You think it's going somewhere, but it's not

I'm what you might call "American", but thanks to peer pressure I felt obligated to observe Canadian Thanksgiving the other day.

I'm also what you might call "a timid cook", so I was in no position to buy a frozen turkey.

"Hey," I thought (or maybe said aloud; living alone, these things tend to happen). "I can do just do it hobo-style by buying a Hungry-Man turkey dinner."

Alas, the Extra Foods on Broadway doesn't seem to stock the Hungry-Man turkey dinner; they had only the Salisbury steak and fried chicken. Initially disappointed, I realized it was a good thing they didn't have it, as I'd surely have been pegged a loser as soon as everyone saw me with a single-serving turkey dinner on Thanksgiving. And god knows I need the approval of the staff and clientele of the Extra Foods on Broadway.

I ended up buying samosas and brie and crackers at the Bulk Cheese Warehouse. It was a non-traditional Thanksgiving dinner, but I'm a non-traditional Canadian ... you know, what with being American and all.

In hindsight, I'm not certain eating a Hungry-Man turkey dinner on Thanksgiving can be considered "doing it hobo-style". It's not that I don't think hobos have microwaves (the fabled "Mountains of Hobo Gold" surely pay a fine dividend), but rather that hobos are a free-spirited lot who don't follow the Man's calendar and his capitalist holidays.

Ah, there I go confusing hobos and hippies again.

No, I think hobos are a sentimental lot who love to gather in their underpass chalets on Thanksgiving and feast on wild turkeys and Wild Turkey. The only folks who buy the Hungry-Man turkey dinner on Thanksgiving are the truly desperate: the smack addict, the recent parolee, the 30-year-old computer science student. Glad I'm not one of those -- as someone told me recently, I'm 30 and a half!