First, let me assure you that this won’t be about stuff I’m thankful for.

Although on Thanksgiving, I actually announced that I’m thankful for not being a dwarf. No offense to the dwarf community.

Otherwise no, not thankful, I’m too depressed for that kind of thinking.

My train of thought is very morbid lately, to the point that while sitting and watching TV one night, I imagined someone shooting me right between the eyes and it felt just and appropriate.

So in this state, I attended a Thanksgiving dinner with my extended family, at a local hotel.

I crafted the structure in the photo above, and that’s the first epiphany: Playing with food is fun and satisfying and I need to do more of it.

The second epiphany came later, hours after I had expounded on the JonBenet Ramsey murder and a more obscure and horrible true-crime story.  It was after a discussion of how to debone rats. and a review of various cable TV shows that caused an outbreak of senility and confusion around the table about which was which.

So a loved one was recounting the reasons for a failed friendship that she was still mourning. After trying to be insightful, I added: “but what do I know, all my friends hate me.”

This led to someone noting that I was too aggressive in “interrogating” people. Whoa! I thought, this isn’t what I expected! I do like to ask questions, and I am persistent. I think of myself as having a lot of curiosity, but not actually obnoxious in my expression of interest.

I turned to another loved one and asked, “Do you think this about me??” And he said, “Well, I will say that you don’t like to leave well enough alone.”

So now, stoned and drunk as I was, I felt as though a curtain had been pulled away, to reveal that even the people who love me can’t stand me. I felt hurt and defensive.

I admitted that I don’t like to leave well enough alone. Why should I?? I thought and also said aloud.

My husband appeared and it was time to go home. I burst into tears as soon as we were outside. I explained that everyone hated me and as always, he was sweet and comforting as well as amused.

Epiphany #2 is: Don’t get yourself in a position to hear what people don’t like about you. Stay far away from that. It’s a road you don’t need to travel.

Epiphany #3 is: Even believing that the trait I most define as “Me” is exactly what people hate, I would never work on changing my behavior.  Ever. So now I realize that my stubbornness is even more Me than that other shit.

NO WONDER EVERYONE HATES ME!

Epiphany #4 would be better if I had a photograph, but here it is: If you take five pats of butter and stand them in a group at certain intervals, you can balance a mini pumpkin on them!

It’s something about the distribution of weight that men seem to instinctively understand. I didn’t believe it would work, but my pretend-niece’s husband proved me wrong. It was a moment I will treasure forever.

So how was your Thanksgiving? Anything to report?

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Today we were waiting in line at our neighborhood Pollo Loco and the line wasn’t moving. I saw that the guy giving his order at the cash register was gesticulating impatiently.

Something was up. The guy was raising his voice but we couldn’t make out his words. I turned to my husband and said, “I hope we don’t get shot here, but I can actually think of worse places.”

I was thinking of CVS, where I happened to be during a very mild earthquake. I remember how glad I was not to spend my last moments in a CVS, crushed by products.

The guy at the front finally paid the cashier. We heard him explain that his jaw waas wired shut and he wanted to have his chicken shredded.

He moved aside to the salsa bar, where an older guy said something. The young guy, who was very tall and thin, said “I was shot in the face.”

Trying to compute this information, I heard the older say “blah blah blah small caliber?”

Men! If they’re not getting shot in the face, they want to talk about guns!

I could hear the older guy making suggestions, like getting “Ensure” for the protein and drinking soup. He seemed genuinely concerned. Now I had to walk past them and at that moment, the young guy pulled out his phone to show a picture of his x-ray – a skull with something passing right through the mouth.

I blurted out, “I’m so sorry!” and the guy turned to me. Now I could see how young he was, probably around 20. I put my hand on his shoulder and said, “I’m glad you’re here.”

He blushed and smiled. I saw a flash of smashed up teeth and metal. The older guy said, “Me too.”

We found a table and I felt shaken by the encounter. Witnessing simple human kindness is  always so moving to me. It is nearly unbearable, in fact. I thought of how painful life is for so many people, all the suffering in the world and how hard it is to let yourself care or to stop from caring too much. I wished I could give the face-guy a blender. I wished people could stop killing Syrian children. I wished the loved ones I have lost would come back.

Suddenly there was a commotion at the counter. The face-guy was angry and wanted a refund. I guess they hadn’t shredded his chicken. He stormed out empty handed.

I went to get some salsa and saw the Korean manager yelling at the Mexican cashier. He was gong on about the refund, ranting about how it would throw everything off. He could not have cared less about a guy getting shot in the face.

I’m not sure what my point is here. But I’ll say this: If a guy gets shot in the face, he deserves some goddamn shredded chicken.

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I’m too old and sad to enjoy mocking death the way I used to. But Death Row trivia continues to fascinate me, even though it’s politically incorrect to express anything but outrage on the subject of the death penalty.

Photographer Henry Hargreaves has recreated the last meals requested by some notorious killers in a project called No Seconds. Looking at the photos, it’s hard not to form conclusions about each meal and the man who chose it. The meal above, for example, increased my disdain for John Wayne Gacy: “What a pig,” I thought.

Timothy McVeigh, on the other hand, limited himself to his favorite ice cream. Clearly, he was more focused and less self-indulgent.

Look at what Victor Feguer asked for. What a cunt. Or maybe he was being a smart-ass. I can’t decide. I ‘d like to have told him ‘No way, buddy. You’ll eat a pitted olive or nothing at all.’

My reactions probably say more about me than the meals say about the convicts. That’s why this is art.

Here’s more to think about:

In Louisiana, the prison warden traditionally joins the condemned prisoner for the last meal.

In September 2011, the state of Texas abolished all special last-meal requests after prisoner Lawrence Russell Brewer requested a huge last meal and didn’t eat any of it, saying he wasn’t hungry. His last-meal request was for two chicken-fried steaks with gravy; a triple-patty bacon cheeseburger; a cheese omelet with ground beef, tomatoes, onions, bell peppers, and jalapenos; a bowl of fried okra with ketchup; one pound of barbecued meat with half a loaf of white bread; three fajitas; a meat-lover’s pizza; one pint of Blue Bell Ice Cream; a slab of peanut-butter fudge with crushed peanuts; and three root beers. The abolition followed a complaint by Texas Senator John Whitmire, who called the meal “inappropriate.”  (Thanks Lawrence Russell Brewer, for ruining things for everybody else!)

You can read more about last meals here.  If I end up on Death Row, I plan to ask for a Fatburger with fat fries and a vanilla milkshake.

Feel free to place your order or rant about the death penalty.