Oh, dea!

In case you hadn't noticed, I'm in a dark place.

Late last night, I couldn't sleep.  For some reason, I started thinking about my father, and Thanksgiving, and how that was totally our thing.

I have mastered everything but his gravy, which I have actually never made.

So, I posted on FB about it, as you will.  Then I had a good cry, and eventually fell asleep.

And what occurred to me this morning in the clear light of day is that even if I mastered the perfect Bill Breyer Turkey Gravy, it's not like I can pour it on his ashes, and reconstitute him back from the dead.  The thought of that struck me as fucking hilarious.

And then, as I'm showering this morning, I start thinking about what a fucked up sci-fi story that would make.  In the realm of Ray Bradbury's "Electric Grandmother".  And then, I started thinking  about what we'd call it,and I came up with two new movie titles for an Atlanta-based filmmaker:

Tyler Perry's Gravy Daddy

and (this one I'm especially proud of)

Tyler Perry's Ray Bradbury's 'Lectric Madea

It's the silly that makes me happy.

And holy shit, if you're reading this, Tyler Perry, call me.


PS - I will be watching a video on making gravy on YouTube, because, no - it won't bring Dad back, but fuck it - I like gravy.  And we did a ready-made version last year, and it was gross.  So fuck that.

And fuck self-pity.


The key to delicious turkey gravy is white wine. Pour some into the gravy, and if it still doesn't taste good, pour the rest into your guests until they don't care how the gravy tastes.