But nobody told me I had to COOK the carrots (also known as the Triumph of the Gravy)!

A very happy belated Thanksgiving to you all! I am enormously tired, having gotten cooties from Chris/Jason/Andy (all sci fi people who are sick and thus must practice school bioterrorism by passing it on to me, despite my inherent goodness to humanity and how completely undeserving I am of such poor treatment), but am going to blog regardless. Please note with what internal fortitude I face this task and how stoic I am. And not at ALL melodramatic or even the teeniest bit whiny. I have had several people ask why the boys have not been photodocumented yet - this was due to me needing to find a way to cast them into human forms. Chris (from Luxumbourg) is on the left, and Jason (from Georgia) is on the right.



I did come prepared for the occasional cold with an entire battery of medicinal options, including the amazing Buckley's Mixture. Truly the foulest substance known to man, but works like a charm. I introduced Jason to it when he caught his cold and the horrified expression on his face when he gagged it down will be one of my fond Liverpool memories.

I steadfastly refused to miss Thanksgiving goodness merely because I was nowhere near the formerly known New World, and thus planned a massive Thanksgiving potluck of my own for the North Americans in the crowd, as well as my roommates and assorted other friends - about fourteen in total. My quest for authenticity had to bend a bit as I contemplated our dodgy kitchen. The oven is nowhere near big enough to accomodate even the smallest of turkeys, and so I went with two chickens instead (that way, they'd have a friend to commisserate with whilst being cooked). I drafted various people: Charlotte for mashed potatoes, multiple people for salads (Chris outdid himself with tomato and mozzarella - it was a beautiful thing), Jean on pie duty, Philippa on wine, Keith on carrots (more on that below) etc etc..

This left the question of gravy. I've never made gravy. I knew that it involved some kind of meat drippings and a whisk, but that was the extent of my gravy-making research. As the chickens chatted in the oven, I contemplated the Great Gravy Conundrum. And then went to Google to find a way. Flash ahead five minutes, whisking away, as I stared darkly into the pot and muttered, "Thicken, damn you!" It did, eventually, after much cursing and adding of flour, and that resulted in the Great Gravy Dance of Success. Sadly, no photos - it was too tense to allow for flash photogravy. Hah - FUNNY PUN! (Jens, that was for you). Here I am, post gravy and pre cake, flushed with triumph:




People started to come in around 7, bearing pots, pans and bags full of goodies. It was kind of like the March of the Penguins. But with chicken. And gravy. Has the gravy come up at all yet? Keith, one of the fellow Canadians, was on carrot duty. 7:15 - no Keith. 7:30 arrives and Keith struts in, proud of a job well done He smiles at me with the calm assurance of one who knows he has gone above and beyond the call of duty, and said, "I brought carrots!" Which he did. Raw. Still in the supermarket bag. The Canadian contingent posed for a photo after we all finished snickering:



Overall, it was an excellent Thanksgiving, and everyone ate too much and felt slightly queasy for the subsequent 24 hours, which is just as it should be.

In other news, classes go on smoothly and I'm deeply ensconced in I Robot, which is new to me. Also read Ubik, by Philip Dick - lots of interesting concepts of half life. My quest for random knowledge carries on with great success.

(yawn) I'm sure there's bunches more to say, but in my weakened physical state (please see lack of drama and great strength as per above), I am unable to coherely think of anything. I'll leave you with one of my favourite sights of Liverpool life this week: