Traditions

As I contemplate the fourth night out of the last five when I'll be dining on turkey, it's interesting to consider the stranglehold that Thanksgiving tradition has on all Americans. Other holidays have their detractors, especially Christmas with its combination of inordinate commercialism and familial conflicts. But we mostly tolerate Thanksgiving, or even relish it, despite its relentless logistical awkwardness.

Despite its origins in religious observance, I've never really objected to the quasi-spiritual nature of the holiday; I always thought its ecumenical nature lifted it above other more sectarian and exclusionary observances like Christmas or Easter (or for that matter, Rosh Hashanah and Passover). It was something all Americans could celebrate, and without any required acknowledgement of the contributions of a particular deity. Maybe that's not what Lincoln intended when he codified the Thanksgiving event--or the Pilgrims when they first laid out the Thanksgiving spread (which is likely an apocryphal story). Sure, I've been to one or two dinners where "Grace" was uttered, and even more embarrassingly, when the participants were asked to specify what it is they felt thankful about. But that was just lip service.

Thanksgiving is about Excess, and that's why it is so unquestioningly celebrated throughout the land, the nation of the obese and the SUV. It's not enough to chew the tough tendons of the stupid overgrown fowl; one has to indulge like a goose being prepared for a slaughter. The traditional Thanksgiving meal is a dietician's horror movie. What body can adequately absorb all those starches--the biscuits and the yams and the potatoes and the stuffing and the pumpkin pie? There's no greater time for another country to attack us than while we are all lolling around, tryptophaned out, unbuckling our belts and staring glazed-eyed at the millionth televising of "The Wizard of Oz."

Of course there is something charmingly human about celebrating the excess bounty of such a feast, and it's a practice that goes back eons, I am sure, in some form or other, as a signal to other animals that we are better hunters and gatherers than they are. What is less charming is the other form of excess this holiday entails, which is the appalling volume of weekend travel. It boggles my mind how so often and so many people are willing to deal with the congestion and time consumption that Thanksgiving pilgrimages entail. I learned my lesson early, after a five-hour slog down to San Diego, to plan my entire year so I can to stay at home. Fortunately I have generous and ambitious neighbors who enjoy hosting the event; and if they don't come through, I'm not above inviting folks over to test my culinary skills (news flash: turkeys are easy! It's cleaning up that's hard).

We have other local holiday traditions that make the holiday even more burdensome. The "Holywood Christmas Parade," a lame West Coast version of Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade in New York, clogs up this area impossibly on Sunday. No cool balloons with Sponge Bob and Bart Simpson and other American folkloric figures. We only get convertibles carrying C-level TV celebrities and the Mayor. Meanwhile the traffic restrictions and the freeway ramp closingsforce those who live here to cloister themselves for the day. After three days of feasting and forced merriment, though, that's not an unattractive fate.

The downside of the holiday weekend, of course, is that it officially signals the beginning of the Christmas shopping season and the unending drone of Christmas carols in every commerical venue. I was getting haircut today and had to listen to some '50s crooner sing the lyrics "Woop-de-doo and Dickery Dock/Don't forget to hang your sock."

It's going to be a long December.