The Holidays From Another Perspective

The Holidays From Another Perspective...

Preface / Introduction

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Table of Contents

1. Thanksgiving from the turkey's perspective. Over the river and through the woods, a nation's fowlbehavior is noted, bemoaned, admonished, challenged. Timely commentary from the cutting edge. 2. 'This eager heart of mine was singing. Lover, where can you be?' Hostess Brands bites the dust...Twinkies on the block. 3. Christmas from another point of view. The Grinch has his day... astonishing revelations from hisfirst-ever interview exclusive to me exclusively here.

Thanksgiving from the turkey's perspective. Over the riverand through the woods, a nation's fowl behavior is noted,bemoaned, admonished, challenged. Timely commentaryfrom the cutting edge.by Dr. Jeffrey Lant.

Author's program note. If you're a resident of these United States, the fourth Thursday of Novemberwill soon be upon us in all its excess, gluttony, and self-congratulation. We know this asThanksgiving Day, but it most certainly is no day of glorious and heart felt thanksgiving for thecrucial centerpiece of this annual event sacred to gourmandizing and loosened belts. In fact, for thefamily of the genus Meleagris, commonly called turkeys, this date is the darkest day of their lives,their history and their entire existence on this planet... but no longer.

This year for the first time since their majestic ancestors graced the Early Miocene a long, long timeago and after nearly 400 years of unapologetic, systematic execution and intense gobbling launchedby New England Pilgrims in the 1660s, turkeys are rallying for life, liberty and the pursuit ofhappiness. In short, these ancient birds of unmitigated plumage and pluck now demand respect,restitution, and revolution. Due to a special arrangement with a band of their insurgents, I am able totake you inside their headquarters. Thus they acknowledge their need for world-wide recognitionand your support for their pressing cause.

Urgency in the air: my interview with the Young Turk leader called "Squawk", a bird of starkdestiny and purpose.

A Message from Squawk.

I was not particularly surprised when I saw the note left under the door last night; indeed given mysupport over the course of many years for the God-given right to life of polar bears, eagles, monarchbutterflies, African elephants and many others, I should have been chagrined not to have beencontacted. I have my amor propre too after all. But there it was.

"Be ready. Comrades will make contact precisely at midnight. No cameras. Nothing but pencil andpaper." Then the bold, audacious, even grandiloquent mark already famous: "Squawk" and his proudsign, one blood-red claw print. So... they had chosen me...

... And then it occurred to me. When I booked my Thanksgiving Day reservation at the SheratonCommander hotel right down the street, the young manager had asked me if I wanted turkey or hamfor my main course. Without thinking, I told her that if the glaze would be as deep and resonant aslast year's, my selection was certainly ham. Thus inadvertently by my choice of which dead animal Ishould feast upon, I became, if anathema to pigs, yet simpatico to turkeys.

In this way I came to know that adherents of the turkeys' cause can be anywhere, even in the mostunexpected of places. Ah, that is what the bright-eyed, chipper serving person meant when she said,"I'm so glad, Dr. Lant" in an especially insinuating manner. Old-goat that I am I thought hercome-hither look was for my geriatric charms, and so I thought again "there's no fool like an oldfool."

Perforce, to my work.

Understanding my task, I readied myself for what could only be a fateful encounter, its salient andurgent points to be brought to a world of the unenlightened. And so I regained myself. I was myselfagain for in such matters I remain a "Young Turk," too, deferring to no one, not even Squawk,

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revolution's anvil though he be.

The feathered comrades were as good as their word. At the stroke of midnight, I heard the flutteringof wing and heard the unmistakable sound emanating from the fleshy wattle or protuberance thathangs from the top of the beak. And thus I fell, through professional pride and recognized standing,into the hands of those who, without Squawk's laissez-passer, in an instant could blind me and shredmy fragile flesh. I now felt as they had felt these thousands of years a prisoner, helpless,incarcerated, destined for premature death. Thus did the clan Meleagris signal the new order of theirkind... and the resulting new order of mine.

