So Mrs. Evil Captor and I have been watching the Thanksgiving Day parades all morning, as we usually do on Thanksgiving while the bird cooketh. And they’ve got the usual marching bands and Broadway dance troupes and whatnot – stuff we would never ordinarily consider worth having on, even for the background noise. Yet once a year, on Thanksgiving, it seems right. In fact, I’d miss it if the parades were dispensed with and we were left with nothing but the usual welter of talk shows, soap operas and football.
I can only assume that I have learned to associate the rewarding parts of Thanksgiving – time off from work, hanging out with friends and family and the previously mentioned bird – with the mediocre-to-bad entertainment that has shown up on my TV at Thanksgiving since childhood. (And which does not otherwise disgrace our screens.)
Of course we watch the parades through our own filters. For example, Ronald MacDonald appeared in a car, waving to the crowd, and I opined that I did not believe Ronald McDonald was gay because everyone knows advertising icons are sexless. Then behind him came the Ronald MacDonald balloon, floating just barely above the heads of his handlers, apparently on his hands and knees.
“Oh, no!” cried Mrs. Evil Captor. “He IS gay! He’s assumed the position!”
Ah, the holidays.