Happy Thanksgiving.

Or Happy Thursday if you're not into that sort of thing.

I'm off (eventually) to the family events. Which will be... well, same as it ever was. Not much variation at those types of gatherings. I occasionally fantasize about mixing things up a bit. Like going really crazy and wearing jeans or something. Or not tucking in my shirt. Tongues would wag, wouldn't they!

Anyway, I implore you—for me—to do something subversive today. Hide the sweet potato pie in the backyard. Start humming the Battle Hymn of the Republic during dinner. Or put on a Britney Spears pantomime show after dessert.

Do me proud.

So in an attempt to actually follow through with a theme, on my way home today I swore at some passing dick of a motorist and called him an ass knuckle.

And after my initial thought ("where the hell did that come from?") I realized it was another random pairing of words that could be used as a decent insult.

"Aha!" thought I, "I've come up with yet another random pairing of words I can use as an insult! I must document this!"

Turns out it already exists. Although, to my credit, I certainly don't think I've ever actually heard it used before. And it's not exactly something you call someone. It's more a ... well, just don't worry about that part. So I think it's a good addition to my list of flingworthy insults.

I'll have to come up with a few more.

In other news, I was working on a redesign of a menu for a restaurant that has a railroadesque nature to it. So I was looking for stock art of railroad things. when I found this photo.

And all I could think was, "Sweetie, working down by the tracks is just a sure way to get a young prostitute like yourself killed."

Seriously though. Work on the makeup.

So a few thoughts as we journey into this pit of hellish torture more commonly referred to as the week ahead (it's gonna be a bad one, folks):

• A few weeks ago I saw this completely awesome Lucky Strike cigarette case at a shop by my mom's house. A little worse for wear but awesome nonetheless. So last Thursday I went back and tried to nonchalantly browse as I was searching high and low for it. I feared the worst, the someone had purchased it in the interim, but no. It was waiting for me. So now not only do I have a new clutch (purse, that is) but I might be helping the store's owners with their website. Win-win.

• I bought a few pairs of jeans today. I always feel like a complete relic when I go in there, but I tend to have the best luck at the Gap. So what if everyone in there is 20 years younger than me? Right? Right guys? Guys?

Feeling old.

Anyway, they're apparently trying to revive their RED campaign again. The woman who rang me up put a pin in my bag and told me about it in hushed tones, like it was some honor that I was being given one for free. I didn't even look at it until a minute ago, but gosh if it didn't remind me of those friendship pins I made when I was the same age as all the people shopping there. Do kids make those anymore or is that so 1985?

If I recall correctly the first efforts of the RED campaign fell a wee bit into the "oopsie" category when they ended up having to pay more for the high-profile endorsers and advertising campaigns than they actually made on said campaign. Oopsie.

For some reason I've been imagining Bono in some cramped storeroom surrounded by mounds of red safety pins and teensy beads, with some guard posted outside who is refusing to let him eat supper until he's supplied pins for every Gap store in the Upper Midwest. 

The Hold Steady were in town for a show at the State Theatre on Friday. I have yet to understand the appeal of going to a rock show at the State Theatre. The music is best appreciated in a dark, smoky, crowded bar where you have to dodge the lit cigarette of the drunk guy next to you, and there is a constant and reassuring ebb and flow to and from the bar to order another round of drinks.

And don't get me started on the wrongness of assigned seating at a rock show.

Anyway, I didn't go to either the actual show or the show as imagined in my head, but I did listen to Boys and Girls in America a lot this weekend. Especially Southtown Girls, named after a small disused strip mall in the suburban wasteland that is Bloomington.

And although I don't recall Southtown (or the girls that frequent said mall) being quite as nostalgically wondrous even in the olden days, that doesn't make it any less of a decent anthem. 

Maybe it also doesn't hurt that I can say, "I totally know where all those places are." And feel like that makes me a little cooler. 

'Cause I totally know where all those places are.