![]() In the meantime: the weather gets grayer, leaves become gutter sludge, and Christmas carols crowd out every radio station, even the jazz ones. Then comes Thanksgiving, that once-benign excuse to have dinner which has in recent years become half-heartedly politicized via Instagram infographics and widespread uncle defamation. For one, it brings the birthdays of anyone whose forebears did it on Valentine’s Day, a haunting reminder of both parental libido and death. ![]() This time, just before the year dies for good, is stained by several cruel developments. The honorific of shittiest month typically goes to April, but anyone unsuckered by autumnal propaganda will admit that it belongs to those morose, lifeless weeks straddling late November and early December.
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