Thanksgiving Chez Lane, or Who is Paris Hilton?

I have returned to the Midwest for the turkey holiday. It is a strange land, full of strip malls and religious billboards. The local people display lots of flannel, bulging waistlines and very puffy hair. Frankly, it's all a bit terrifying.

My parents have morphed slightly since I last saw them. They now drive a Hybrid (which they are a bit environmentally smug over) and dissolve frequently into prayer (which I find worrying/infuriating/laughable, depending on the context—is it really necessary to verbally thank a diety before quietly consuming a handful of wheat thins?). My mother has developed a relatively extreme gluten allergy (so it was my dad eating the wheat thins), so family dinners have thus far consisted of lots of cheese (which is apparently one of the few foods she considers "safe"). Oh, and eggs—I don't remember the last time I've been offered eggs with such unfailing regularity (every meal so far for two days). There are a number of cardboardy excuses for faux bread products floating around but in general the grub situation is pretty damn dismal. Hopefully the actual "big meal" (as the hygienist at the dentist I was forced to visit this morning kept saying in drooling, eager tones) will have some non-egg, non-cheese options—after all, turkey is wheat free. Otherwise, my brother and I are going to rebel and celebrate our Thanksgiving at Taco Bell (BYOB). Hmm... it occurs to me now that maybe my dad prays over his wheat thins as a gesture of gratitude... as in, "Thank you, O Lord, for not making my intestines combust when they encounter glutenous consumables." Sigh.

The most amusing moment yet came earlier during a family dinner of gluten-free pancakes (foul) and, you guessed it, eggs (fowl? har har). My dad, with typical bearded college professor flaky curiousity, sat for a moment seemingly deep in thought before casually asking: "Who is Paris Hilton?" This struck me as extremely funny for two reasons. One, because I really thought he was sitting there pondering some deeper meaning of the universe (or at least praying to himself). And two, because Paris Hilton has finally become so famous for nothing that she has registered on my dad's radar... is it an achievement when a spacy theology professor from Missouri, notorious for being withdrawn into his own private universe and who hasn't watched television in ten years or ever looked at a tabloid, knows your name?

And now I withdraw... to pray for turkey tomorrow. Kidding. Well, half-kidding, anyway... please GAWD, no more eggs.