3:04 p.m. - Friday, Dec. 26, 2003
Aside from that, I had a very good time at my niece's house last night.
OK, maybe I was wrong about deep-fried turkeys being a Southern thing, but this guy (B., my niece's boyfriend) has a Confederate flag tacked up in the basement of their house. ... OK, that's not strictly a Southern thing, that's a redneck thing, and rednecks can be found all the way up to the Arctic circle, I should think. (I am aware that this paragraph makes no sense.)
And then somehow someone brought up a case of a fire station somewhere that had been compelled to remove a Christmas display of manger and Santa Claus because Muslims had complained. And B.'s commentary was: "They should go home!" And I, not wanting a fight on Christmas, stopped myself from saying that "they" WERE home.
You can't choose your relatives. Which is a good thing, because I don't expect any of my relatives would be particularly inclined to choose ME.
The conductor had to wake me up at the end of the line this morning. It always amazes me on those rare occasions when I so lose control of myself in that fashion, I, the most inhibited of human beings.
Then through the streets of the Loop, which seemed deserted, especially in contrast to how mobbed they were on Wednesday.
And now, at work, it is as silent as the tomb, and duller, too.