Of the next several minutes, I recall sensations only. Of feathers carefully positioned to extinguishall light; just a little showing, otherwise entirely dark. Of the occasional sharp claw prick, whetherby accident or design, no less painful for that. It was an acute reminder that I was in their completeand utter power, perhaps the first man so rendered in the long relations of turkey and human. Theysaid nothing. I said nothing. Where I was, who I was with, what they would do to me would becomecompletely apparent soon enough... and was.

Squawk's headquarters. We meet and "talk turkey".

I never did discover just where I was and where we met. But even if I knew, I wouldn't say. I am ajournalist and my sources sacred... So I shall simply say the place had a make shift aura about it, asif this were a temporary abode, one to be quickly occupied, quickly abandoned.

"Good evening, Doctor Lant." It was Squawk, and I felt his power, strength, and authority at once.Here was a bird who meant business... and who saw me only as a tool to reach his objective. Weunderstood each other, and so our business could proceed, briskly, for time was limited and we bothhad deadlines...

He motioned me to a chair. He stood. And then he began, the words swift, lucid, hot, each adeclaration etched in acid. He meant every one and every one came without difficulty. Here was asubject of paramount importance to every turkey. He knew he spoke for all his breed, was supremelyconfident of his position, of the need to speak out, of the full justice of his cause, and the need foraction now, complete action, long overdue action, and of what would have to be done should thisaction be deferred by even a single moment.

It was a clarion call... and Squawk looked through me and made me see what he saw... he was a birdtransfigured... exactly what was required for this pivotal time in the long, one-sided relation ofturkey and human. I knew as each word emerged that I was hearing history in the making. Like it ornot, every clipped syllable was Important. Things would never be the same again.

What Squawk said.

Now each word came fast, irrefutable, beautiful in its delivery, purified by total belief and totalcommitment.

Of the days before human came. Of a proud bird, great in size, majestic in movement, free rangingover the great land called by humans North America. These were the proud days, the glory days,when every bird knew the joy that is freedom.

Of the days that brought the people called Pilgrims, people who fled tyranny and injustice only tobring a greater tyranny, more menacing and thorough injustice to the land called New England.These storm-tossed people came with only one thing in amplitude: arrogance, an arrogance thateverything they saw was theirs and theirs alone. We did not understand these humans then. We sawthem as poor, freedom-loving, in need of help we were ready to give in unstinting measure.




And so we accepted their invitation to the First Thanksgiving... where we were the guest of honorindeed: as food. We came in friendship. We found the cooking pot instead... and not merely the potfor some; the pot for all of us in our thousands, our tens of thousands, our millions.

And so the Pilgrims grew fat upon the bounty of our trusting bodies. No wonder these humans gavethanks. They were triumphant over all, a revolution in every step they took. Against suchGod-believing people, forever certain in their cause what could be done except revolt, violent,intense, thorough, unceasing until the freedom of old becomes the order of the great new day.

"Does this mean....?", I asked. He knew the question before I even finished it. "Yes, friend, it does.There are comrades who operate in the shady lanes of liberal Newton, of affluent Brookline, evenone hero who patrols the grounds and harasses the privileged students of the Harvard BusinessSchool. And as our ranks grow, we shall expand... so that no pedestrian wherever can walk, nomotorist drive without our calculated outrage made manifest, painful."

He meant every word ... and from previous print reports I knew he would do it if he could. After allthe population of wild turkeys has never been greater or demonstrated greater purpose and solidarity.

Envoi

With the briefest touch wing to hand, Squawk signalled that this unprecedented interview was over.Disciplined comrades were at the ready for my immediate departure, blocking my eyes, escortingme home to a world which suddenly seemed less equable than before.

I turned on CNN which announced that the President would be exercising his powers of executiveclemency at the White House today, live in just 15 minutes. The lucky spared turkey was called"Squawk". Now wasn't that cute?

