I survived okay, with little or no political-discussion bloodshed - something I credit to the subconcious feeling of relief, held by even the most partisan of my Republican relatives, that having the grownups back in charge (or nearly so - 47 days!) has given us all.

I also enjoyed a flashback to the days of yore, when I would occasionally imbibe a bit too much ale and feel a bit sluggish the next day.

Without meaning to (for hangover reasons), my little nuclear unit and I stopped at a nationwide hamburger chain for lunch, something that I've almost completely cut out of my life as I've grown older and my palate has grown more sophisticated (and as a side note, the beer that was making me feel sluggish was, as well, of better quality for much the same reasons).

Unable to focus much on any sort of concerted thinking about my menu choice, I ordered a pre-chosen combo menu item...

...and was rewarded with fries that were piping hot, crispy and expertly salted, a pair of cheeseburgers slathered with the vaguely sweet ketchup I remembered from my misspent youth and - glory of glorys! - a fountain cola served in an obscenely large flagon that I felt as if I could dive into and bob among the ice cubes.

It was then that I remembered that one reason I used to eat at the golden arches so frequently back in the day was the amazingly restorative, hangover-banishing, powers of their foodstuffs.

That was important to me back then, y'know.

It was a gorgeous day today, so the fambly (urchins & wife & I) trundled up in one of the minivans and took a drive off to see this juvenile T. Rex out by my (& the wife's) collegial stomping grounds in So. Central Wisconsin, which, of course, led to memories.

Zooming the interstate on the clear sunshiny day brought me back to the days of yore, when most of my quality time was spent in the car, driving around, running to or from something/anything. Making plans, writing masterful long letters and brilliant short stories while behind the wheel that would always be forgotten at the next stop. I forget how much I love driving, and I wonder if my kids will get the same kick of freedom or if $50/gallon gas will keep them from the magic I've found. Hopefully, there will be other kicks for them, if not these.

I used to spend a lot of time driving to and from Minneapolis for my continuing and fruitless quest for punk-rock stardom with my old band, so they were in my head a lot. My old co-guitarist emailed me the other day to ask me why he remembered a certain band. We had played with them once, in a cavernous roadhouse in rural Illinois, back in the day. I sort of drove by there today.

Then, for an unknown reason, I remembered a college gurl I had known, one who I had a weird reverse-crush on (it worked like this: she indicated an interest in smooching, but I had never even kissed a girl before, so I was frightened - but now I had a weird crush on her - or at least the idea that we might, one day, smooch. We never did, but I remember playing "Pale Blue Eyes" on my radio show every week for a long time after that, hoping she'd get the murky brainwaves I attached to the song each time I played it.)

Oh yeah! And then there was another college crush-subject, from much later in my college days, after I had kissed a few girls (including my now-wife), so I wasn't as scared, but still scared enough that when we played that gig in Caledonia and she, to my amazement, came out to see us, I could only manage to sit awkwardly alone with her in the front seat of her battered Jeep for a few minutes before I made some lame excuse and shepherded us back to the party-at-large.

Maybe that's why I thought of Pale-Blue-Eyes girl. Anyway, it's kind of weird.

Well, home for Lynn anyway. Me & the kids are just visiting Cleveland for the holidays. It was a damned long drive through a drizzly foggy gray day and even the traditional half-pound of chocolate-covered coffee beans I bought (and ate pretty much) in Indiana didn't do much to perk me up.

I think it was when, stuck in seemingly eternal stop-and-go traffic at an Indiana turnpike toll plaza, I told Lynn that I was gonna rest my eyes whenever we stopped and that she should nudge me awake when it was time to roll forward again that she became concerned and strongly suggested that she drive at our next fuel stop. I demurred for a moment, then acquiesced and settled in the passenger seat for a blessed and much-needed nap...

...which wasn't to be. Instead I read stories to the urchins until the light faded and we all lost our patience, then I fiddled with the iPod, trying to use my tiny FM transmitter to broadcast my massive and rarely perused library of holiday (take THAT, Bill O'Reilly!) songs to the car stereo - an undertaking that met with ultimate failure as we entered the clogged airwaves of metropolitan Cleve-O. By then, I was so focussed on how much I hated being in the car that it was all I could do to not rip my seat belt off and exit the still-moving car just to experience some sweet horrible brief freedom before the jagged hard cold asphalt ripped the flesh from my tumbling limbs and broke and smashed my cartwheeling skull like an overripe melon.

Merry Christmas!

It's weird how you can build giant worst-case scenarios in your mind about how future events will prove to be about three pitchforks short of hell, then they happen, and about midway through you realize that you are, indeed, about half-finished and this isn't really so bad after all. You ever have that feeling? Like when you're in the dentist's chair and the dentist says to you "OK, we'll just clean up a little bit then we're all done" before you've even whimpered once. You know? That said, T-giving is over, and we'll be returning home tomorrow.

(posted from my phone)

And we are all, indeed, very thankful. Happy Fangsgiving, everyone! I am tired, sodden with turkey, beer and phlegm (fighting off a cold) and far from home. And so I close for the evening.

(posted from my phone)