It’s appropriate (in a sappy, Hallmark kind of way) that the day we filthy Americans are supposed to give thanks happens this year to also be the birthday of one of the people I’m most thankful for. The indefatigable Chris is another year older today, and he doesn’t even mind it when I end a sentence in a preposition.

I’ve spent the morning working on another philosophy paper in the endless succession of philosophy papers to which it seems my life has, for the time being, been reduced. I suppose it’s a good thing that I like philosophy, but it’s also becoming more and more apparent that it’s probably an equally good thing that I’ll be getting a bit of a break from it in about six months. This afternoon I’ll be eating turkey and pumpkin pie with the family, and then tomorrow morning my brother and I are back to New York.

A couple of people asked if I planned to go to the Macy’s parade today, or if I had been in the past: the truth is that while it’s been about five years since I moved to NYC, I have yet to spend a single Thanksgiving in the city. Even when I inevitably do, however, it’s unlikely that I’ll go to the parade. I’ve spent lots of New Year’s Eves here, and not a single one in Times Square. There’s something about standing around outside in cold weather with lots and lots of people in order to look at something that doesn’t really appeal to me unless it’s exactly the right kind of thing. Like Godzilla - I’d probably wait around outside to look at Godzilla.