In which it is finished and so am I

Pictured: not my plate.

I’m fortunate in that I don’t actually have a crazy racist uncle to avoid sitting next to at Thanksgiving.  I have four uncles– or, at least, I have four blood uncles, not counting various men my aunts are married to, and of the four I have perhaps one and a half relationships with them.  None of them to my knowledge are racist.  “Crazy” is kind of ableist and well okay one of my uncles could very well be schizophrenic but I’m still not about to use that word to describe him.  

The point is, whatever issues I might have with Thanksgiving, I don’t particularly have any family members I need to avoid, because it’s pretty much the same eight to twelve people at every Thanksgiving dinner and none of them are going to cause trouble.  I snapped at my mother-in-law once during a family meal a couple of years ago but I don’t think it was Thanksgiving, and also she’s not alive any longer so it’s unlikely to repeat itself.  Nah, any trouble I have with this holiday is found squarely within 1) my intense dislike of false piety (You Will Be Thankful For Stuff On This Specific Day kinda gets on my nerves) and 2) my general desire to, like, never do stuff.  I love my family, y’all, but three people live in this house and any time that number goes up by much more than 100% I’m gonna get twitchy no matter how much I like them.  

At any rate, wherever you are, I hope you didn’t have to fight with anyone today, and I hope if you did, at least the food was worth it.  I’m gonna spend the rest of the night watching She-Ra on Netflix and playing Red Dead Redemption 2.

(Next year, I’m making macaroni and cheese, by the way.)

#WeekendCoffeeShare: Ravioli edition

wordswag_15073188796611453091488.pngIf we were having coffee (and I feel like I need to point out that, unlike last time, I actually am having coffee while writing this) I would spend most of the conversation being interrupted by the kitten, who has decided that my feet are the tastiest thing in the universe, regardless of whether I’m barefoot, in socks, or wearing my shoes.  This started off as cute and endearing and now I’m seriously trying to think of a way to bash together some shame cones to wear over my feet whenever I’m in a room that she can get into because the assaults are constant and she’s too small to kick.

I could probably get her halfway across the house if I tried, though.

(I’m not going to of course I’m not going to Jesus but Goddammit leave my feet alone.)

Anyway.

We had Thanksgiving yesterday.  There have been persistent rumors that my wife’s family is planning some sort of extravagant event in Michigan for Actual Thanksgiving, and my brother and his wife just bought a new house, so we decided to kill a couple of birds with one stone and we all went up to his place north of Chicago for Very Early Thanksgiving yesterday.  We are mostly German and Polish with a smattering of English and Welsh; he married into an Italian family and brought all of them over as well, so yesterday was Teach the Polacks How to Make Ravioli Day, because why wouldn’t it be?  So we spent probably three or four hours making a couple hundred raviolis.  I didn’t actually make the pasta itself– my mom was handling that– but my brother and my dad and I were responsible for filling the raviolis and then covering them and, in general, finishing everything up.  It went pretty well:

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The darker ones are sausage and spinach, the rest are a five-cheese mix.

It went very well– I’ve actually never made fresh pasta before, and while I sort of wanted to be in the kitchen for the actual pasta-making part at least once, being the last person in the process means you get to pretend the whole thing was your doing, which is still kinda fun.  Dinner was delicious and I even managed to not pass out and die on the way home, which was also a plus.

We would probably start hinting around this election thing on Tuesday at some point and I would change the subject as fast as I possibly fucking could.  I have Tuesday off; part of me feels like this was a very good decision (there will be violence at polling places this week) and part of me is mourning the idea that I’m going to be home all day by myself to go crazy.  I’m going to spend the whole day playing Red Dead Redemption 2 just to keep from going insane.

The other thing on my mind: the Pegasus Author Expo coming up next Sunday in Lafayette:

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I am super excited about this event; I’m doing a panel on book production at 12:00 and a reading/Q&A for half an hour or so at 11:30.  I’m currently killing myself trying to figure out what to read (current theory: the prologue to Skylights and something funny from one of the Benevolence Archives books) and trying to mentally prepare for anything from a big crowd (a “big crowd,” in this context, means “any number of people that I cannot accurately count in less than a couple of seconds”) to my wife and my assistant (I have an assistant!) and no one else.  This is the first time this group has done something like this and nobody really knows what to expect in terms of attendance so I’m deciding to look at it mostly as a networking event with a chance to practice some public-speaking skills.  If I make some money and sell some books along the way, awesome.  If not?  That’s a whole lot of Indiana authors to touch base with.  Which is absolutely a good thing regardless.

You should come.  You should bring everyone you have ever met.

Okay, coffee’s cold so I’ve yapped enough.  How’re you?

Have I mentioned we got a kitten?

Her name might be Fizzgig and not Sushi.  I think it’s still Sushi, but stand by.

Post with words still coming later tonight.  🙂

Meet Sushi

Sushi Princesswhiskers Hazel, if you’re listening to my son. Nothing has happened to the Great Old One, but a friend of my wife needed to get her a home and Bek saw it on Facebook and now we’re a two-cat household again, pending any issues with integrating her with the existing cat or anyone’s allergies being aggravated or anything like that.

Expect a surge in cat pictures around here, assuming she ever sits still long enough to photograph again.

See ya tomorrow

You were probably expecting me to filibuster out a post long enough to get me over that 850,000 word mark today– which, incidentally, is 70K words longer than the King James Bible.

Nope.  It’s my son’s birthday.  He’s 7.  Hanging out with family tonight.  Behave, y’all.