Thanksgiving With A Facebook-Hatin’, Book-Writin’ Boomer (Yes, I’m Still Here)

Happy Thanksgiving, guys! [smiley]

I literally have 75 Facebook notifications that I haven’t read yet, that’s how much I care about that horrible app, which, as I always say, should actually be registered under the domain YourLifeAsAHallmarkCard.com.

Zuckerberg is relentlessly shadowbanning anyone who talks about the Palestinian genocide (I’m not the only one complaining about it, trust me), and since I can’t keep my mouth shut about it, well, no one sees my shit, thus no one is talking to me there, so here I am, trying to make you waste a few perfectly good minutes catching up with me and my toxic thoughts as I take a long-overdue sanity break from writing my next 250-page political-semi-humor non-seller.

I really need to start Unfriending (shouldn’t it be “enemizing?”) some people on that stupid site. I don’t know why I even put myself through it, but I do have friends and family there, so I spend a little time there, sure. I’m mostly on Twitter (no, I won’t ever call it “X,” thanks), often BlueSky or Mastodon, but despite having around 2,000 Facebook “Friends,” I mostly avoid that place like Ebola. I’m sure there’s many people (if anyone even is) reading this who can relate.

Yesterday I was on FB checking in on some fellow boomers I grew up with during the Nixon years, and I was amazed at how superficial, vacuous, and self-serving they grew up to be. They try to make it look like all they do is live like Kardashians. All the dumb pictures of bourgeois dime-store-opulence. Chriiiist. I’m like, “Wait, they let you and the rest of your crazy girl-boss crew have actual fish? At a restaurant? With… with literal Bud Light?”

I mean, I fully grok why Generations Y and Z hate us, but they need to remember that it’s a class war, thus anyfuckingthing else is diversionary. Anything. Want to be rebellious? Quit your job, like Doug Stanhope says, and steal something big on your way out (“Don’t drink on weekends, save your hangovers for Monday-through-Thursday mornings!”).

I googled a lot of crap yesterday, learning about the kids I grew up with. I didn’t know shit about them. Gross. All — all — the neighbor kids I real-life-Friended when I was a kid had dads who were engineers at military industrial corporations. That means that all the upper-middle-class privilege their families enjoyed, all the fresh whole pasteurized milk and Wonder Bread and 2-week beach vacations and all the other stuff they mindlessly consumed came to them as direct results of hostile US invasions of countries like Vietnam, Congo, Cambodia, Oman, Laos, Chile and dozens more. And how are my generational compatriots atoning for their families’ murdering millions of people? By going to the local Expensive Ice Cream Place and posting braggy pictures of their spoils.

I took a Google tour of my old suburban-Massachusetts street (our house in Westford — which has thus far still somehow prevented a Walmart from suddenly appearing there like an instant Chia Pet of cancer — sat on an acre-and-a-half of violently tamed grass and woods, like a deserted circus fairground). It’s so different from the semi-urban place I call home now in Manchester, NH. I was like, what did we even do back then?

But it was good. We played Nerf baseball and street hockey (“Joe! Move the fuckin’ [we little boys loved that word] net out of the way for Mr. Bojarsky’s car!”) listened to Zep and turned over logs to look for salamanders and our parents had no fucking idea where we were for hours (unless you had the really sucky parents who didn’t let you do Fun Stuff — talk about needing deep, deep therapy, those grown-up boomer kids, amirite lolol?).

Know what I’m thankful for? Not ever having had a dad around who would hit me when he had a baaaaad day drawing schematics for Raytheon missile sub-assemblies, the poor poor baby, have a nice frosty Schlitz to take the edge off, you fucking trained shitmonkey.

Anyhow, so for this Thanksgiving Day and the next 3 days after that, I’m mostly just going to work on my book so my lovely wife can have her husband back sometime in the foreseeable future. I want this over with. At the moment I’m finishing up a heterodox economics section, specifically talking about what would have happened if the US Constitution had been designed by devout agrarian Thomas Jefferson instead of Alexander Hamilton, who was a mercantilist, Kochian ghoul. (Did you know that the wildly popular play “Hamilton” is considered to be complete bs by all non-establishment historians?)

But the holidays are here, fam. This morning I went outside (yes, I swear I did) and gathered some pine needles to boil in a giant pot of water. It smells like Santa’s Workshop in here. I mo cook a turkey today, chase my tomcat around the house, sell some antiques on eBay and finish this book section. Tomorrow we’re going to the Trans Siberian Orchestra show down the street (we have free passes because I am a locally famous music journalist).

What else. I’m listening to a lot of prehistoric rock from my childhood these days. I’ll probably listen to some Kiss Alive and whatnot this weekend when I need a boost. Lately, whenever I decide to crank random tunes, I always put on The Outlaws’ “Green Grass And High Tides,” what a jam, folks.

Oh, this really stupid deer mouse kept getting in the house and the cats took turns catching it and walking around with it, with that “oh, just chillin’” face. They never finished him off, we were too fast. He’s ok, so we put it in a terrarium with food and water, In the summer, the first time we go to the beach, we’re gonna let him out near one of the hotels.

That’s him in the picture. Jen calls him Twinkie, I call him Douglas.😍 (Actually, since we caught him at HannuChristmaKwanzaatime his ideal name would be “The Mouse King of Nutcracker Lore,” but that’s too hard to say ten times fast.)

Ok. Have a great Whatever.

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If you want to be fully, genuinely informed about the political troll/bot invasion of Election 2016, 2020, and Elections-Yet-To-Come, buy my last book. There’s the tiniest bit of technical stuff in there, but you’ll get it, I promise. A second book is about to be announced, but meanwhile, my Twitter is @esaeger, my Mastodon is @esaeger@universeodon.com, and my BlueSky is @esaeger.bsky.social.