waiting for blakey

you should see this movie

Thanksgiving celebrations have been gut-busting; I woke so bloated this morning. It's been well worth it, however. Thursday night I celebrated with Mom, Dad, Ams, and her boyfriend Josh. Thanksgiving afternoon I took a heaping plate of leftovers to Amos', and we played MW3, watched "The Office: Season 3", and stuffed ourselves. More stuffing happened later that night up in New Carlisle. Blake and I went to The Anchor this morning, but I stuck with coffee (and some free wheat toast). I was decidedly against eating anything substantial today, but Dusmesh has been nagging at my little heart for some time now. I may just have to break down and go get some. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving dinner with Mom's side of the family: we're just ordering a shit ton of pizza and drinking lots and lots of beer.

I have a substantial number of posts in the mental queue, but have yet to write them.

In time, in time...

My Christmas list is wholly comprised of things I need for my car: three new tires, new windshield wiper blades, new brake and left turn signal lights, an oil change. Winter's coming, who knows what it'll be like, and the last thing I need is a repeat of the Jeep incident back in 2006 that left me stranded without a car for nearly nine months. That takes priority over a PS3 with the new Call of Duty, and it takes precedence even over the build-up of my own "colonial history" library (that excites no one except me).

On our drive home last night, we were passing the Great Miami and I turned to Ams and told her "a little something about the war" (to put it in her words). Ohio's rather rich with history, more-so than I ever thought, and I told her about the French raid at Pickawillany in the 1700s, one of the catalysts for the French & Indian War, near modern-day Piqua, where a bunch of English fur traders and some Ohio Indians were butchered. The chieftain was torn limb-from-limb and cannibalized piecemeal. And this happened so close to our house!

On the subject of history, when Blake and I were at The Anchor this morning, we talked a bit about the "original" Thanksgiving. You know, the whole Plymouth Rock thing. The white settlers were quite fragile, having been ravaged by a variety of diseases that wiped out the majority of the colonists, and they were out hunting for food, firing their guns, and the nearby Indians heard them. Thinking they were preparing to attack them, as settlers tended to do, 90 of the Indians and their head chieftain gathered their war toys and prepared to counter-attack. Upon discovering that the settlers were simply hunting, they decided to form a sort of friendly alliance, and they had a big meal with all sorts of meats (deer, turkey, fish) to seal the deal. The Indians weren't too fearful of the colonists, but being engaged in constant war with their Indian neighbors, the Indians knew a peace between them and the settlers opened up trade for guns to be used against their Indian enemies. The settlers weren't too keen on the savages at all, their friendliness a mere charade; and it wasn't long before the settlers confirmed the Indians' fears and went about systematically murdering them. But that was the cycle of early colonial life in America. Funny enough, in Jamestown, 1622, Indians showed up with what looked to be their own invitation for a similar celebratory festival, but instead they slaughtered everyone they could find. 

Blake and I are going to go into the basement together.

We're going to try and organize a few things.

Step by Step, we're getting ready to move outta here.