i have very very fond memories of turkey days... especially those i experienced while living in san francisco. you say, "turkey", i say "gay men" and "boston market".
my first roomates were steven, sam, buttons, frisbee and monster. *insert obligatory flashback shimmer here* that's me, in the living room of that apt where the guy just urinated on the stoop. i'm the hill of blankets on that futon covered in cats. the guy wearing the yellow monkey fur? that's sam. the guy wearing the plaid lumberjack robe and a sunflower scrunchie in his hair... that's steven.
for thanksgiving, it was our tradition to attend dinner at a fabulously decorated home owned by a sparkling gay man and then get wasted drunk somewhere in the castro, only to awaken seemingly decoupaged to our beds.
this year was like all the others. we were post feast, rolling each other down the hills, picking up random revelers in our wake. i remember we started the night at the Cafe, then we ended up at another bar, the Pendulum, i think... and then...
well, then all i remember was waking up, cheek to sticky floor of another bar. i vaguely remember steven, vertical, laughing so hysterically that he skipped away. and then, sam helping me into a cab and climbing in after me, his body shuddering in his failed efforts to repress his rolling cachinnations - in my haze, i realized "sam is a canary jell-o hellion come alive".
i'll spare you the details of the moronic emergency room visit.... suffice to say, the golfball on my forehead (from the doorstop that cushioned my fall) finally disappeared a few days later.
so, what does all of this have to do with boston market? um, nothing really - well, i guess the common denominator is the consumption of big dead birds and another non native sf holiday tradition.
so, i lived with steven and sam for only a few months (we did share a ravaged bird or two and anonymous vats of liquor again, later in my sf years) then, i flew the coop and got my own nest in the tenderloin and lived near another bird named elena, my greek born, british bred, closeted virgin, chain smoking, newcastle drinking, private investigator, next door neighbor, and dearest beloved friend.
elena and i (the all-inclusive holiday feasters) celebrated ye olde turkey massacre with the other pseudo homeless, shower deprived and unidentified but charming masses at boston market. i know - who woulda thunk that anything - especially a boston market - would be open on thanksgiving? well, apparently all the dregs of humanity on polk street knew the 411 on the BM (boston market, not... oh, nevermind). then, it was off to "the castle" for pints, chips and unruly behavior (including cheating at darts) with random boys.
come to think of it, we also celebrated christmas at BM but we'd bring some imported english crackers (as in - poof! STREAMERS! yay! not - salty. crumby. yucky.) with us - we caused quite a stir... oh yes, we did.
these are my little memories... *sigh*, *head tilt*. i should stop now or i'll break into song and we just can't have that.
anyway, i hope you had a lovely holiday and that as you raised fork (or spork) to mouth you realized that you (like me) had and were something to be thankful for.