Turkey Trot

A very happy Thanksgiving to all my favorite seasonal fruitcakes...

After all, there's so much to be thankful for:

- Dear Thombeau, in so many ways the bloggy mother of us all, continues to wreak pop-culture havoc over at the Redundant Variety Hour, even as he shares with his his encyclopedic eye for magnificent, enigmatic, and images at Form is Void;

- Mr. Peenee is embarked on a new adventure that will result in not only copious fodder for his gloriously jaundiced eye, but also a possible vacation getaway;

- We benefit from the wit and wisdom of Jon, who deftly juggles the running of a Museum and a remarkably busy social life (at some point, I very much need to be in London and go with him to this remarkable thing called Polari);

- Cookie shares with both the still-new adventure of living in Baltimore and family stories that manage to rival mine for splendor and horror;

- Even those of us who have never wielded a needle get to revel in the mad doings of that Holly-Golightly-Come-Lately Cathy Lane and her shamelessly enabling cousin Peter (who also whips himself up some tasty threads - if only he took commissions!);

- Jason continues his very personal investigation of modern life on the Gulf Coast.  Once Peenee settles there, I can only imagine the madness that will follow.

Of course, there is always more to be hoped for.  As the old year winds to a close and the Christmas commercials grow ever closer together, I long for the return to action of both that reprobate Mistress MJ and our own South-of-the-Border sweetheart Rhiannon.  I know I'm not alone, too, in wishing that any number of Café favorites would find a way to be just a tad more prolific:  Felix can never tell me too much of his Hollywood, ayeM8y surely has more of his trademark filth and glamour to share with us, and TJB really ought to be less of a stranger.

And Bill ought to have a blog of his own, but I've long given up hoping for that.

In any case, I hope that all of them and all of you will be having a lovely day.  As for us, we'll be celebrating quietly, with a reduced form of the usual groaning board and a couple of tryptophan-intoxicated terriers.  Who could ask for anything more?