This year has already stretched your sanity to the breaking point, yet, further and further down it tumbles, challenging the very idea of the concept, "Well, at least it can’t get any worse." It’s looking more and more like the traditional gatherings of the Thanksgiving season aren’t gonna happen. In some ways, this is good news. No senile ramblings from Uncle Joe, no kowtowing to your stepmother’s insistence on bringing up the fact that you still haven’t gotten married and no need to pretend that the pitifully dry turkey and mucosal, greyish gravy are a delectable treat. On the flipside though, there’s something strangely comforting about the yearly family row, and you can’t help but wonder what the hell you’re going to do with yourself now. Fortunately for you, I’ve assembled this carefully vetted list of seasonably appropriate alternatives to occupy what would likely be an otherwise depressing evening involving a T.V. dinner, reruns of Criminal Minds and a bottle of bad whiskey.
While the concept of "Punkin’ Chunkin’" is nothing new, the idea of the Carrion Cannon brings a whole new, even more destructive twist. All you’ll need is some form of roughly hewn catapult or trebuchet, a few frozen turkeys and an untended field or open space in which to hurl your birds. Given the urban environment most of us inhabit, this bit can be tricky, so mounting your cannon, sling or other bird launching device to the bed of a pickup for a quick getaway might be wise. This is just in case you choose a more deserving target for your avian artillery (say, a random abandoned building, an obnoxious neighbor’s apartment window or your ex’s house, for example).
If you absolutely must hear your dad’s casual racism, filtered through the lens of your stepmother’s paranoia about social distancing, why not start a new tradition? Zoomsgiving offers many benefits over a traditional gathering. Assuming your more elderly relatives can find the wherewithal to set up a video conferencing app and you can all afford to courier mediocre-but-signature side dishes (Aunt Maisy’s Clam And Ketchup Surprise is not to be forgotten), you can absolutely engage in the traditional awkward family feast. Conducted virtually, however, you are now offered the opportunity to slam your laptop closed, when any unwanted questions arise and simply claim a "bad connection." How many times have you sat around a family dinner and wished for a Star Trek-style transporter beam, to allow a hasty exit when Joe gets tanked and starts reminiscing about sexual conquests you hope to fucking god are made up? Well, now you can vanish at a moment’s notice, with a perfectly valid excuse. Thanks, Zoomsgiving.
There is a greater than 60% chance that, by some unknown mechanism not yet understood by physics, you are somehow going to end up with a turkey in your possession. You’ll just be mindlessly wandering into the kitchen, opening the fridge door with the intention of getting a beer, when BAM! Before you, will be a massive, plastic-encased carcass, eating up at least half a shelf of space, with no clear origin for its arrival. Without an army of people to feed, though, its presence will feel pointless and unnecessary. May I recommend using its mysterious arrival as an opportunity to create some truly avant garde art? Recreate famous death scenes using cranberry sauce as blood, mashed potatoes as brains and the turkey as the corpse. Or, perhaps, create some kind of hideous nightmare lawn ornament using the bird, some oversized googly eyes and a fake mustache. Get creative, make it disturbing and have an unforgettable holiday.
Maybe you actually do want that evening alone. The T.V. dinner, whiskey and Criminal Minds reruns sound right up your alley. Infuriatingly, however, your family isn’t planning on forgoing the holiday gathering and have simply come to accept the possibility of death, in favor of pie and arguments about politics. Grandma Jonie really only has another year or two, after all. This, of course, foils your grand plans to get wasted, sit around and chill the fuck out by your lonesome. One good option in this case is to call all of your relatives who are even marginally on the fence about getting together and expressing to them—through violent paroxysms of coughing and gasping for air—how much you’re looking forward to seeing them all, even though you’ve got a bit of a fever. Tell them how this crazy paranoia about masks (as a new wave of your dramatic coughing starts) and social distancing is bologna, and you’ll personally be there at the door to welcome each and every one of them (pitiful gasp for air here). I guarantee a blissfully solitary evening.
One (perhaps deeply depressing) option would, of course, be to pull all your childhood stuffed animals, regrettably fondled Princess Leia cardboard stand-ups and nefariously obtained mannequin torsos, dress them up in wigs and bathrobes, wire them up like marionettes around your table, all Wilson Castaway-style and pretend you actually don’t live in a time of global catastrophe and plague. You’ll have to get pretty tanked to make this one work and you’ll still probably end up blubbering over a bottle of cheap champagne (a.k.a. Headache Juice) by evening’s end. At least for a few fleeting moments, you might be able to fool yourself into...no, this is really just a sign that you’ve descended into a pathology of desperate loneliness. Frankl,y this one might say more about the author than the reader.
However it is that you choose to connect (or, not) this Thanksgiving season, just remember that family is still family, and you never really liked them that much, anyhow.
Esmeralda Rupp-Spangle is a trained social anthropologist, crime-fighting wizard and expert in bad coping mechanisms. She can be found on MeWe and Facebook by name and Instagram as @EsmeraldaSilentCitadel.