The Marine Corps band was on hand and was just now commencing "The President's Hymn" writtenin 1863 when President Abraham Lincoln declared the first official Thanksgiving holiday. Itsauthors were William Augustus Muhlenberg and Joseph W. Turner, spiritual descendants of thePilgrims.

"GIVE thanks, all ye people give thanks to the Lord, Alleluias of freedom, with joyful accord; Letthe East and the West, North and South roll along, Sea, mountain, and prairie, one thanksgivingsong."

Now face to face, eye to eye, Squawk and the President were just a moment from destiny...




'This eager heart of mine was singing. Lover, where can yoube?' Hostess Brands bites the dust... Twinkies on the block.by Dr. Jeffrey Lant.

Author's program note. It's my fault... I loved Twinkies once upon a time. Yes, when I was youngand innocent, so long ago I can hardly imagine, Twinkies and I were an item, a couple, just the twoof us, no need for anyone else. We had everything we needed in one neat little package. I wascomplete, satisfied, blissful.

However the road of love is a rocky road. My mother disapproved of you, Twink... and there wasthat fateful day she found you in my Howdy Doody lunch box, dumped you unceremoniously on theground and crushed you beneath her adamant shoe. I wanted to rescue you, hold you, bring you tomy ardent lips and tell you how much I still cared... but the woman was obstinate, stubborn,determined to have her way, as I have long since discovered women can be. Something changed inour perfect relationship that day... I loved you... but she was the one who must be obeyed...

But there's something else, something I must tell you now; something that's been on my consciencefor over 50 years. I was unfaithful to you, Twink. There was the delectable affair I had with... andthe delicious one with... and of course that wild and crazy thing, that fabulous fling in chocolatewith... but why humiliate myself further? I loved you in my way; gave myself to you; you werealways there for me... and I cheated. You would have forgiven me, I know... you always forgaveme... but I couldn't forgive myself.

And so guilt entered and tainted our perfect relationship. When we met in ways secret andclandestine I felt ashamed about the lies and deceptions... and I couldn't, just couldn't, meet you inthe open, anywhere. What would have happened if she had found out causes me to quake andtremble to this very day. I was a lover, not a fighter.

Besides, Twink, and I must be severely honest and candid here, as we said we'd always be with eachother; by then your pristine reputation was tainted. People were saying terrible things about you,awful, horrid, things I couldn't bear. And it hurt, Twink, and made me doubt you and whether ourlove was pure and healthy, not stale with a passed shelf life.

Detectives, gum shoes, sleuths.

With so much negativity, with so many doubts now circulating, I was frantic. I loved you, despitemy infidelities, how I loved you. But how could I not doubt you with so much said against you? Itwas driving me crazy... and so I went undercover with the hope that nothing I was hearing, nothingthat was eating at me was true... and profoundly fearful that it was. My work was long, arduous,exhaustive. This is what my agile search assistants and I discovered...

The truth, the whole truth.

First of all, you were a lot older than you let me believe. You came from Schiller Park, Illinois, notso far from where we met, in Downers Grove. You were born in 1930 and given your peppy nameby James Alexander Dewar, a baker for the Continental Baking Company. He named you after"Twinkle Toe Shoes".

I wanted to believe your age didn't matter, but it did. You treated me like Norma Desmond did herboy toys; like Blanche DuBois treated hers. You said you'd last forever; love me forever; feed andcomfort me forever. You were a panther like Circe, Morgan le Fay, Omphale combined ... agelessyou said, cleverer than me, that was certain, for you had never said more than necessary, whilstnever disclosing a single extra word or fact. Bravissisma!




These reports, so detailed, made it clear that you were always the "hostess with the mostest," acrowd pleaser, making millions smile from your protected formula of wheat flour, sugar, corn syrup,niacin, water, high fructose corn syrup, vegetable and/or animal shortening, and...

partially hydrogenated soybean, cottonseed and canola oil, and beef fat, dextrose, whole eggs,cellulose gum, whey, leavenings (sodium acid pyrophosphate, baking soda, monocalciumphosphate), salt, corn flour, solids, mono diglycerides, soy lecithin, polysorbate 60, dextrin, calciumcaseinate, sodium stearoyl lactylate, wheat gluten, calcium sulphate, natural and artificial flavors,caramel color, yellow No. 5, red No. 40, and...

one or two secret ingredients even my highly capable spies could not discern, plus la piece deresistance, vanilla cream filling, literally la creme de la creme. But you liked being unpredictable,experimenting with other cream flavors, particularly banana. I always thought we had chemistry,Twink... but it was you.

