Greetings, my fellow port swillers!
Ol’ Robbo had breakfast for din-dins this evening – eggs, sausage, and hash browns. Yum. My main motivation was a desire to finish up the last of the sausage in the Port Swiller Manor fridge before the Eldest Gel arrives home from school for Thanksgiving break tomorrow and noms the lot behind my back. You’ve got to move fast with these kids.
Speaking of the rapid approach of Thanksgiving, twice today I saw mention of something called “Friendsgiving” – once on a flyer in my office lobby and once on an ad for Starbucks or something like it.
Maybe I’ve seen this before, but so many terrible perversions of tradition have come down the pipeline in recent years that I simply do not recollect it. Was this yet another assault? The word Thanksgiving implies, after all, a) that one has something for which thanks should be given, and b) there is Someone who must necessarily be the recipient of said thanks. Was this new spin some kind of hipster attempt to subtly bypass those implications? To yet again deny the existence of God and our dependency on His love? To make it All About Meeeeee?
According to the Urban Dictionary, “Friendsgiving” is:
The celebration of Thanksgiving dinner with your friends. This usually occurs on the Wednesday before or the Friday after Thanksgiving Day, since Thanksgiving is usually reserved for family gatherings. “Hey guys, bring over your family leftovers to my house on the Friday after Thanksgiving to celebrate Friendsgiving!”
This explanation of the word seems fairly innocuous on its face, I suppose. Cutesy-Stupid rayther than sinister. And there’s nothing inherently wrong with the implied hospitality, practicality, and friendship. On the other hand, though, a quick perusal of Google hits about it reveals a whole mess of articles along the lines of “Family sux because they’re all so problematic and they’re such a pain to get to, so this holiday is much better because it’s totes easier and you spend it with your friends instead.”
So, yes, after all: shallow, self-centered, hedonistic, subversive, and stupid. In other words, perfectly emblematic of these wretched times.
Speaking of which, another story of the Eldest’s collegiate debut. (It’s the gift that keeps on giving.) Today in her history class, the prof turned the discussion on to last week’s election results. Apparently, there are a trio of SJW types in the class who always Say The Loud Things during discussions. This time, the Gel tells me, they were in high dudgeon: How could Any Woman vote for Trump? How could Any Minority vote for Trump? How could Any Gay Person vote for Trump? How? HOW?
Finally, the Gel said, “Why don’t you actually ask one? After all, they’re individuals, not statistics. You might just learn something about the complexities of other people’s outlooks and worldviews, and you certainly need to learn to deal with them.”
After class, apparently, another student sidled up to the Gel and thanked her for speaking out. The prof did the same when the Gel dropped by her office later to gripe about the meme that Shrillary’s loss was somehow a message to girls that they couldn’t become President. “Where does that come from?” the Gel demanded. “What am I supposed to be, a sheep? I can do whatever I damn well want, including becoming President or staying home and raising a family, and nobody can tell me otherwise. Modern Feminism can go to hell.”
The Gel despises identity politicks, in case you hadn’t noticed. So do the Middle and (to a growing extent as she becomes more aware) the Youngest. I may or may not have had something to do with that.