Thanksgiving – the day pilgrims stopped killing Indians – is here, and there’s so much to be thankful for. The buzz is first on everyone’s list, I’m sure … but then there’s family and friends and cornucopias and countless other things. The turkey is in the oven and football is on the television where family is gathered – precious, for certain. Regrettably, however, sometimes the whole event is kind of routine. No one has ever been thankful for boredom, right? No one cool, anyway. In honor of Thanksgiving, Carlye and Brian picked who they would bring to Thanksgiving dinner to spice things up. Hey, guess who’s coming to dinner?
Brian:
Devendra Banhart
What my Thanksgiving lacks is borderline madness. Everyone is somewhat crazy in my family, I suppose, but no one is quite mad; if that makes any sense at all. Devendra Banhart is mad/insane … but, in a good mad genius way. In an interview for The Portable-Infinite blog, this is how Banhart described what an upcoming concert will be like: “A lot of pregnant people. There will be pregnancies. There will be babies. There will be little kids with big bellies. A lot of birthing and placentas. The floor will be one huge starry black placenta.”
What comes out of his mouth, just like his Freak-Folk music, is totally unique and totally strange. In interviews he spins fantastic lies and creates unbelievable descriptions of everyday events. He talked about skateboarding on a wolf and stealing husbands from Venezuelan women in another interview. This is the person I want passing me more stuffing on Thanksgiving.
He’d be great with the kids. Just listen to “I Feel like a Child” from his highly acclaimed Cripple Crow album … but, don’t listen to “Little Boys.” For the older, sophisticated members of the family, he could wow them with his tales of living in Venezuela and France and of traveling throughout the supercontinent of Eurasia. He’s even got something for the teenie-boppers. Last year, Banhart was seen occasionally canoodling with starlet Lindsay Lohan in LA. Yes, Dev Ban could wow them with his tales of everyone’s favorite mean girl.
Sure, he might be dirty, not wearing shoes and housing birds in his long, messy beard, but Thanksgiving is about different people coming together … and that’s something to be thankful for.
Carlye:
Don’t matter if it’s a black or white … cookie served at Thanksgiving dinner
I don’t like introducing people to my entire family because it’s never actually an introduction. It’s more of an … alien probe. You know, where the silver staircase slowly descends from an oval-shaped disk-like spacecraft with a wooosh noise, and the human is dragged into the examination room, where aliens poke and prod at the poor earthling until they are given a sedative or truth serum. Or something like that.
Naturally, with this type of family, I’d be uncomfortable to bring almost anyone around. Anyone, that is, but Michael Jackson.
He’s quiet, soft-spoken and gentle. He would be nothing but sweet and polite to my crazy Jewish grandparents. Think about it – “Michael, did you enjoy the pumpkin pie?” “Whoo-hoo, I loved it!”
He can entertain. The fam is always begging for some form of entertainment before the tryptophan coma sets in, and a group rendition of “Bad” would be a pretty sweet alternative to that highly-overplayed childhood video of me screaming “I know what I want! I want Gro-verrrr,” while chomping on Sesame Street vitamins.
He would be great during our dinner conversation – if my great aunt has any questions about Botox, eyelifts or surgery of any kind, I’m quite confident that he could not only answer them, but recommend a handful of surgeons in the Chicagoland area.
The only bad thing would be that we’d have to ask him to stop grabbing his … well, penis. But, I’m sure he could behave. After all, there are no young boys in my extended family. So, L’chaim to you, the King of Pop and Child Molestation, and welcome to the Wisel-Pozin Thanksgiving dinner!
