Call me a Communist. But I don’t like turkey all that much. If I did, I’d eat some of those awful oven-roasted turkey sandwiches at the deli, but frankly I’d rather eat the plastic that encases the meat. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve choked down (and sometimes even enjoyed) dry, tasteless turkey during Thanksgiving—if, of course, it’s drown in enough gravy. Yeah, yeah, I’ve read about the Los Angeles Times‘ great turkey recipe, but I don’t see myself leaving a salted bird in the fridge for three days. Please. In this video, Alton Brown offers a simple, foil-based way to make crisp, tasty turkey that cooks the dark meat without drying out the white stuff. Sounds pretty good (though I do pine for the deep salty flavor of the Times‘ recipe). So what’s your method?

My buddy, Lou Cantolupo, designed this ghastly pumpkin diorama (click to expand the image) well before The Simpsons aired this year’s “Treehouse of Horror” episode, in which the Grand Pumpkin, in a blood-soaked ode to the old Peanuts‘ Halloween special, goes on a rampage. Lou got his inspiration, instead, from this site. My wife, Carrie, has some smart things to say about Lou’s handiwork. As for me? I’m thinking the homicidal pumpkin represents the average American voter who’s sick to death of the presidential campaign and would like to stick some strategist’s head on a pike.

On Oct. 25, 2001, September 11 became a holiday, thanks to a resolution sponsored by this charmer. Not a real holiday, mind you, rather the kind where President Bush encouraged “employers to permit their workers time off during the lunch hour to attend the noontime services to pray for our land.”

It was a perfect American solution: a holiday you don’t get off work for, a remembrance of sacrifice that requires no sacrifice whatsoever.

The next year, Bush changed the name of the holiday to Patriot Day. Calendars say Patriot Day. Crayola offers a page of warmed-over July Fourth activities to complement it.

And that’s about it. Tomorrow, heads will bow in remembrance, somebody will play “Taps,” and everyone will call it “September 11th.” No one, except maybe the president and a few maudlin gym teachers, will use the dipshit term “Patriot Day.”

Nice to see the marketplace of ideas actually working once in a while.

The Maryland Renaissance Festival. I’ve never been to one. Growing up in Oregon, I just couldn’t stomach all the earnest ladies in waiting and jousting knights. But I’m gonna brave Maryland’s version. Hopefully this busty Valkyrie will be back.

Fireworks! Applesauce! The Sun! Harmless summer delights, or opportunities for gruesome injury? Independence Day weekend is a good time to sit back and remember that no one is ever safe. I surveyed the CP offices to see who’s still hurting.

CP Staffer: Angela Valdez, Staff Writer
Casualty: Bug bites (two)
Zone of Pain: Right calf; right knee (underside)
Management: “Itching and complaining.”
Life Lesson: Two bug bites are really not that many bug bites, Angela.

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This is what anarchy sounds like.

(Click link for several representative minutes of the zooms and bangs heard throughout Petworth all night long on July 4, recorded from my porch.)

This weekend I came across the greatest find since moving to D.C. Caveat: My interests tend to skew less toward record stores and more toward woodland creatures. If yours do, too (hey, I know it’s a stretch, but the blog is lookin’ light today, OK?), you should check out Prince William Forest Park. Once you have your immigration papers in order, that is. They don’t like them illegals there, you know, but there are 15,000 acres, so it’s easy enough to get lost no matter who you are. That’s what’s great about this place.

From D.C., the park is only about 35 miles down the road, right off I-95 and the Marine Corps training site at Quantico. That means that in less than an hour, you could be set up at a wonderful campsite deep in the woods for 15 bucks a night. The Oak Ridge Campground inside the park has nearly 100 sites and is located 5.5 miles down wooded roads from the visitor center. Stop in there to get a great map of the park. Each of the three campground loops has decent bathrooms and a water spigot; Loop A has a shower, even, for those who do that sort of nonsense while camping. There are no hookups, however, a blessed deletion for tent campers (there won’t be any retirees and their obnoxious RVs anywere nearby. In fact, having had a few bad experiences with the RV/generator crowd, I found this place with the help of The Best in Tent Camping: Virginia: A Guide for Car Campers Who Hate RVs, Concrete Slabs, and Loud Portable Stereos). One aspect the book fails to play up is the spaciousness of the sites, especially compared to some of the puny ones inside Shenandoah National Park. Each comes with a fire ring and a pole to hang a lantern.

Beware the raccoons, though; they’re cheeky, so hide your grub. Also, I found a tick on my person, quickly tweezed off and killed, so bring some spray, but for god’s sake don’t whine about ticks. Just be careful.

Best of all: There are 37 miles of hiking trails maintained by the Potomac Appalacian Trail Club; several nice ones start right at the campground. The North Valley Trail includes a lovely stretch along Quantico Creek to Lake Quantico Falls and the former Pyrite Mine, abandoned in 1920 after workers went on strike for a 50-cent raise. Apparently, they don’t like them unions in Prince William, either.

