B O N D P H O N E.
Words and pictures by Chris Lamb.

If Thanksgiving must happen, there is no where I'd rather spend it than in Manhattan and on my own. Where else can a parade the size and scope of Macy's happen without bumping into my day? Where else is there enough room to accommodate such extremes of celebration and indifference without missing a beat in between? Spongebob lumbers along closed and crowded streets into Times Square like a conquering God while I'm sitting down to a burger and fries hardly fifty blocks South - neither of our actions will effect the other. This optional isolation is one of the little tricks New York pulls to remind you why you moved here; other than empty streets, a few closed stores, the day off and the specials the waiter reads me, there's hardly any sign of the holiday to be found.

So this Thanksgiving I woke when I wanted and played video games till hungry, finally stepping out into the cold and neutral day sometime just after noon. I stopped by Alt for bad coffee over Beach Boys records with Jason and Patrick before wandering down past the mental boundary line of Houston to get to Schiller's. Now, full and happy and waiting for change, warm and only a little tipsy from the Manhattan Jo got me, I realize that for maybe the first time I can remember I'm spending Thanksgiving completely content. Maybe, like the grandparents responsible for my general meh-ness towards the day, the date needed only to be ignored and forgotten to be enjoyed.

posted by chris  # 11:19 PM