Thanksgiving is here, and you know what that means — it’s time to surf the gravy wave and feast my eyeballs on the Pauly Shore classic, Son in Law. Last year I wrote about this deliciously simple 90s movie I adore with my whole being, and it occurred to me I should write about it again so that maybe it becomes a thing we can look forward to together. I’d like for it to settle comfortably between people who have wrong opinions about candy corn and It’s Decorative Gourd Season, Motherfuckers.
Son in Law is an innocent joy of mine much like sleeping in on a snow day or pointing out the shortcomings of others. Pressing play, as I sit down to a Thanksgiving spread of turkey I roasted, creamed spinach I bought, and StoveTop I can’t live without is like looking in the mirror after a fresh application of the perfect red lip.
Thanksgiving — for all its faults and genocide — has become a day I have made entirely my own. Growing up there was no tradition except going to someone else’s house, and it often changed year-after-year. We feasted on turkey with my insides twisting and turning into garlic knots of anxiety: where would I sit, would anything be edible, who are these people, will this day ever end, I’d like to go home now.
I decided a few years ago Thanksgiving does not have to suck. My guest list currently includes the teenager I made and the dude I married. So, a small, intimate gathering of the people who annoy me the most, but somehow live to see another day even when they refuse to PRESS START on the goddamn dishwasher even though it is, I cannot emphasize this enough, the easiest part of dishwashing.
Love them to the moon and back.
I genuinely look forward to the extraness of the day — every single calorie of the ooey, gooey macaroni and cheese, the loud thumping of the marching bands on TV, the thrill of feeling like I can (but never should) roast everything after seeing the golden skin of my turkey when it’s all finished. And, of course, there is Pauly Shore encouraging women everywhere to embrace their inner hoe by belting into a mic “bah-bah-bah-buff the wood'“ halfway through Son in Law.
If Thanksgiving at my house has turned into anything, it’s most certainly “to thine own self be true.”
The thrill of this sex positive, turkey day pivot warms my heart like a tummy full of apple pie. As a culture, we do not have enough opportunities to thank our inner hoe. Perhaps Thanksgiving should be Thotsgiving. CAN YOU HANDLE THIS HEAT?!! brought to a family table? I can, and I love it. Imagine (it’s what John Lennon wanted), a day to build an alter to your hoe-iest days and give thanks.
[All five of the times in my life I wore thongs, have entered the building.]
Wouldn’t it be fabulous to get invited to a feast on the 4th Thursday of Hoevember. That ring, it’s a special one. Fascism, when you think about it, is really about branding so, hear me out, we need to get better out in these streets if we want a fighting chance.
I hope you have a delightful day full of the least amount of annoyances, delicious food, and, yes, a viewing of Pauly Shore’s Son in Law which is currently rentable on Amazon for $3.99. Or you could plan ahead and just buy it for a couple of bucks so we can do this all over again next year.
HOEVEMBER FOR ALL!
CURRENTLY
Reading: Dead Girls: Essays on Surviving An American Obsession
Liking: These photos of a New England gravesite dating back to 1638
Watching: This body positivity ode to ass and sausage by the kids
Listening: The Plot Thickens: Lucy Ball
Subscribing: Louise // For Women over 35
Coveting: This Stevie Nicks ornament
SHARE FLOP ERA with the kind of person who deeply understands, “to thy own self be true.”