More that I learned about the Twink of my life.

I was obsessed with you, Twink. And the fact that she kept me from you, only made me want youmore. I had to know about you; everything about you. Nothing was too small or insignificant. Like Isaid, I had to learn everything... and so much truly shocked me. Like this... just one Twinkie, asingle one, contains 2.5 grams of saturated fat, representing 13% of the recommended daily intake ofsaturated fat based on a 2,000 calorie diet. It is 42% sugar, 21% complex carbohydrates and 11% fatby weight. No wonder every time I nibbled on your delectable ear I felt like flying. And I thought itwas love...

Rumors, misinformation, lies, humbug, distortions... oh, Twink!!!

I am at the tail end of the last generation to believe a lady only appears in the newspapers 3 times...when she is born, when she marries, and when she dies. But Twink I found page after page of themost lurid information about you...

About how cute young gay boys, boys noted for living on the edge, are called Twinks... afteryou,Twink, you.

And how good people worldwide have been duped into believing that you are infinite, immortal, aseternal as the Eternal City itself; that you don't age, can be eaten with confidence and joy dozens,even hundreds of years after creation; the common and widespread belief that Twinkies are forever,a belief put to the test by the 1988 film, "Die Hard", where John McClane gets sick after eating a"thousand year old Twinkie" found in an under-construction floor of the Nakatomi Plaza building.

Twink, my once honored and profoundly cherished, revered partner, where were you when thesehideous charges, falsehoods, these deceits, deceptions and lies were disseminated? Have you noshame, no desire to stand tall as a truth teller. Is filthy lucre your only objective? Where did you goso very wrong? When did your very name conjure the shameful and disreputable... as in...

The Twinkie Defense.

The expression derives from the 1979 trial of Dan White, a former San Francisco, California policeofficer, fire fighter and city district Supervisor. On November 27, 1978, White assassinated MayorGeorge Moscone and Supervisor Harvey Milk. A significant element raised by the defense wasWhite's consumption before the incident of junk food and sugar- laden soft drinks. So low had yourreputation sunk by then,Twink, that when this was dubbed "The Twinkie Defense", the name stuckand your stock fell further still. Many people, former advocates for Twinkies now believed youcould and should be held responsible for most any social problem or outrage. Sales, of course, took a




beating... I was one of the disenchanted who left, walking out on you, loving elsewhere.

Crisis at Hostess Brands.

Thus matters rested for a long chain of years. Though I had loved you once with fervid adolescentpassion, I loved you no longer and scarcely ever thought of you and your sorcery and taste. Thenjust the other day, I heard that Hostess Brands, your home, was in bankruptcy, its assets includingyou to be sold to the highest bidder. Every kind of "reason" was advanced for this sad state ofaffairs, changing taste, a more heath conscious society and consumer, greedy employees whoserecent strike crippled the company, clueless but egregiously overpaid executives. Perhaps.

Now, Twink, I give you my explanation, and it's simply this: you didn't love me as deeply andprofoundly as I loved you... and so you broke my heart.

But, Twink, here's the punch line: I miss you; have missed you for years and want you back.Wherever you end up, Twink, I'll be the first in line. In the meantime, let me sing this tune for you:"Lover, Come Back to Me", music written by Sigmund Romberg with lyrics by Oscar HammersteinII for the 1928 Broadway show "The New Moon". I like the versions by Billie Holiday and BarbraStreisand you can find in any search engine.