Are any kids in your office today? Today is “Take Our Daughters And Sons To Work Day” (expanded from “Take Our Daughters To Work Day” in 2003). I don’t see any kids running around here though, learning how to do my job. I seem to remember heading into my parent’s offices a couple times at the end of April when I was growing up. Does anybody do this anymore? -Amanda Hess

Today is Poem In Your Pocket Day. The Academy of American Poets suggests that you “handwrite some lines on the back of your business cards,” “add a poem to your email footer,” or “post a poem on your blog or social networking page.” Hey, this is a blog or social networking page! Here, timely verse from Sharon Olds:

The Pope’s Penis
by Sharon Olds

It hangs deep in his robes, a delicate
clapper at the center of a bell.
It moves when he moves, a ghostly fish in a
halo of silver sweaweed, the hair
swaying in the dark and the heat — and at night
while his eyes sleep, it stands up
in praise of God.

If you prefer not to pocket your excitement, it’s also National High Five Day.

Tomorrow, D.C. commemorates two anniversaries: The 40th anniversary of the Martin Luther King Jr. assassination, and the 75th anniversary of the repeal of prohibition. Please do not commemorate these events concurrently.

If you’d like to commemorate Martin Luther King–assassinated 40 years ago on this day–head to Ballou Senior High School at 3401 4th St. SE at noon for the 29th Annual Martin Luther King Jr. Parade. The parade is chaired by Marion Barry.

If you’d like to commemorate the occasion of prohibition not existing anymore, convene outside the Dubliner at 520 North Capitol St NW at 6 p.m. for Budweiser’s block party–complete with Bud Clydesdale photo-op. From the Post’s “now we can drink again” round-up:

[O]n April 7, 1933, President Franklin Roosevelt signed an amendment to the Volstead Act that allowed brewers to sell beer that was 4 percent alcohol by volume instead of the previous 0.5 percent. According the national Brewers Association, more than 1.5 million barrels of beer were consumed in the first 24 hours.

Commence commemorating!

Today, Americans celebrate Presidents’ Day. Some will enjoy a free visit to George Washington’s Mount Vernon; some will picnic in the temperate February weather; others will go to work.

Rumor has it that Presidents’ Day was created in a 1971 proclamation by Richard Nixon (himself a president). According to the story, Nixon announced that the federal holiday of Washington’s Birthday would be moved from Feb. 22 to the third Monday of February, and that its name would be changed to commemorate other old favorites like Abraham Lincoln, as well as instant classics like Nixon himself.

In fact, a federal holiday celebrating all U.S. presidents has never existed. Though the celebration of Washington’s birthday moved to a standard Monday celebration during Nixon’s time in office, the holiday’s official title remains Washington’s Birthday.

This 2004 piece by historian C.L. Arbelbide tracks the source of the rumor: Apparently, it was lifted from an Arkansas Democrat-Gazette humor column wherein author Michael Storey staged a fictional interview with his cat, who fabricated the Nixon story.

Recap of soon-to-be national news from our neighbors in Annapolis Junction: A probably well-meaning Salvation Army volunteer calls his boss to find out the policy on giving change for a donation. The boss doesn’t answer, so the volunteer breaks his own five dollar bill and gets the donation. Then the boss calls back and scolds him for violating policy. The volunteer hasn’t been seen since - and neither has his bucket of Christmas cheer ($300 to $500 worth). I’m thinking both of these characters need a good snow ball fight. And I hope the boss gets some ice down her sweater. But the lump of coal really goes to the AP for this list sentence: He also allegedly kept the Salvation Army bell and apron.

The best lyric I ever heard about Christmas comes from Everything But the Girl’s “Come On Home”: “Everyday is like Christmas Day without you/It’s cold and there’s nothing to do.”

I like Christmas. (Love the music.) But I’m especially thankful any year that I don’t have to visit my wife’s family in Britain for the holidays, not because I don’t adore them but because the entire country shuts down for Christmas. There’s nothing open, not even cornershops. Newspapers don’t publish. It’s brutal, man! By 3 p.m. I’m usually climbing the walls.

This year I made it till about noon before packing the family up and heading down to the United States Botanic Garden, which was open on Christmas and features an amazing model railroad display by Paul Busse. Walking around, I was reminded of looking around Edinburgh for a cup of coffee on Christmas afternoon, smiling weakly at other foreigners, who, like me, were convinced there must be SOMEONE who wants to relieve them of their money. I saw lots of Asian families and quite a few where the women wore headscarves or the men wore skull caps. We were all refugees from being cooped up on a holiday that can get rather oppressive, no matter what people who think they’re sticking up for their religion by depositing what’s easily $60-$80 worth of plastic statuary onto city streets say.

The holiday season is a time for families to gather, celebrate, and drink the shit out of some serious hard liquor in order to tolerate each other—and to forget how much the whole gathering-and-celebrating thing is a major pain in the ass. So, here is my special gift to you, dear readers: After the break, a few recipes (courtesy of thatsthespirit.com) for holiday spirits that will help you keep up your holiday spirit. Get it? SPIRITS! It’s a fucking joke.

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