Lionsgate or NBC that will probably never come. Sigh. But at least we'll always have Santa Monica...

The lovely ladies of the Registration Department.

I'm the one whose face matches her shirt. Victim of Caucasian Glow.