"The moon was new/ And so was love/ This eager heart of mine was singing/ Lover where can yoube/ You came at last/ Love had its day/ That day is past/ You've gone away/ This aching heart ofmine is singing/ Lover come back to me

Forgive me, Twink! Come into my home and heart again! Don't leave me when I love you so!




Christmas from another point of view. The Grinch has hisday... astonishing revelations from his first-ever interviewexclusive to me exclusively here.by Dr. Jeffrey Lant.

Author's program note. You just never know what impact the printed word is going to have, and thistale of The Grinch proves the point. Thanksgiving Day, The Grinch (he insists upon the use of thecapital "T" ) was sitting at home having polished off last year's holiday left-overs as his wont, whenhis eye happened to see a corner of an article used to wrap the garbage. It was my report on"Squawk", the valiant leader of the "Young Turks" fighting for the freedom of turkeys everywhere.

The paper was greasy, ripped, noisome from the remainder of The Grinch's favorite morsels whichstank to high heaven.... in fact, he could only finish the article by searching online for it atjeffreylantarticles.com. He liked what he read... and at that moment (as he later told me) hedetermined to break his lifetime of media silence. He wanted his story to be told, and he wanted meto tell it.

Within the hour, his invitation was en route to me, never mind that it was the middle of the night,3:22 a.m. Eastern. The Grinch knew his man. You can sleep anytime; but such an interview comesbut once in a lifetime.

The letter to me from The Grinch.

There was a sharp knock at the door, the kind of knock that summons you to Destiny. I couldn'timmediately tell if it were real or a dream but its insistence made the point. There was a note underthe door. It said, "Open the door!", nothing more. So more irritated than apprehensive, I did. Therewas a Christmas bouquet on the welcome mat, wilted, one half- eaten candy-cane alone amongst thedying foliage. And there was a message, too, on stationery engraved with this motto, "After me, youare the most important person on Earth."

The message couldn't have been clearer: "You have 10.5 minutes to get dressed and leave for yourExclusive Interview With The Grinch. Be sure to brush your teeth. Don't keep your car and driverwaiting!"

I'm proud to tell you, nearly 66 that I am, that I was ready with a minute to spare, though there was, Iconfess, stubble on my noble chin.

A black limousine was waiting, sleek, important looking... and clearly in need of a good wash. Thenight was chill, the breeze off the snow piecing and unremitting. The door to my car was open, and Icould hear rock music from within. It was Eric Clapton singing "After Midnight" where "we'regonna let it all hang out", where "we're gonna find out what it's all about." It was astonishingly aptmusic....

I slid into the back seat, where my full attention was immediately arrested by a pair of creme coloredeyes looking directly into mine. At the same moment he merely brushed my hand by way ofgreeting. It was fur, not flesh, and it was a shade of green I had never seen before. Then right besidea dog, his dog Max, a half-breed rumored to be The Grinch's only friend, faithful to his Master, hisaspect anything but welcoming. Throughout our interview The Grinch idly stroked his hide. I likedhim the better for it.

"Well, get in, Mack, it's cold out there," a directive swiftly followed by a short, sharp nudge to myrib cage. My encounter with The Grinch was well and truly underway.




"Ask me anything....", and he grinned broadly, the kind of grin of ribald remarks, very dry martinisperfectly made, and bottoms pinched just so. Thus I learned that The Grinch liked the good life."Cookie, Mack?" He offered a box of demolished Christmas cookies with the air of a prince. Therewere dog hairs in the mix. I declined the dainty. "Your loss, Mack. Now what do you want toknow?", and he told his driver to "get the lead out."

The Grinch's personal history.

"Tell me about yourself, Mr. Grinch," I asked. "Nothing I'd rather do, Mack. For as you know, I ama most interesting fellow". Max's tail wagged as if in confirmation. And so in a voice that mixedinsinuation, wisecracks, and sweet self satisfaction, he laid out the broad outlines of his unlikely life,the life that made him one of the handful of the immediately recognized. He laid back, lit a stoggie(whether I liked it or not) and readied himself for his favorite story... his, at which there came intohis eyes a look of reverie, fond remembrance, and Olde Lang Syne. He smiled the smile of thosewho love themselves to distraction, not wisely but too well.

