the Edge

Thanksgiving time. I give thanks. Thanks for the harvest and the land and the white man’s immunity to germs and prior development of guns and ambitions to sail over and off the edge of the earth. Somehow a very Western thought, sailing off the edge of the planet. In India and the East everything goes in circles and cycles and incarnations, but in the West we just try to reach the end, even if just to fall off. Celebrated Thanksgiving for for breakfast this year by eating idlys and vedas dipped and drizzled in their various sauces and hand-spooned off the banana leaf. Jenn’s parents sent “crackers” and we popped them (pop!) and then opened them—inside mine was a mini-tape measurer (4 ft.) and a joke, “What kind of cat should you never play cards with? A Cheetah.” I imagine Christian laughing at this joke, but not many others.

Birthday time. I was birthed. I was born around Thanksgiving time because my parents consummated their young marriage around Valentine’s Day—so much love associated with my birth; so much proud American consumer-culture. We would sail to the edge of the earth for love in America, yes we would, and if we didn’t find it there we would find it in a frog and turn that frog into a beautiful prince, or princess. And then on February 14th we would buy that frog chocolate-covered flies and an exceptional bouquet of lily pads and inseminate that frog, not once considering the trip to the hospital during the Cowboys vs. Redskins game we were resigning ourselves to the next fall. And then we would most likely eventually realize we married a frog and get a divorce.

In reward for being born 24-years ago I’m hoping to receive deodorant sticks and one of these sweet gas-station-attendant shirts they wear here that say “Pure for Sure” with a graphic of a hand giving the “A-Okay” sign on the back. I’m also hoping to finally shake this stomach bug (no more mixed-veg dosas for me) and sore throat (too much running around in the rain trying to prevent the rain from running too much into our house), and even have something resembling a party; because if there’s one thing to help push us over that edge we’re so drawn to in the West, or maybe it helps keep us back I'm not really sure, it’s a good party.