Post-Thanksgiving Analysis

2009 was a pretty good Thanksgiving in my book.

It started off with dim sum on Clement with my Grandma. First came turnip cake. Then the shrimp dumplings. Then the beef patty in the big floppy noodle and then the fatty steamed pork in a little dish. It didn't stop until I was nauseous with delight.

Afterward, I went and saw Fantastic Mr. Fox with Karyn at the Four Star Theatre. The Four Star is one of those few remaining holdout neighborhood theaters that lives in constant fear of an omniplex coming in the night to gobble it up. Verdict: Wes Anderson did Roald Dahl justice. George Clooney, being a fox himself, fit his role as Mr. Fox quite naturally.

For Black Friday (known in some circles as Buy Nothing Day), Karyn and I hung out in the Park. We had a pretty good time in the Botanical Garden learning the scientific names of trees (Monterey cyprus = Cupressus macrocarpa, the secret is to visualize HUGE fingers). A lot of the day was spent in playgrounds, and I was grateful for the hearty breakfast and multiple cups of coffee that propelled me to ever greater heights on the swingset. You know you're going the right speed when you can feel your fingers going slack on the chains because you're about to black out.

Anyway, it was probably the happiest I've been since the summer when Karyn and I explored the ruins of the Sutro Baths and went into this shady cave that smelled boozy and later climbed on this big rock that was being engulfed by the incoming tide before we went to watch the waves crash on the rocks and the pelicans fly around near the Cliff House, and then we ate mustard sardines with rye crackers and flew kites on the beach.

Eventually, we met up with Elena, and we had an afternoon snack at the Baghdad Cafe (ever since childhood, I've always passed by, but that was the first time I ate there). Apparently, Elena's still the same badass, having satiated her hunger for butt-kicking with ultimate frisbee down in San Diego. Restless and filled with french fries, we left the Baghdad. One impromptu hike later, we were on top of Corona Heights, near the Randall Museum. It had just rained, and we could see for miles. Corona Heights is one of my favorite places in the City to look at the rest of the Bay.

But now I'm back in reality and about to start finals, and I feel a bit daunted. I've been reading Bobby Fischer Goes to War to stall for time and forget about the clouds on the horizon. It's quite good; I'm at the part where Fischer and Spassky are about to have a showdown in Iceland for the world chess championship. I bought it last night at Moe's Books on Telegraph, where there's an entire shelf of chess literature. My choice was one of the less intimidating books; the others, books like Beating the Sicilian II, were about equal parts chess notation and English.

I suppose this is the part where I get all cheesy and wrap things up, about how my Thanksgiving really made me appreciate all the wonderful, special people in my life and all. Well, there's really nothing I can write that will adequately express the feeling of gratefulness for living a charmed life. Instead, I think I will sit here and smile.