Yes, there he was, the creature of the hour, the creature the world loved to revile, sitting back,oozing self satisfaction, toodling through the darkness of the night, going nowhere in particular,loving the high life. It was all so wicked cool... and then he remembered this all had a purpose."Now, Mack, what is it you wanted to know?"

The facts.

"What started it off, sir?"

And darned if The Grinch didn't shake his tambourine and so begin his tale.

"Mack, it all happened a very long time ago, but I remember it as if it were yesterday. It was nearChristmas. I was a shy kid and had only a small role in the school pageant. I played one of the extrashepherds who get put in the back because they have to be put somewhere. It was not my finesthour."

"It so happened that from the time I was a nipper I had a beard, full, rich, patriarchal. The day of thepageant, my mother decided her shepherd needed a freshly shaved look. But she was terrible,absolutely awful at what she was doing and cut me to ribbons. I was in despair knowing what theother kids would say."

"Mom, was horrified by what she had done. She took some ointment from the cabinet and applied itliberally. Then she kissed me and sent me on my way."

At this point he closed his eyes, the better to recall his affecting story.

"I thought the matter was closed, but as I got closer to school, the kids started pointing at me, usingsome pretty strong words I can tell you. To a certain extent I was used to them; after all I was a kidwith a beard. But these remarks were nothing compared to what they were calling me this day. Itwas the worst ever and every single one of them was pointing at my face."

"As soon as I could I went to the boys' room to see what I could see. And what I saw horrified me.My whole face was green, I mean every single inch. It had to be that ointment." "I wanted to runaway."

The hot words came thick and fast, every aspect of the incident at his fingertips. He decided to runhome and hide. But he was grabbed by a teacher who thought he was trying to escape from thepageant, something boys did. He was deposited on stage... and then it happened.

The Grinch explodes.




"I couldn't stay on that stage. I couldn't face the teachers and all the kids who started to snigger andpoint the minute they saw me. I just had to get out of there."

He turned. He tripped. He fell on a pile of boxes wrapped like Christmas presents under the tree. Hecrushed the boxes. The tree fell. The crowd roared. The kids jumped all over the place pointing atme and shouting. There was the pop, pop, pop as incriminating photos were snapped in theirhundreds.

And then The Grinch heard himself shout in a voice not his own...

"I hate Christmas. I hate everything about it," sing song like a chant. "I hate Christmas. I hateeverything about it. I hate Christmas. I hate everything about it." The crowd went bananas.

Dr. Seuss heard it all, too, because he was in the audience that fateful day. And he knew a great storywhen he heard one. He went home and started work on the book which after many drafts and editsbecame in 1957, "How the Grinch Stole Christmas".

"Mack, I get a nice fat royalty check every Christmas, which enables me to live in the manner towhich I've become accustomed."

The car was just pulling up to my house. The dawn was just about to break. I had just one morequestion to ask, but when we arrived, the door opened as if by magic. The Grinch poked my rib cageagain, Max glowered at me.

"It's been real, Mack. Write me a good story." He told the driver to "put pedal to the metal". And heturned his head in my direction and seemed to say something. But Max was barking, while the carshot away and I couldn't be sure. I thought I heard him say something like "Merry Christmas to alland to all a good night". But I can't be sure... it's so unGrinch-like.

And then I heard one more line from Clapton in The Grinch's unmistable voice:

"We're gonna cause talk and suspicion"...... and he was laughing, Mack, he was laughing....




ResourceAbout the Author Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a widerange of online services for small and-home based businesses. Services include home businesstraining, affiliate marketing training, earn-at-home programs, traffic tools, advertising, webcasting,hosting, design, WordPress Blogs and more. Find out why Worldprofit is considered the # 1 onlineHome Business Training program by getting a free Associate Membership today.

Republished with author's permission by Elizabeth English http://LizsWorldprofit.com.



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The Holidays From Another Perspective